Category Archives: Anthropology

“You’ve got to step up your game!”

by Camilla Beghin

Summer 2020, Covid-19 shut the world down. Why not restart dating then? Needless to say, I realised soon that Covid had changed the dating scene. That is when a friend of mine, let’s call him Harry, encouraged me to try online dating. Just before, like some character from a fairytale preparing me for a quest, he told me: “You have to step up your game!” He then informed me that as a white, European man, getting matches is a mission.
Throughout the years, he was not the only man who mentioned to me the difficulties within the online dating world.

Two years later, I realise the complexity of online dating. There are so many hierarchies: between genders, among males and between ethnicities. So, as online dating is increasingly more relevant in the after-pandemic in the UK (Gevers, 2021), I want to present these dynamics.

The above figure shows the tendency of online dating use from the start of the pandemic in the UK. The surge in August can be associated with an easing of the restriction imposed by the government, allowing more people to socialise (Gevers, 2021).

Females at the top

Following Mead’s model of society and gender (1935), it supports a hierarchy that places men as dominant and females as dominated (applicable to most aspects of social life). Online dating seems an exception. Let’s take the case of Tinder, the most used online dating app for my age group (18-29) (Statista, 2022): the data suggests there were 9 men for every woman in 2019. This reverses the traditional power roles. Women have more choice. We stand at the top of the hierarchy deciding the rules. Turns out, Harry is right: men have to step up their game! For a couple of matches he got on Tinder that summer, I would get about 50: I had much more choice.

But do women really have power? I had to step up my game too. How? By conforming to the traditional ways of “doing gender” through gender performance (see Messner, 2000; West and Zimmerman, 1987). Both Harry and I would choose the best pictures, select the best information about us. Some people go further. They use deception to perform gender to appear attractive (see Ankee and Yazdanifard, 2015). So yes, women have more power, but within the traditional gender performance boundaries.

Fessler, 2017

Men’s double hierarchy

Harry did not realise that he was also part of a male hierarchy. Being at its top means getting more matches. This is something another friend, let’s call him Tom, told me: in Exeter he has to compete with rugby lads and various sporty men; he struggles to stand out. After talking with various girls, I realised this fits the male hierarchy suggested by Connell and Messerschmidt (2005). We have 3 main types of men, and intersections of them:

• Hegemonic males: physically active and intellectually or socially powerful.
• Complicit males: receiving benefits of patriarchy.
• Subordinated males: minorities, often part of LGBTQ+.

I can see similar patterns on Tinder. Men try to prove their level of masculinity between hegemonic and complicit (as I participated in heterosexual dating, I cannot speak for the last group). So they show off sport abilities, drinking habits, and their degrees as opposed to simply their hobbies and passions.
This revealed men have a double struggle: they have less power than women and they compete to come across as more desirable by performing the “best” masculinity.

Intersectionality with ethnicity

We cannot only consider gender in online dating: ethnicity is equally important. In their study in the USA, Lin and Lundquist (2013) prove how ethnicity plays a strong part in dating selection. They were analysing the intersection between race, education and gender to understand tendencies in online dating. So, they discovered a tendency for women to respond to men of similar ethnicity or higher, whilst non-black man to ignore black women. This complicated the hierarchy adding other ladders.
I experience how my Italian origin was perceived as more “exotic”, so more attractive by British men. As a white, Italian woman I used it to step up my game, but I am conscious that some women’s ethnicity might be a factor damaging their chances.

So, ethnicity complicates the previous hierarchies. Some ethnicities (usually white) are considered advantaged compared to others. Also, within the same ethnicity, there is a tendency to reproduce gender hierarchies. Men over women.

My conclusions

• Heterosexual online dating has different hierarchies: between women and men, among men, between ethnicities.
• Both genders “perform gender”
• Ethnicity plays an important role: complicating the hierarchies.

As a white, “exotic”, woman it worked for me. Was I in a different position in the hierarchy, I would be wondering just as Tom: why the heck am I doing this to myself?

