Fragments Of Venus
The Muse, The Artist, and The Woman Immortalized
In a newfound, generational ideal of true love— or what is perceived as such—, worship of the womanly other has somewhat become a prerequisite for those in heterosexual relationships. A mere notion of devoted obsession can be cherrypicked in a fair share of these relationships; a man’s obsession is believed to be proof of a love so true it may seem impermeable. When have women been taught to believe otherwise? The tale of the muse is as old as time and persists despite attempts to dismantle the parasitic nature of woman/wife/girlfriend as something to behold, less so a person to behold the world with. A delegation of muse status of course feels flattering to many women— a man surely must love a woman if he chooses to look at her, fixate on her physicality as something worthy enough to be marveled at.
Across time, countless women have been immortalized on canvas, in lyrics and poetry, catapulted into iconography via the viewfinder of a camera serving as a conduit for connection. None of this is to suggest that it’s impossible for a man to simultaneously love a woman and find her to be inspiring, though it is a phenomena that has simply morphed alongside the world’s creative advancements. The Artistic Man of the moment is one who grooms himself though not too meticulously, dresses well but not so much so he is shunned by other men, has a creative career but one that is already established particularly online. From the vastness of new age manhood crawls Man Who Loves Fashion; he buys secondhand archival pieces with the determination of a betting man, vets romantic prospects based on how well she dresses—by his standards—, and navigates his world as though it is curated genius.
In the early aughts, this man would have been another closeted gay caricature on a cable television adult dramedy. Times have changed, however. Everything is oh so progressive! The reality is that these men are still often suspected to be that caricature, not merely because of an inclination to fashion. These men are not often anything outside of heterosexual and cis. Always partially out of frame is the woman he styles, photographs, and records obsessively as the woman he has just assembled or perfected. Does he love her? Yes, no, maybe. Love is not the determinant of this dynamic.
Fashionable Male has a tendency to believe—as many men do— that Woman is his; a display of his prowess and an extension of his believed taste, artistry, genius, or general chutzpah. This isn’t a social practice exclusive to gen z, a specific race, or a specific class. Men are simply socialized to believe that a woman should be a product of his life’s accomplishments and another facet to be proud of attaining. There’s a likelihood that a significant portion of men who navigate the world with that framework are unaware of the extent to which they live with such a narrow, rarely happy and fulfilled model to aspire to.
The norm boils down to a social contract in which men are taught to base their value on tangible possessions, careerism, financial security, and the status of domestic figurehead. Ideal Man is often unhappy, insecure, and feels there is always *something* missing. A woman *worthy* of Ideal Man should be a specific variety of woman and possess a specific beauty in direct correlation with said man.
