Christina Explains It All

Idly leafing through the Internet the other day somehow I found myself reading this majestic pile of crap, written for Esquire Magazine by Christina Hendricks. Christina is the Celeb World's latest manifestation of the Every Woman, so-imagined because she has breasts and hips and doesn't resemble an overly made-up Skeletor. Ignoring the fact that she is at least eighteen thousand times more beautiful than most people, she is being lorded as an average woman who can speak for all the women in the whole world.

Those men reading Esquire will presumably be relieved to finally have our delicate, paisley psyches translated for them by the obviously-completely-normal Christina. I have cut and pasted some of the article below, but you can read the whole thing here.

(Christina's pearls of wisdom are in bold, mine are not.)

If we haven't smelled you for a day or two and then we suddenly are within inches of you, we swoon. We get light-headed. It's intoxicating. It's heady.

Oh, there is nothing we like more than to rush up to you when you walk through the door, push our faces into your glorious, manly armpits and inhale. If we haven't seen you for a few days, and in those few days you happen not to have showered, so much the better. You know us women, we love a good swoon. But remember, Esquire Men, with great power comes great responsibility! Do not unleash your pheromone powers on us when we are operating heavy machinery. We are not insured against Acts of God-like Men.

When you mention in passing that a certain woman is attractive...your comment goes into a steel box and it stays there forever. We will file the comment under "Women He Finds Attractive." It's about learning what you think is sexy and how we might be able to convey it. It's about keeping our man by knowing what he likes.

Yes! Yes, that's what "it" is all about. Thank goodness. I can stop pretending that inferior little me could possibly be good enough for a man, and instead focus my pretty little attention on the real task of attempting to become an amalgamation of every attractive woman in the whole world. Of course. That's what "it's" about. I will also be taking myself in for an x-ray in an attempt to find this "steel box" I am carrying around. I was wondering why my head felt so heavy all the time.

We also remember everything you say about our bodies, be it good or bad. Doesn't matter if it's a compliment. Could be just a comment. Those things you say are stored away in the steel box, and we remember these things verbatim. We remember what you were wearing and the street corner you were standing on when you said it.

That steel box sure is getting full. This is why I cannot get much else into my brain, because my steel box of Stuff You Say About Me Or Any Other Woman Ever takes up so much room. What with that and all that walking and breathing in and out I am forced to do all the time, it's not surprising that all I want to do the rest of the time is sitting about waiting for you to grace my nose with your armpit.


Never complain about our friends — even if we do. No matter how many times we say a friend of ours is driving us crazy, you are not to pile on. Not because it offends us. But because it adds to the weight that we carry around about her.

Do not add your opinions to the "weight" I carry around! Only talk about my friends if it is to compare my body/face with theirs and therefore give me something to add to my list of Ways I Can Be More Like Other Women So As To Be More Attractive To You.


We want you to order Scotch. It's the most impressive drink order. It's classic. It's sexy. Such a rich color. The glass, the smell. It's not watered down with fruit juice. It's Scotch. And you ordered it.

I don't care what you like to drink. No drink-tastes will be filed away in my steel box. Drink Scotch like a fucking MAN, you pansy. Fruit juice is for girls.

Stand up, open a door, offer a jacket. We talk about it with our friends after you do it. We say, "Can you believe he stood up when I approached the table?" It makes us feel important. And it makes you important because we talk about it.

Sometimes in the world I feel so unimportant. The universe is so big and I am so small, and nothing I do will ever change that. There is so much injustice and intolerance, how can I, one tiny, insignificant being, really make any diffe... Wait! OMG did you just open that door? I AM THE QUEEN OF THE GALAXY! Problem solved.

No man should be on Facebook. It's an invasion of everyone's privacy. I really cannot stand it.


But it's alright for women. We need something to do between all that swooning and steel box-maintenance.


You don't know this, but when we come back from a date, we feel awkward about that transition from our cute outfit into sexy lingerie. We don't know how to do this gracefully. It's embarrassing. We have to find a way to slip into another room, put on the outfit as if it all happened very easily, and then come out and it's: Look at me! Look at the sexy thing I've done! For you, it's the blink of an eye. It's all very embarrassing. Just so you know.

You don't know this, but it takes quite a lot of practice to make slipping into a clown costume look easy. As we shuffle awkwardly into the bedroom, trying not to trip over our massive shoes and smiling shyly out from behind our big red noses, we sometimes feel a pang of girly embarrassment. We do it for you. It's all for you. Just so you know.


Panties is a wonderful word. When did you stop saying "panties"? It's sexy. It's girlie. It's naughty. Say it more.

Job interview? Funeral? War crimes tribunal? You know the magic word!


There are better words than beautiful. Radiant, for instance. It's an underused word. It's a very special word. "You are radiant." Also, enchanting, smoldering, intoxicating, charming, fetching.

Better yet, lean in very close to me, stroke a stray wisp of hair from my simpering face, and scream the word PANTIES at me over and over again until my eyes bleed.

Marriage changes very little. The only things that will get a married man laid that won't get a single man laid are adultery and whores. Intelligence and humor (and your smell) are what get you laid. That's what got you laid when you were single. That's what gets you laid when you're married. Everything still works in marriage: especially intelligence and humor. Because the sexiest thing is to know you.


After the word panties, obviously.