Bibliography:

Ankee, A.W. and Yazdanifard, R (2015) The Review of the Ugly Truth and Negative Aspects of Online Dating, Global Journal of Management and Business Research: E-Marketing. 15(4).

Chen, O. (2022) You are more than Tinder. online Available at: https://ozchen.com/you-are-more-than-tinder/Accessed: 15 March 2022.

Cherednichenko, S. (2020) Top 10 Dating Apps in 2020, mobindustry. online Available at: https://medium.com/mobindustry/top-10-dating-apps-in-2020-1f35b0c624b6 Accessed: 15 March 2022.

Connell, R.W. and Messerschmidt, J.W. (2005) Hegemonic Masculinity: Rethinking the Concept, Gender & Society. 19(6): 829-859.

Fessler, L. (2017) Tinder now shows its premium customers who likes them – even when the feeling’s not mutual., Quartz. online Available at: https://qz.com/1064995/tinder-gold-premium-membership-likes-me-function-can-i-see-who-already-swiped-right-on-me-on-tinder/ Accessed: 15 March 2022

Gevers, A. (2021) Online Dating in Europe, ComScore. online Available at: https://www.comscore.com/Insights/Blog/Online-Dating-in-Europe Accessed: 4 March 2022.

Lin, K. and Lundquist, J. (2013) Mate Selection in Cyberspace: The Intersection of Race, Gender, and Education, American Journal of Sociology. 119(1): 183.215.

Mead, M. (1935) Sex and temperament in three primitive societies. New York: William Morrow.

Messner, M.A. (2000) Barbie Girls Versus Sea Monsters: Children Constructing Gender, Gender & Society. 14(6): 765-784.

Statista (2022) Share of individuals who were current or past users of online dating sites and apps in the United Kingdom (UK) in June 2017, by age group, Statista. online Available at: https://www.statista.com/statistics/714211/online-dating-site-and-app-usage-in-the-united-kingdom-by-age-group/ Accessed: 5 March 2022.

West, C. and Zimmerman, D.H. (1987) Doing Gender, Gender & Society. 1(2): 125-151.

 

 

 

 

 

‘I’m not like other girls’

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by Paige Parsons

…Hmm, not like other girls, or a case of internalised misogyny?

Since I was little, I have heard this comment voiced from many women, often as a way to distance from ‘typical’ perceptions of femininity. Maybe from women who don’t like painting their nails, or wearing makeup, but who like to drink pints, those who swear (too vulgar!), or burp (definitely not ‘lady like’- whatever that means).

This comment, escaped from the mouths of many (myself included), is both familiar and complicated. What does it mean to be like other girls? Why are you not one of them?

We know women are weak, erratically emotional, and exist to please the gaze of men, or so they have us believe. If this is what women are bound by, then perhaps I’m not like other girls either.

Now, I know this is based on a rigid framework of stereotypes, stemming from our need to label our identity to navigate the world (Delphy, 1993). But as a re-occurring observation I have made, and continue to make, it has consequences for the respect (or lack of) for femininity.

‘I’m not like other girls’ holds other women in a box of confinement (one labelled girly girls, perhaps), their box placed lower on the hierarchy of gender. Girly girls, as we know them, can be explored through an emphasized femininity (see Connell, 1987). This is the expectation of women to conform to a desirable view of femininity, an ideal characterised by subordination (to men) and heterosexuality (having sexual feelings for the opposite sex).

Now, I do not want to blame women (or men) here….everybody has been boxed by the system that is patriarchy, a social system where power is gendered so that masculinity is dominant (Johnson, 2006).

This comment does not simply undermine other women purposefully (although it continues to spread narratives that paint femininity as lesser). Rather, society has a case of internalised misogyny (Manne, 2018), where sexist ideas and disrespect towards women (and femininity) have been engrained into our thoughts.

What does this mean?

We have internalised ideas that women as weak, inferior and have certain characteristics, e.g., appearance obsessed (we might blame beauty/advertisement organisations) or needing a man to feel fulfilled (we might thank traditional fairy tales), but let’s leave that for another day.

