In very right of his manhood, a man is better qualified than a woman to pronounce an opinion upon the advantages specially appertaining to the female sex. Thus, being a man, I deem myself qualified to discourse authoritatively upon the gain and glory of being a woman.

The physical advantages of being a woman are many and various. The gift of Beauty, with all its concomitant delights, belongs to woman, and to her alone. There never was, and it may be safely predicted that there never will be, on earth any such creature as an ugly woman. Nobody ever heard of such a phenomenon. To be a woman is to be beautiful. "Beauty" merely means the sex female.

I have traveled in many lands and mingled with all classes, but I have never yet seen either an ugly woman or a handsome man. One man may possibly be a shade - just a shade - less hideous than another, but no man makes a nearer approach to beauty than that. All men are of necessity ill-shaped and ill-favored, whereas all women are, by a law no less inflexible, symmetrical in form and fair to look upon.

The average woman and the average man.

Widening this inequality is that woman is privileged to dress in the costliest and most fanciful fashion... Whatsoever things are rare and splendid are at her disposal, to make her irresistible. Man - poor devil! - is restricted to the same cut of clothes from generation to generation. His garments seem to be contrived for the express purpose of enhancing his native ugliness and making him look even more ridiculous. He is doomed to ignominious inferiority, and must not dare to emulate the splendor of the angelic sex.

Then consider the physical bother and irritation you escape by the simple expedient of being a woman. A man either wears a beard, in which case he must brush, comb, and oil it, at the great cost of time and trouble daily... A lady may sip soup with a dainty grace, whereas a gentleman is compromised in the most distressing manner by his mustache.

Or he wears no such mustache, in which event he has to submit himself daily to the horrible operation of shaving, a fate which, by virtue of being born without the curse of pubertal development of body and facial hair, a woman will never have to endure... Moreover, she may let her hair grow to the length of her waist. We must have ours cut once a month. Oh! Who would not be a woman.

Men fall easy victim to woman's enchantments... This - in addition to man's relative psychological immaturity (a man comes of age at 60, and a woman at 15) - is one condition which enables women to get what they want from men: man's tendency to be deranged by his own excited penis. When his penis stands up a man's brain takes French leave, which is why a woman who wants to rule a man first gets his penis to stand up and salute her...

Having been exiled at birth from the center of life, the Womb, which Woman retains inside herself for the entirety of her life, Man must strive throughout his life in order to return. This reduces Him to a servant of Woman, driven by his testicles.

This is perhaps the most monstrous curse known to man! The curse of testicles. Says Saint Augustine: "God had given men testicles as a reminder of the irrevocability of original sin." Religious validity disregarded, the unpleasantness is valid! The testicles are that which induce the high libido of Man: perhaps Man's most massive hindrance! Countless moments wasted during unenjoyable things, all in effort to acquire but a brief moment's pleasure.

Not to mention that with libido unappeased, a man may fall victim to Pornography, and be driven into a world of fantasy, forever becoming unsatisfied with the comparatively disappointing realities of life.

Woman, free from this hindrance, and with pleasures of daily life unminimized by the curse of Pornography, can spend the month doing things she enjoys, inconvenienced only a few days a month by ovarian pain of menstruation. Their lower libidos enable them to control the supply, in order to manipulate man's demand. That’s what the strip clubs are about; not woman as victim, not woman as slave, but woman as goddess… Men have to buy women’s attention. It’s not a sign of power; it’s a sign of weakness.



The female chooses. Males pursue, show off, brawl, scuffle, and make general fools of themselves for love. Men will do anything to win the favor of women. No woman has to prove herself a woman in the grim way a man has to prove himself a man. He must perform. Failure and humiliation constantly wait in the wings.

Men are run ragged by female sexuality all their lives. From the beginning of his life to the end, no man ever fully commands any woman. It’s an illusion. Men are pussy-whipped, and they know it. Men are tormented by women’s flirtatiousness and hemming and hawing, their manipulations and changeableness, their humiliating rejections.



