The inevitable has finally happened. During my Paradise ICON critique* last week, I was accused of writing in a way that appealed mainly to men. It was even suggested to me that women didn’t want to read this sort of thing.
Honestly, I’m amazed this hasn’t happened sooner.
I don’t consider myself a poster child for testosterone poisoning. I’m basically a geek. I could design a small-office network and build their internal applications. I don’t really understand sports, but I could probably teach marching band. I prefer wine to beer. And my hobby is writing.
However, I think there are some things which are true of at least 95% of human beings with Y chromosomes. No matter how sensitive we are, no matter how much we believe in gender equality, no matter how proud we are of the strong female influences in our lives, boobs tend to draw our attention, to put us off our game even. I even know a few women who get distracted at the sight of a nice pair.
Is it cliche to write about men liking boobs? Is it cliche to write about joy or sadness or hope or love? Could any true male protagonist (or a few female protagonists) ignore vast tracts of well displayed cleavage? No. I say. Not ever. For when I write about men being distracted by boobs, I write about the human condition.
* I really didn’t come here to complain about it. I just couldn’t think of anything else to write about.