Confession: I don’t get the 60’s. Of course there is music from the 60’s that works for me, and there is the mighty automotive theme of yesterday’s post, but as a decade, I’ve never really gained the pop-culture appreciation that most people of my era have. I realize that I’ll be raising hackles on many people, but I don’t see it as a magical time. And truth be told, I wasn’t there. I was born in February of 1970, so my only real experience with the 60’s was conception and gestation. So clearly, I’m talking out of my bootie on this one.
I think feminism has done as much bad as good. Not that feminism was created in the 60’s, but great strides were made during that time.
Yes, I appreciate being able to wear trousers without sidelong glances or presumption that I’m a lesbian. Yes, it’s great that women can go without the constraints of a brassiere. [As a side note: I’m very pro-brassiere. I’m 37 years old and still have high and firm titties. It works for me. I know plenty of women who don’t enjoy such a fate and even rue casting aside their bras as their udders sail to lower and lower latitudes of their anatomy. Having said that, I haven’t borne children either, so my bosoms have mostly been used as modes of seduction and toys for boys. I’m a giver.] Yes, a lady can work in a man’s field. I do. It has ups and downs.
The downside of feminism is that it has bred a climate of political correctness, especially in fields that have any crossover with academia, which disallows fun and off-color joking. Shameful. People seem to be constantly censoring themselves out of saying the fun and amusing things that would make them much more interesting. One of the saddest results of this feminist movement is men who have had the backbone bullied out of them.
The whole free love, hippie peacenik thing: it tends to overlook balance in favor of happy, pretty, peace. Peace is flat without some complimentary aggression. Balance, friends, it soothes my soul.
To give fair credit, lots of good came from the 60’s. Music, writing, sex, tolerance, and surely a bunch of political stuff that I know virtually nothing about because I’m admittedly horrible about paying attention to history. And that makes up the theme of this post: in the end, I may not know what I’m talking about, and I wasn’t there.