Jillian Gutowitz, trying unsuccessfully to become popular on YouTube, July 2013.’
Jill Gutowitz (@Jillboard on Twitter) is a lesbian feminist Democrat from New Jersey who lives in Los Angeles, where she spent Election Night at a gay bar watching her entire world come crashing down in flames:
We thought we’d be able to ring in our first female president together. We were wrong. . . .
As my friends and I stood at The Abbey last night, watching our country slip through our fingers, we saw laughter turn to sadness, sadness turn to fear and finally, fear turn to pain. . . .
“He won,” I muttered as I burst into tears. . . . “How did this happen?”
I’ll tell you how it happened. 58 percent of white people voted for Trump; 53 percent of men, 42 percent of women. White people, what have you done? I had faith that our country was progressive and inclusive; that wasn’t realistic. This wasn’t fear; this was a white lash at the progress we’ve made. People aren’t scared, they are racist and misogynistic. . . .
A Democrat lost, a Republican won — unimaginable, to a 25-year-old lesbian feminist Democrat from New Jersey who was in middle school the last time (2004) a Democrat lost a presidential election.
This kind of rage/grief reaction by young Democrats is, to a great extent, a result of their having bought into a narrative of “progress,” believing themselves to be On The Right Side Of History and (incorrectly) thinking of the pre-Obama past as a Dark Age of Right-Wing Oppression.
Democrats and the media (but I repeat myself) have promoted this belief so relentlessly that, if you’re a half-educated 25-year-old, you might actually believe that America was a vast nightmarish concentration camp during the presidency of George W. Bush. Not until Jan. 20, 2009, with the swearing-in of President Obama, did our nation become “progressive and inclusive,” the lesbian feminist Democrat believes. When America failed to elect Hillary Clinton, this meant Jill and her friends in the L.A. gay bar were “watching our country slip through our fingers” and why? Because white people are “racist and misogynistic”!
If this election proved anything, it’s how much we hate women. This was an act of hate. This was selfish. And to those I know personally who voted for Trump; thanks for saying out loud that you don’t care about anyone but yourself. Nothing was at stake for you; our literal lives are at stake. It breaks my heart to see the swarm of wealthy, white men in red hats celebrating today — as if straight white men needed something more to celebrate. Trump gave these people an outlet to behave badly and now they’re being rewarded for their behavior. It feels like America is a social experiment that finally failed.
Jill, honey, we need to talk about your Kool-Aid addiction, OK? Because you’ve had wwaaaayy too much of it, and it’s not good for you.
Maybe you’re wondering why, Ms. Gutowitz, I decided on Christmas Eve to write about your absurdly over-the-top reaction to Donald Trump’s election. In fact, I’d never heard of you before yesterday, when by coincidence I stumbled onto something you wrote back in January:
Start Sleeping with the Same Sex
and Get On With Your Life
This is a call to arms. Straight people, I want you to stop daydreaming about boning your hot same-sex “girl crush” or “man crush” and just do it. I’m tired of your s–t. I don’t want to hear you say, “I totally could be gay but the only thing stopping me is licking a vagina.” Why you thinkin’ bout lickin’ a vagina, huh? Newsflash: lesbians don’t just sit around thinking about cleaning p–y off their face.
You think I wanted to be gay so I could lick vaginas? No. That’s not how it works. I found out I was gay cause I was having extremely close personal attachments to the same sex. So if you’re saying you’re feeling all the emotional sides of a lesbian relationship and you are sitting around thinking about licking a vagina…SEEMS PRETTY GAY.
I used to think the same thing as you: “I can’t go down on a girl!” Turns out, I’m super gay! Do you know how many excuses I’ve made for not being gay? . . .
Jill, you are mentally disturbed. You’re deranged, demented, bonkers, berserk, a few fries short of a Happy Meal and cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs.
Rather than list every synonym for “crazy,” Jill, instead I’ll just let you describe yourself and your life:
I feel like a failure every day. . . .
I don’t like men. They’re mean and rude and I’ve almost always had purely negative experiences by them. . . .
