Feminism or Femininity?

I think it all started with Debussy. My love affair with French culture, that is. Appropriately, it was a short prélude from Debussy's set of 24 Préludes, my petite ouverture of sorts to the world of everything French. Eventually over the years, I came to read Camus, Barthes, Derrida, and now the poets Baudelaire and Mallarmé. Then came the pleasure of French food, many a days as simple as a croissant and café at Paul's. And in a matter of days I'll be in Paris again, but this time with Ravel.

Perhaps my affinity for the French is in part due to the similarities between French and Chinese culture: depth, sensitivity, refinement. The French understand that the highest form of sophistication is in suggestion, to never state anything explicitly but simply to allude with a kaleidescope of nuances. French music, more than any other music, requires this capacity of imagination in sound, colour, image, coupled with sensitivity. It is not for the brash and straightforward. It is for the coquettish. All in all, the French understand that suggestion is about the most seductive thing on earth.

And this is the essence of the femme. With American women brazen in suits and determined to thrive in a man's world, where is there room for femininity? Je ne sais quoi. They attempt to market themselves as products for men to consume, never appearing vulnerable but always in control. They display their strength like trophies, and pride themselves on emasculating men while still at the very core, wanting a man. American extremism somehow crushes the subtleties of falling in love. In the end, they leave nothing to the imagination. The greatest misconception is that femininity signals weakness, but it is not so simple. Femininity is complex -- it is a state of mind, the pleasure of innuendos, the unspoken -- at times submissive, at times willful, sometimes aloof. It is always mysterious, and therein lies the power of the femme. Because the art of seduction is in mystery, not power suits.

Femininity is a bundle of contradictions that coexist perfectly. It is an unabashed love of pleasure and all things sensual. It is not just about lace and the colour pink. Femininity is about suggestion. Leave feminism to the Americans!


Mon nouveau fétiche

Tricks Are For Kids

My girlfriend and I went to Tea Palace in Notting Hill for afternoon tea and cakes, then leisurely strolled the boutique-lined streets until we hit one of London's gems for Chinese food (no, not Hakkasan). After standing in a queue for almost an hour, we finally sat down and ordered the restaurant's specialty: Roast duck.

Roast duck, pork, and char-siu with rice. And on the menu for conversation: Men.

We told stories of the men we loved, the men who hurt us, the men who fooled us. Before long, we had worked up quite the appetite and proceeded to order the clay pot of double braised pork belly.

"Pork belly for take-away?" asked the waiter.

"No, for here. And also, add rice", I said, pointing to our empty rice bowls. The waiter betrayed a look of shock first, then smirked like he was impressed.

See, men who are up to tricks are up to the same old tricks. And girls who have been tricked can spend an entire evening dishing out the dirt over a clay pot of double braised pork belly. It seems that there is a certain kind of girl that is more susceptible to trickery, and it is the kind that believed so whole-heartedly in love of the noblest kind. After all, it takes a certain kind of innocence to love someone ecstatically, deeply, with devotion and without reserve. In a word: madly. Until one has been tricked. And suddenly, love is not as simple or open anymore.

And herein lies the question, which is whether or not one can ever love as purely again. The optimistic answer is yes, but it boils down to a matter of trust. And this is no small thing. The other question is whether or not men who are up to tricks can ever love purely, but this is a question that even they themselves cannot answer. They that fool others cannot be lovers of truth and thus most probably fool themselves as well. Either that or the only person he will ever really love is himself.

Years later, with an empty clay pot before us, we sip our tea in silence as young women reflecting on our girlhoods. A bit damaged, but still alive and stronger. And definitely wiser. We now know the tricks, have learned the tricks, even used the tricks out of hurt. But let's face it, tricks are for kids.