Men have a monopoly over the word ‘charming’. Consider Prince Charming – handsome, romantic and kind, likely to be found in shining armour. From Sleeping Beauty, Snow White to Cinderella, versions of this unabashedly heroic character sweep the damsel in distress off her feet with one muscular arm, whilst simultaneously fending off evil with the other.
Now, I know what you’re thinking and yes, I am bitter that I haven’t got any of those admirable qualities. But there is something incredibly a-historical about this character that lingers and leers on in society today.
I recently heard a group of girls describe a man they know as “dangerously charming”. After a while, this “dangerously charming” man turned out to be rather boring and bland – effectively just “quite a nice guy” who made them laugh. But in the midst of my unashamed eavesdropping, I realised that I’d never heard of a woman being described in such a way. Sure, women are described in positive ways. If I was an anthropologist, I’d recognise that a “good” woman, to a man would be “she’s fit” but I digress.
I’ve heard men being described as charming all my life, with women being given the passive role of being solely described in physical terms of attraction – for men out there, it’s the “fit or not fit” paradigm. The attributes of a charming person can fit either sex – effectively the ability to inspire, flatter or impress someone with a certain quality. So why is there a male monopoly over the idea of being “charming”?
Fairy tales offer a little clue. Women are a passive objet d’art to be enjoyed, while men are active and can almost charm them into existence. Take Prince Charming and Sleeping Beauty – it’s only his kiss of life that can rejuvenate her from her poison-induced sleep (bear in mind it was an evil woman who put her in that condition). In fact, if you take a walk down Pop Culture Lane, you’ll find the female characters endlessly whining about their desire for a Prince Charming to sweep them off their petite feet (I’m looking at you, Bridget Jones – and look where that got you). If this were a genuine experience in real life, I’d probably go the length of discovering how to survive a black hole to find the original Prince Charming and shoot the fucker. Luckily, rom-coms don’t provide the best gauge for what people really think about.
So in a social situation, most likely induced by booze, it’s supposedly the man who sparks conversation by being witty and fascinating while the pretty but dull woman stands there, soaking up his no doubt incredible “banter”. That’s charming for you. She is supposed to be captivated by his words, pulled in by the magic of his compliments or the swashbuckling nature of his existence.
The problem is that I know plenty of women who are witty, nice, bright and spark-infused. Evidently these are the attributes that construct the word ‘charm’ itself. So why is there a male monopoly over it? As it is in fairy tales revolving around the passive damsel in distress and the active Prince Charming, it’s got something to do with spells.
Men want women to be spellbound by the magic of their words, the confidence of their demeanour and the amount of jokes they can fill in one sitting. They want the object of their desires to fall for them and in this case, the word ‘charm’ allows this to happen. With the male ownership of ‘charm’, the illusion of male social superiority can continue and women can continuously succumb to male dominance in conversation.
Let’s indulge ourselves in the metaphorical murder of Prince Charming.