[With the coming political fight between Trump, a sort of Progressive Republican, on the one hand, and Bernie/Hillary, hard Left and corrupt, on the other, we need to recognize that the real war in the next few years isn’t at the national political level but, instead, is the fight on the ground, with the culture war. It was Andrew Breitbart who said that politics isn’t upstream of culture but is downstream from it. Conservatives can’t win when our young people have been educated with our tax dollars to hate the First Amendment, love communism, and think gender is negotiable. I’m therefore re-posting my gender parable, which got sort of lost with Trump’s victory, and which I think speaks to the real battles we face.]
After reading David French’s Small Acts of Cowardice Are Destroying Our Culture, I realized that it’s time to update Hans Christian Andersen’s The Emperor’s New Clothes:
Once upon a time, there was an Emperor who loved clothes. He loved them so much that his subjects openly acknowledged that their Emperor was a true metrosexual — not that there’s anything wrong with that. They were almost proud of the fact that he spent a ridiculous amount of money, mostly culled from taxes, staying ahead of the trends. One week it was skinny jeans. The next week it was jeggings. After that, it was a man bun. The beard came and went. He’d gone from the military camo look to the preppie in pink look. There was always some new style to follow, so much so that the courtiers, when the Emperor wasn’t available, wouldn’t politely say, “The Emperor is meeting with his council.” Instead, no matter where he actually was, you could pretty safely say, “The Emperor is with his stylist.”
Still, despite the endless fashion nuances he pursued, the Emperor felt he was missing something. There’s only so much you can do with a man bun and jeggings. Eventually, you’ve tattooed every inch of skin, both exposed and hidden . . . so what’s left?
Fortunately for the Emperor, his capital city was at a great crossroads, with new people appearing every day. One day, amongst the throng that regularly made its way into the city came two swindlers, Pat and Chris.
Being talented grifters, of course, Pat and Chris didn’t announce that they were swindlers. Instead, they announced that they had come from Paris, and were incredibly fashion-forward trendsetters with a knack for cutting-edge designs. They made sure that everyone knew that, if someone wanted to be a style leader, that person should look to them for unparalleled fabrics and designs. Indeed, their designs were so extraordinary, they warned, that only people with the utmost taste, sophistication, and, yes, humanism, would be able to recognize their wonders.
Naturally, the Emperor soon heard about Pat and Chris. “Those would be just the clothes for me,” thought the Emperor. “Once I’m in those clothes, by watching the reactions of those around me, I can instantly tell who is worthy in my court, and who needs to be exiled (or worse) for failing to keep abreast of the trends that matter so much to me.”
Without further ado, the Emperor summoned Pat and Chris to his Court and ordered them to design clothes for him.
Pat and Chris went away from the Court for two long weeks. The Emperor was on tenterhooks during their absence. Without them, he’d be unable to tell the wise from the foolish and the good from the bad in his Court. It was therefore a great day when Pat and Chris finally returned, bearing in their wake seven exquisite chests that were obviously bursting with clothes.
The moment they set foot in Court, the Emperor rushed them to his dressing room, clapping his hands in excited expectation. He imagined multicolored trousers, shirts laden with design details, and possibly running shoes that would be comfortable and give him some height.
To the Emperor’s surprise, what Chris and Pat pulled out of the seven trunks were dresses . . . and petticoats . . . and high heeled shows . . . and fancy corsets, along with all the other accouterments of the well-dressed female.
The Emperor was outraged! “What do you mean by bringing me clothes fit only for my wife?”
Before Chris and Pat could answer, the Emperor continued speaking, almost as if to himself. “Still, those dresses really are stunning. Look at those colors, and the amazing design details. My wife would be the best-dressed woman in the Empire were she to wear them. But that’s just wrong. Nobody can be better dressed than I am!”