I feel inadequate in everything I do. . . .
I’m not having sex because I’m scared of everyone. I think everyone is garbage.
I wish everyone was LGBTQ: we’re more understanding and open minded and kind. . . .
I feel like my insides are constantly withering and black and twisted and dying. I have anxiety. . . .
I asked my mom if she thought I was bipolar and she said “maybe.” I weaned myself off my anxiety medication over the last month because I was having more panic attacks than ever. I was more depressed than ever. . . .
I have a mental illness. I break down all the time. . . .
My romantic love has been almost unanimously unrequited. . . . I’ve never been fulfilled by a relationship. . . .
I used to believe in right and wrong. I used to believe in the idea of “deserving” something. Now I do not.
Jill, has anyone explained to you that spending too much time on social media is highly correlated to depression in young people? Online interaction becomes a substitute for doing anything useful or productive with your time. You start comparing yourself to other people, imagining yourself in some other life, and your actual life — you know, the one where you stay in your room all day, scrolling Instagram, Facebook, Twitter, etc. — seems even more pathetic when compared to the fantasy alternative in your imagination. So now we will return to your genuinely demented everybody-is-gay column from January:
I, like many in America, had a s–ty 2015, mostly because at the top of the year, I came out. It was f–king hard to deal with . . . because not only did I come out, but also I found out I was gay. It wasn’t a secret I was hiding since my pubes sprouted; it was something I discovered about myself in my 23rd year of life. I was mortified and embarrassed that I, a self-aware and anxiety-ridden Jew (only by blood), could go 23 years without knowing something about myself so crucial to my being. It was because I, like many people in America, dealt with years of internalized homophobia . . .
Oh, yes — “internalized homophobia”! Who invented this? Didn’t it come from the same Bad Idea Factory as “latent homosexual tendencies”?
Back in the Freudian heyday, when all the pop-psych talk was subconscious urges and “complexes” and how-do-you-feel-about-your-mother, the notion that one could harbor “latent tendencies” was one of those pseudo-diagnostic hypotheses that was impossible to disprove. Yes, I’m a middle-aged guy who’s been married 27 years and has six kids, but obviously I’m just overcompensating. Like the Kinsey Scale, the whole point of “latent tendencies” seems to have been to convince us that everybody’s at least a little bit gay. It’s a psychological con game, a sort of gay PUA hustle: “Now that we have determined you have ‘latent tendencies,’ what the heck, why not give it a try?”
Never try to pull that kind of cheap con on me. It insults my intelligence. So let’s get back to Jillian explaining her “internalized homophobia”:
As a kid, I was a tomboy. I was bullied for being boyish and I had no friends that were girls. So I was forced to adapt. I started dressing more “girly,” in the American vernacular sense of the word, but it was too late. I was already friends with all the boys in the school. None of them saw me as a sexual object like they did the girly girls. . . .
I spent high school being basically asexual and unaware of it. I liked boys because I knew I was supposed to. I didn’t have a boyfriend until my senior year and when I finally had one, I didn’t even like him, I just wanted a prom date. . . .
Pardon my interruption, Ms. Gutowitz, but didn’t you grow up in middle-class suburban New Jersey? Weren’t you a “good girl,” the bookish nerdy type, who mainly hung around with your fellow nerds? Weren’t you rather closely supervised by your parents, who emphasized the importance of doing well in school so you could go to college? There was no way you could have gone the tight-skirts-and-heels route, dressing like a jailbait hooker and hanging out downtown with the Bad Boys, right?
The awkward middle-class child, over-directed and over-supervised by well-intentioned parents, often drifts through adolescence without giving any sign of their inner angst. Making good grades, staying out of trouble — no external warning signals, but inside they feel like outcasts or misfits, and wonder why they can’t achieve the kind of popularity and social success that seems to come so easily to others: “What’s wrong with me?”
To which the correct answer is: Nothing, really. Continue reading Having a Merry Trump Christmas, Because @Jillboard Hates Jesus →