These ideas are expressed through our actions, towards ourselves (self-regulation and objectification, see Enson, 2017) and towards other women. Let’s say… the assumption that women should have less sex than men as to maintain ‘purity’ and ‘innocence’…. (Ironic right, as women are apparently existent for the sexual pleasure of men).

Having internalised misogynistic attitudes, distance from these may foster feelings of superiority, moving one closer to ideas of masculinity. I mean, in a patriarchal society, who can blame us? We have learnt that it provides acceptance in the social world….

But, through devaluing other women, we do not increase our own value (on a wide scale, anyhow), but rather, we maintain sexist ideas that continue to mobilise the box that is femininity.

So, through saying (and believing) ‘I’m not like other girls’, we continue to fragment femininity, creating competition and tension between women. Consequently, the patriarchy is supported as well as the division that is central to its power.

Let’s not forget, gender is fluid (Beasley, 2005). An individual may express the comment as to genuinely explore and signal a lack of alignment with the female identity. We must reflect on comments, thoughts, and actions as to question how and why we position ourselves and others, particularly as meaning is communicated through the language we use (Crawford, 1995).

Who are these other girls?

The other girls… Are they able-bodied? Are they white? Are they black? Are they young? Are the old? Are they slim? Are they fat?

These are important questions. The answers reflect the way normative (and emphasized) femininity has been presented to us. Whether that is through the media, television, books, or beauty industries. The way we recognise the ‘other’ girls can impact how we reconcile, respect or celebrate feminine identities.

Juliehangart 2020

 

So, although an innocent comment at first, ‘I’m not like other girls’ reinforces femininity as an inferior identity. These repetitive interactions nurture misogynistic attitudes (Manne, 2018), shedding light on the ways women are subtly subordinated.

Remember, men have internalised this too. It is not masculinity vs. femininity, but rather patriarchy vs. us all.

 

So yeah, I am like other girls: strong, diverse, intelligent, interesting, wonderful, and complexly unique; remembering that one expression of gender is no more valid than another.

References

Beasley, C. (2005) Gender and Sexuality: critical theories, critical thinkers. London: SAGE Publications.

Connell, R. W. (1987) Gender and Power. Society, the Person and Sexual Politics. Cambridge: Polity Press.

Crawford, M. (1995) Talking Difference: On Gender and Language. London: SAGE Publications.

Delphy, C. (1993) ‘Rethinking Sex and Gender’, Women’s Studies International Forum, 16(1), pp1-9.

Enson, S. (2017) ‘Evaluating the impact of hyper-sexualisation on the lives of young people.’ British Journal of School Nursing. 12(6), pp. 274-278.

Johnson, A.G. (2006) Privilege, Power, and Difference. 2nd Edn. New York: McGraw- Hill.

Juliehangart (2020). Available at: https://www.demilked.com/not-like-other-girls-comic-julie-hang/ (Accessed on 7th March 2022).

Manne, K. (2018) Down girl: the logics of misogyny. New York: Oxford University Press.

Rajagopalan, H. (2017). Comic: What is Intersectional Feminism? Available at: https://feminisminindia.com/2017/04/08/comic-intersectional-feminism/ (Accessed on 7th March 2022)

Stanford, Q. (2019) Available at: https://allears.net/2019/11/27/theres-big-changes-coming-to-snow-whites-scary-adventures-in-disneyland-next-year/ (Accessed on 7th March 2022)

Vector (2021). Available at: https://www.shutterstock.com/image-vector/multiracial-women-different-figure-type-size-1263222466 (Accessed on: 7th March 2022)

Why is Ed Sheeran so popular at weddings?

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Studying sociology is a great opportunity to try to answer life’s big questions – why do people fall into patterns of behaviour? What enables some groups to wield power over others? And why do so many people enjoy the music of Ed Sheeran?