“Your Imperial Majesty, please, give us a moment. It’s true that no one in the empire can be better dressed than you. The problem, as we see it — and we are, after all, the trendiest of stylists — is that you’ve hit a dead-end with your men’s clothes. There are only so many ways to style trousers and shirts. Women’s clothes, however, are virgin territory for you. And because they’re more complex than men’s clothes, the possibilities are endless.”
The Emperor was intrigued. “I understand what you say, but I’m a man. How can I wear women’s clothes?”
The swindlers were waiting for this question. Chris answered for both of them. “Your Imperial Majesty, you are the most powerful person in the empire. Why must you bind yourself to a single gender, one that prevents you from achieving true fashion greatness? As the Emperor, you can be any gender you want. Who is to gainsay you?”
This was a thrilling idea indeed. The Emperor saw a vision of himself. Suddenly, he wasn’t just the ruler of a vast empire, nor the trendiest of men. Instead, by switching genders according to his moods, he could be the trendiest of all, without being limited solely to men’s clothes.
“Yes! Dress me!”
When he left his dressing room, the Emperor was a vision in pink, from his cunning feathered hat, to the rhinestone encrusted merry widow corset pinching his waist in, just a little bit, while showcasing his newly waxed chest and pierced nipples, to the rippling floor-length pink silk skirt that billowed over what must surely have been the largest hooped petticoat in the city, possibly the whole Empire. On his size 11 feet, he had pink and silver slave shoes, with four-inch heels. They weren’t that comfortable (neither was the merry widow corset, to be honest), but the Emperor knew that he had reached a whole new level of imperial majesty — and woe unto any of his subjects who said differently.
The Emperor proudly, if slightly unsteadily on those heels, strutted towards his Council chambers. Assembled there were all his ministers. As the Emperor entered into the room, Pat loudly announced, “Bow down before her Imperial Majesty!”
There was a shocked silence from the assembled ministers, and then the buzz of dozens of whispers. The bravest minister stepped forward. “Ah, your imperial majesty. We were not expecting. . . .” His voice trailed off as he struggled to address the lavishly gowned vision before him. The Emperor smiled grandly.
“Ah, Minister! We understand. You were expecting us to appear as a male. But today, we are a female. Only in that way can we reach our full fashion potential.”
Absorbing this new concept, the assembled ministers again fell silent. And then, one after another, as each pictured what would happen to his power were he to question the Emperor’s gender identity, they fell over themselves to praise him.
“Your Imperial Highness, that pink is exquisite on you!”
“Your Majesty, that merry widow makes your waist look as dainty as a the stem of a beautiful rose.”
“Majesty, I think I’m in love.”
If the Emperor wished to be a woman, who were they to disagree?
The next day, the ministers and other courtiers were ready to greet Her Imperial Highness. To their surprise, however, the Emperor appeared before them wearing, not a dress . . . but not trouser’s either. Instead, one leg was tightly encased in a pale blue jegging, while the other leg had a primrose chiffon skirt draped around it. A peek-a-poo shirt, in matching pale blue and primrose, came to just below pierced nipples, revealing a diamond-studded belly button almost lost in a sea of hair. It appeared that, while the Emperor had waxed his chest the day before, he hadn’t waxed his midsection.
Again, the courtiers and ministers were stunned into silence. What was the Emperor today?
“Today, I am non-gender specific,” the Emperor announced. “Gender is too limiting for my fashion forward greatness and infinite humanity. In future, you will avoid referring to me as ‘him’ or ‘her.’ Henceforth, I am ‘ze.’ Also, I am neither Emperor nor Empress. I am your Emperoress.”
The assembled crowd dutifully nodded and a few cheers rang out.
As the days passed, every denizen of the court spent vast amounts of money buying a wardrobe to suit every possible gender identity. Within a week, the court was boasting more than 50 gender identities, with the courtiers determining who and what they were every morning. Chris and Pat quickly became the wealthiest people in the empire.