Feminism has tried to dismiss the femme fatale as a misogynist libel, a hoary cliche. But the femme fatale expresses woman’s ancient and eternal control of the sexual realm. The specter of the femme fatale stalks all of men’s relationships with women.

There is another benefit to Woman, for the fact that she possesses a Womb. Who has heard of such a society that endangers its female sex, and if they have, did it survive? Self-preservation is the first law of nature; woman-preservation is the first law of civilization. A civilization needs many wombs to maintain a steady population, but just one or a few cocks can do the job. Take 100 women and 1 man and the population growth would remain ideal; take 100 men and 1 woman, and that civilization would rapidly meet its death.

So, who is the last to leave the blazing house? Man. Who stands upon the bridge of the sinking ship and goes down with her into the abysses of the ocean, never to be seen again? Man; still man.

And when war breaks forth, who fights? Who bleeds? Who dies? Who should it be, but man, the unluckiest of rascals? Meanwhile, woman - bless her sweet heart! - remains at her cozy fireside, safe, warm, and comfortable. Thus let it ever be, for our arms should be her protection, and her arms our reward.

Nor is it in times of danger alone that she has the advantage. Whether in war or peace, she has still "the longer end of the stick." Who toils? Who suffers all hardships? Who endures all inclemencies of weather? Who suffers all hardships? Who endures all inclemencies of weather? Who bears the burden and the heat of the day, and the rigor and the darkness of the night? Man - the unlucky rascal, man.

What can be more irksome, duller, more monotonous than the life of a man? What gayer, brighter, more delightful than that of a woman? A man goes out in the morning, and it may be for 6-10 hours afterwards, he is immured within 4 walls. There, in his prison, he toils and moils all day long, in inexorable captivity.

But no sooner has he left his house after breakfast than his wife is at liberty to wander where she pleases. She is queen of herself, that heritage of joy. She sallies forth to see the shops, to spend her husband's money, and to visit her friends.

"Make way for the ladies!” is the law of civilized society, from the equator to either poll. Men were only made to do homage to woman... Woman is the empress of creation, the world is her garden, and man her menial - nothing more... For whom are the tidbits reserved at every feast? Who gets sugar and spice and all things nice? Who's served first and has the best seat at breakfast dinner and supper? Woman, woman, lovely woman! Who pays? Man, the wrench! Who stands by patiently while they are being consumed? Man, hollow-eyed, famine-stricken man…

“Will any gentleman oblige a lady?” asks the omnibus conductor, and no sooner said than done. Out rushes a gentleman in soaking rain and cutting blasts, to oblige a lady whom he’d never seen before, and will probably never seen again. Who ever yet heard of a lady getting out to oblige a gentleman? The notion is monstrous.

Yet another privilege belongs to the female sex, and to them alone: the priceless privilege of Weeping. When any trial arises to warp their temper they can have a good cry and all is over. This celestial solace is denied to man. His heart may be bleeding at every pore, but he must not dare shed a tear. If he does, the finger of derision is pointed at him, and he never more may call himself a man.

Women have more strength in their looks than we have in our laws, and more power by their tears than we have by our arguments. Let the tears but rise to woman's eye, and all is over with "that other animal, man." Be his cause however righteous, he has no other option but to lick the dust! Says Lord Byron:

Oh! Too convincing - dangerously dear,

In woman's eye, the unanswerable tear!

That weapon of her weakness, she can wield

To save, subdue - at once her spear and shield.

What lost a world, and made a hero fly?

That timid tear in Cleopatra's eye.

These are but a few of the splendid advantages of being a Woman. But, let it not be supposed that I would abridge their priceless prerogatives if I had the choice. Perish the ignoble thought! I would enlarge those privileges and multiply those prerogatives one hundred-fold, if it were possible to do so.

The best of everything, their own way, and the last word in every argument - such are the rights of Woman. For my own part, I have never ceased to regret that I am not one, and a mother of nine children to boot.

The next dearest blessing that can befall a human being, after not having been born at all, is to have been born a woman.