Sheeran is not only one of the most popular musicians in the UK right now, he’s also the most popular at weddings. Spotify recently released data on the top 10 “first dance” songs chosen by UK couples and he features three times in this list, twice for two versions of the same song (Perfect, released in 2017). Does Ed Sheeran have a formula for writing a successful wedding song?

Ed Sheeran Perfect video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2Vv-BfVoq4g

 Wedding music as a public but intimate choice

 Making personal music choices for a public occasion is a tightrope walk, as anyone who’s planned the music for a wedding or funeral knows well. In a social setting, something like Perfect ticks all the boxes: it sets the scene, everyone knows it, it’s the right tempo for an easy waltz, and it’s middle-of-the-road enough not to cause offence. But there might be other reasons for using it that have more to do with the history of gender-segregated domestic duties.

Wedding planning as “women’s work”

 Although there’s disagreement over the rate of change in the last 100 years, it’s widely accepted that domestic labour is still largely the woman’s domain in a heterosexual relationship (this 2016 report from the Office for National Statistics found that women still do 60% more unpaid work than men). Of course, domestic labour isn’t just hoovering and doing the dishes – it’s diary management and planning social engagements too, and wedding planning is often an extension of this, done almost exclusively by women (there’s academic research on this, by Tamara Sniezek and D.H. Currie, but there’s also this clip from when Monica and Chandler planned their wedding in Friends).

In 2005, Tamara Sniezek interviewed heterosexual engaged couples about their wedding planning. She found three things that are relevant to my Ed Sheeran question:

  1. When you ask couples about the detail of who did each part of the practical planning work, you will find that women do the overwhelming majority of it
  2. But when you ask vague questions like “how was the wedding work divided?” they often claim it was 50/50, and every couple interviewed by Sniezek repeatedly described it as a joint enterprise
  3. Couples generally use the details of their wedding, including the music, to express their “couple identity”, and this is often based around an idea of equality and teamwork… even if the person arranging all these details is doing the overwhelming bulk of the work in the face of apathy from their partner.

Perhaps this cognitive dissonance speaks to some mixed feelings about entering into the institution of marriage. The situation for women in marriage is still unfair, and still carries with it certain expectations of doing unpaid work in the home – the modern bride may be looking out for ways to say “I’m not that kind of wife, I’m this kind of wife.” To the congregation and, perhaps, to her new husband.

 

Using wedding music to tell a story

 Aside from the speeches, the ‘first dance’ is a couple’s first opportunity to set out their stall as a respectful equal partnership, expressing their identity in opposition to the generations that have gone before. Ed Sheeran’s Perfect is the, ahem, perfect example of a pop song that gives the “right message”:

“Well I found a woman, stronger than anyone I know
She shares my dreams, I hope that someday I’ll share her home
I found a love, to carry more than just my secrets
To carry love, to carry children of our own”

It emphasises the bride’s strength, refers to her home, and tells a story of teamwork and sharing. But perhaps the couples who dance to it are unwittingly revealing some more traditional views as well. In other lines, like “I found a girl beautiful and sweet” / “the someone waiting for me” / “Be my girl, I’ll be your man”, Perfect is no different from any other romantic pop ballad, reducing the female character to a pretty “girl” with no agency.

As a whole, the song represents a balance between the traditional roles some may still see as romantic, and the modern ideal of equality.

The Perfect relationship?

We live in confusing times, where our behaviours don’t necessarily line up with our attitudes. Although most heterosexual couples want to be seen as a balanced partnership, their division of all kinds of unpaid labour are unlikely to live up to this utopia. They give us a specific public narrative at their wedding to paper over the cracks, or perhaps to create a vision of how they would like their relationship to be.

When Ed Sheeran wrote Perfect, he gave marrying couples a gender-equal message to use for this purpose, within a framework of all the familiar male and female roles, in a society where wedding planning is still part of an uneven set of wifely expectations we are clearly uncomfortable with.