This sea-change in sexual identity had taken place within the confines of the imperial palace. As of yet, none of the citizens outside the palace walls had seen these changes. They had heard, of course, that the imperial court had taken a quantum leap in terms of trendiness. They knew, too, that the new fashion statement was so unique, and so ahead of its time, that only the most intelligent, the most chic, and the most moral humanists could recognize it for what it was.
So it was that the town’s people were incredibly excited when they heard that the very next day, there was to be a royal progress through the town so that everyone could see the members of the court. Early in the morning of the appointed day, the people began to assemble along the parade route, fighting for the best vantage points.
Suddenly, trumpets blared, the drawbridge before the palace slowly lowered, and the massed crowds were almost blinded by the spectacle of courtiers in dazzling clothes walking across the drawbridge and towards the town,”
“Make way, make way,” shouted the soldiers. “Make way for the Emperoress and zir court!”
The townspeople looked at each other, baffled. “What’s an Emperoress?” they asked. “Zir court? What does that mean?”
As the parade drew closer, though, they saw exactly what it meant. The Emperor . . . er, Emperoress was attired in a truly ravishing dress made out of gold lace. It clung tightly to his, er, zir figure, which was boosted with well-padded breasts, including prominent nipples. At the hips the dress flared out in soft, diagonally-cut folds. The skirt was slit to the thigh on the left, revealing that the Emperoress was wearing red silk thigh high stockings held up by diamond encrusted garters.
When ze walked past them, they saw that the dress had no back but, instead, was cut down to reveal zir butt cleavage, which had been dusted with gold powder. The man bun was gone. In its place, the Emperoress had bone-straight hair to zir shoulders, streaked in all the colors of the rainbow. Ze’d kept zir beard, though, which was now dyed a rather fabulous purple. On zir feet were “come-shtup-me” shoes with four-inch heels and lacing halfway up zir calves.
The courtiers and ministers, while careful not to compete with the Emperoress’s overtly sort-of feminine glamor, were equally eye-catching, and equally gender complex. The Prime Minister wore a tight bustier over denim crop pants. Ze had dyed his long gray beard seafoam green, and had spangled zir grizzled locks with sparkling little butterflies. The Emperoress’s wife was wearing a skintight bodystocking that revealed every detail of the 10-inch long dildo ze had stuffed into zir crotch. On zir feet, ze had heavy combat boots. Zir hair was a mesmerizing complex of braids and ringlets reaching halfway down zir back.
As the procession continued down the street, the townspeople, forwarned that only the most intelligent, sophisticated, fashion-forward, and morally humanist people could appreciate this new look, were loud in their approval. As the royal progress made its way through town, everyone in the streets and leaning out the windows said, “Oh, how fine are all those new clothes! Don’t they fit everyone to perfection, revealing their freedom from limiting biological constructs such as penises and beards, or vaginas, breasts, and nipped in waists?”
No one would confess that they liked a world with two sexes, one of which the French had so aptly said “Viva la difference!” It seemed to them peculiar that one could so quickly erase biological differences and pretend that men weren’t stronger and faster, and that women weren’t biologically suited to bear and raise children. Nevertheless, it was clear that such views were backwards and hate-filled. After all, if moral humanists accepted gender fluidity, only hate-filled people rejected it.
With these thoughts foremost in their minds, the townspeople silenced the cognitive dissonance and, instead, loudly and at length applauded the court’s new fashions.
And then, to everyone’s surprise, a high-pitched child’s voice rose above the noise of the crowd.
“Why are the men dressed like ladies? Why are the ladies dressed like men? And why are some of them dressed like nothing at all?”
The child’s father looked aghast. “My child knows nothing. Ignore what ze said!”
But the assembled crowd did not ignore it. People from the Emperoress on down began to whisper to one another. “That child is saying that gender is fixed. Ze thinks that people can’t be gender fluid!”
And then, turning as one, they fell upon the hapless child, and ripped zir little body to shreds, leaving only torn flesh and bloodstains on the pavement were only a minute before ze had stood.