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Meghan, Dayo, Dahlia, the study that purports to show that when women are premenstrual they tend to spend more impulsively sounds like so many of the other specious findings of evolutionary psychology about how women behave during different phases of their hormonal cycle. These researchers seem obsessed with proving that female humans, like other female mammals, actual experience estrus, or go into "heat." They can't stand that that human female ovulation is hidden, and as a result are obsessed with finding clues to female behavior (shopping sprees, dressing more provocatively) to prove that we are actually controlled by our hormones. It doesn't seem to matter that their research (and the silliness of some of these "experiments" is epic) often proves nothing; they always conclude it proves their case. I find the case, however, rather insidious. How is it different from the arguments of a generation ago that women are just too emotional, irrational, and controlled by their hormones to actually be in positions of power? Think of all the women teachers, co-workers, bosses you've had over the years. Have you ever actually been able to tell where any of them is in their menstrual cycle by their behavior? And think of their male equivalents. Is anyone doing research to explain why they seem rational some days and nuts on others?
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After reading yesterday's glowing review of My Little Red Book in the New York Times, I finally took a peek at the cute little hardcover I had been brushing off as gimmicky. The pieces are fun to read—some breezy, some touching, all evoking that sweet, misplaced anxiety of youth that Billy Collins so beautifully captures in "On Turning Ten." The authors include names you know (Erica Jong, Joyce Maynard) and amateur surprises, and range from fleshed-out essays to two-sentence snippets. But the earnest introduction by 18-year-old author Rachel Nalebuff strikes me as off-base. She writes that she "decided to commit social suicide" by asking about periods and that the book "shares the revolutionary spirit of its Chinese namesake."
Is it really that revolutionary in the United States these days to talk about menstruation? Holly at Woman Tribune seems to think so, writing this of My Little Red Book's origin: "Something needs to be done in this society that would let this silence continue for so long and keep so many women captive in its process of women-shaming."
If "this society" means modern-day America, I disagree. I've never felt silenced when it comes to my period. Sure, I don't bring it up with male co-workers, but nor would I expect them to tell me about their nocturnal emissions. I've often swapped first-period tales with friends and family, though. My favorite is from my friend who got hers while visiting her dad one summer. Eager to play the situation right, he came home that night with a heart-breakingly well-intentioned purchase: a T-shirt with a silkscreened baby photo of her on the front, and the special day's date on the sleeve. Talk about not feeling silenced—she actually wore the shirt all the time!
Do any of you think this book is a bigger deal than I'm giving it credit for? I respect Nalebuff for avoiding the crass oversharing that seems so popular among young women these days and for assembling well-written and varied tales. But I'm not sure I respect whatever greater social mission she and others say was accomplished here.
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