 

Leah Boundy

  #metoo in anthropology: a call for updating codes of conduct in the field

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Blog post by Lexie Onofrei

I am climbing a steep hill with my gatekeeper and an informant who’s taking us to an isolated farm to show us his animals. They’re both middle-aged men. It’s snowing heavily, and I can barely feel my feet; they are covered in snow. I’m told we will get to the animals soon and that we can rest there. I had been around these men for two days and it has never occurred to me that they could harm me. My gatekeeper is an old family friend and the informant is his friend. I conducted fieldwork in Romania, in the region that I know well, so most of the relationships I built there were based on trust. This is my experience, but it’s also how many ethnographies begin: a narrative that introduces the field, participants and the general atmosphere. As ethnographies go on, narratives expand, participants’ stories change, and new concepts are introduced. However, sexual harassment in the field is seldom brought up, even though it happens a lot. At most, it is interesting to study or to include in self-reflexive sections of a paper, but nothing more.

Recently, powerful men in the Hollywood and sports industries have been accused of sexual harassment. Some of the survivors reignited the flame of the #metoo movement, encouraging victims of abuse to share their experiences on social media. The large scale of the accusations has prompted revisions of social and workplace rules to ensure that sexual harassment is minimised. Given the high rate of sexual harassment in the field, the American Anthropology Association (AAA) started a working group to understand this phenomenon in the field and academia. It tries to reconcile fieldwork practices with guidelines to promote the safety of fieldworkers, especially of women, because of their disproportionate risk of exposure to sexual violence. Most anthropologists are expected to do fieldwork at some point in their career. We are encouraged to think through our plan of action and anticipate things that might go wrong in the field in ethical clearance forms. However, few of these hypothetical measures satisfy the condition of our safety as researchers in the field. Instead, they are heavily bureaucratised and often

 

Conversation between my informant and I during my ethnographic fieldwork in Romania, December 2016. Author’s collection.

serve universities’ own reputations and legal and insurance requirements (Sleeboom-Faulkner et al., 2017).

The article that the AAA working group published explains the co-creation of ethnographic fields by researchers, participants, and by invisible social structures and ideas like gender inequality, religiousness, etc. Although researchers represent organisations in the field, the physicality and closeness of fieldwork create complexities that are often hard to navigate, and in which female ethnographers can feel unsafe or vulnerable. Ethnographers ask the questions, lead discussions and question habits of different societies. Therefore, ethical guidelines are directed towards the protection, anonymity and reassurance of participants. However, ethnographic curiosity about certain idea/social group makes us vulnerable, too. Plus, gender dimensions and non-human components of fieldwork have been overlooked in ethical guidelines. More attention to their role in the power politics of fieldwork could improve research conditions and keep more women in anthropological careers.

One of my anthropology teachers recounted how she felt cornered during a field interview in a participant’s house. She was speaking to a man whose wife died. He started crying and leant on my teacher’s shoulder, getting closer and closer to her until she felt unsafe. She left immediately, as she luckily found the door of the house open. In Friction, Anna Tsing (2004) tells of her fear of aggression as she sat in the back of a truck full of men in Indonesia. Tsing’s story only hints at these issues of vulnerability, and most anthropologists are deterred from making this step. Self-reflexivity is a strong research tool, but it is often critiqued for its narcissistic tendencies (Finlay, 2002). Furthermore, harassment is not reported due to lack of extended codes of conduct, as these are theoretically rich but hard to put into practice.

In conclusion, it’s worth acknowledging the advent of self-reflexivity in ethnographies as coping mechanisms, but this postponed the need to develop ethical guidelines. Sometimes anthropologists indulge in confessional ethnographies, without referring to their experiences of harassment, but where they can ponder on their feelings. The AAA working group urges universities to revisit and update codes of conduct. Gatekeepers and key informants could have more active roles to ensure the integrity of researchers is protected. There could be more communication between researchers, their supervisors and ethical committees. This initiative has the potential to over-formalise fieldwork but if we work together, this detail can be corrected and improved to aid fieldworkers in their research. AAA’s work is a big step towards recognising the gender-specific dangers of fieldwork, but this movement needs to be replicated by anthropologists in universities worldwide, otherwise it will remain weak and fragmented.