Call Me Mister
January 31, 2013 
5 Comments
An entire lifetime of angry feminism and all that time, I’ve missed a piece of truly low-hanging lady-rage fruit. How, in 28 years, has it never occurred to me to be angry about the term “Mrs.” being reserved for married women?
It’s an outrage on so many levels, which we’ll explore momentarily, but right now, I am mostly outraged at myself for having left it to a man to alert me to this issue.
Obviously, my boyfriend would be the one to point it out. Obviously. Because he’s a better feminist than I’ll ever be (OR do I just think that because I’ve been socialized to think men are superior??!).
So, last night was the first time the bullshitness of “Mrs.” has ever crossed my mind, and it only did so because of a dude, so whatever, but now that it has, I am impassioned and you should be, too.
Naming is not all about whether or not you take your spouse’s name if you marry, or if you switch your last name to your mom’s dad’s instead of your dad’s dad’s. It’s also about who names groups with shared pieces of identity — race, ethnicity, sex, gender identity and so on. Is a Mexican-American “mexican” or “chicano”? Who gets to decide that? Unless the group is, you know, duh, white guys, it’s not likely that the group gets to name itself.
As women, as far as prefixes are concerned, we haven’t been naming ourselves up until this point — or at least I haven’t. As much as it irks me when people refer to me as “ma’am,” “miss” or “lady” or whatever other gendered title for the simple reason that it’s gendered — not even considering whether or not the term butts its nosy self into my relationship status — it’s never occurred to me that I could choose my preferred term. Why shouldn’t we decide if we are a “Ms.” or “Miss” or “Mrs.”?
Or “Mr.”?
Or, like, “None Of The Above,” eh? How ’bout that? Because who the hell’s business is it if I am consummating in accordance with Biblical law? And who the hell gets to give a shit about the nature of my bits just because they’ve handed me a form to fill out with boxes to check for “title.”
[Jezebel just yesterday masticated on the evolving meaning of "lady."]
It’s not just to suit my fancy, either, that I’m strongly considering marking the “mister” box on my next official form — it’s also to chip away at one of the many ways our true identities are squelched, sidelined and invalidated by notions of what we’re “supposed” to be. Why do we have gendered titles? Other than to allow people to form pre-emptive judgments about who you are, they’re vestiges of much more formal — and less equal — times.
People on the non-polar ends of the gender spectrum end up choosing the nearest-to-fitting term, which is about as accurate as the average fence-riding American choosing a political party, or trying to tell someone in one sentence what kind of music you like. (Also, that’s a stupid question, not only because it’s unanswerable in normal conversation but because the only thing I can ever think to say is, “You know, Ani DiFranco and shit like that.” Nobody makes friends as a result of this question unless they lie.) At least choosing a title that raises eyebrows challenges others to think about who we are, not what type of gendered-marital-status-bot we are.
Taking up this issue is not all just for the good of humanity, either. Ageism is still not a protected class in our state, or in our city, and it matters how old people think you are — which means it’s game on for protecting yourself from age discrimination. Marital status is still super awkwardly tied to that, in that it’s commonly assumed that if you’re not married, you’re single, and you’re young, and you’re still in some sort of temporarily-bisexual-and-might-decide-to-move-to-Portland-next-weekend-over-3am-Satellite-Diner-hashbrowns exploratory life stage.
The average hiring baby boomer might hire a young person for fresh ideas, energy and cheap labor, but will just as quickly promote an older colleague because she’s a known quantity who will never, ever move to Portland.
When you look young enough to be carded every motherchicken time you buy a Black & Mild Wood Tip cigar, and you’re happily albeit unofficially yoked, it might be alright if some people thought you were married in exchange for claiming your Adult Card at work. Because age matters, even though it shouldn’t, and even if your age and your appearance are two very different things. (And yes, I know I’ll be glad when I’m forty. I’m already glad.)
Do we scrap the titles altogether? Do we do like the Ms. Magazine founders in the seventies and stick with the least-revealing term? Do we just choose the term we like best and give the bird to eyebrow-raisers? I don’t think it really matters, as long as the choice is our own.
About the Author
You should see what it’s like in the south. Women are expected to go by Miss, and their first name, such as Miss Anne. Your female colleague might be just ten years older than you, but proper decorum states, Miss Anne. And guys go by Mr. and their last name. It’s painful, really.
I sometimes find myself being more of a feminist than my wife, but I am still baffled when she tells me that anything other than “miss” is offensive. I remember being in preschool when I first heard about the distinction: “miss” is unmarried, “mrs” is married. The only reaction my 5-year-old self could come up with was that it was unfair that men didn’t also get a new titled when they were married.
So, please, can you explain this to me in simple terms, keeping in mind that I just want to understand where you’re coming from? How is having a married/unmarried distinction in your title somehow diminutive towards women? Does it somehow invoke the antiquated notion that the lady is owned by her husband? Is it because “mrs” implies “taken/unavailable” while men never get that label? These are the best theories I have come up with, but they seem tenuous at best.
French feminists are also fighting a similar battle — in this case why unmarried women must be referred to as “madmeoisselle” (kinda translated as ‘my girl’) and married women are called “madame” (kinda translated as ‘my lady’) They don’t have any approximation of Ms. either. and like English, only one male courtesy title. I do like the idea of calling yourself “Mr” now and then just to sow confusion.
Kyle, it’s simply that our marital status is so central to our identity that our title is defined by it. As I wrote, I also think a lot of other assumptions hinge on that one. And that it immediately makes me feel pidgeon-holed to be called a gendered term because all the rest of the time, I don’t really think of myself as primarily female, but rather, as a person. (I don’t know if that’s because I’m a somewhere-in-the-abyss-of-the-gender-spectrum person, or if this is how most women see themselves until their gender is pointed out to them.)
You are no mister, sister
Newsflash…
Men and women are physically different and will never be equal. Don’t waste your life being angry over something that no one can change.
Women trying to be like men are like ducks trying to behave like chickens; it only ends in frustration, accomplishes nothing and looks ridiculous.
Instead, strive to embrace the strengths of each sex. Rejoice that we are not all the same.
Untied we stand, divided we fail.