Academic Men Explain Things to Me

I’m a third-year veterinary student. While we don’t learn about human medicine specifically, the majority of what we know can be applied to humans. So when I developed a sharp pain in my chest that worsened when I breathed deeply, I had a few theories. After three nights when the pain got so bad that I was having trouble breathing, I went to the student health office.

The female doctor there was very helpful. When the pain didn’t respond to an NSAID injection, she suggested that I get a chest radiograph done. Unfortunately, they didn’t offer radiographs at student health on the weekends, so she apologized and suggested that I go to a local urgent care facility. She also mentioned that she was worried about a blood clot, since I was on hormonal birth control. I hadn’t considered a blood clot (my patients are rarely on hormonal birth control), but it made perfect sense to me.

My doctor at the urgent care facility was male. He was compassionate and explained everything excellently. When I mentioned that the previous doctor had been concerned about blood clots, he began a long explanation in layman’s terms about how blood can thicken in the vessels in the legs and then break loose and travel back to the heart where it…

“You mean a deep vein thrombosis?” I interrupted, not feeling like hearing a repeat of something I’d learned in undergrad.

He raised his eyebrows at me. “I see you’ve been online,” he said.

He spoke very little, and sent me straight to radiology after I gave him a frosty, “I’m in vet school.”

I work at a student bar in Sweden. Everyone who works there is rather inexperienced and has not worked in any “real” bars so to speak, but there really isn’t much to it and you learn quickly. 

We have five bar teams and in each of those bar teams there are two team leaders. I am one of them and for a while I was the only female team leader there. I have experienced quite a few moments of mansplaining from my collegues, which I mostly take in stride or joke off. But there was this one time in particular that just really rubbed me the wrong way. 

I had been a team leader for about a year and a half at that point and had worked in the bar for two years total. Needless to say, I know how things work around there. This one day, all the team leaders were all gathered for a meeting at the bar. We had just finished up and were going to give the bar an extra clean as it had been done rather poorly the night before. I went and fetched some mop water and a mop and just as I finished filling up the bucket, someone pats me on the shoulder and I turn around. 

This other team leader is standing there. He had just been promoted a few weeks prior. He gives the bucket I’m holding a look.

Him: “Did you put the detergent in?” 
Me: Uh, yeah. 
Him: I can do it if you haven’t.
Me: …but I have. 
Him: Really? Are you sure? 
Me: …yes. 
Him: Because you need the detergent, otherwise the floor will still be sticky. 

Thank you, Mr. Mansplainer. I would never have guessed after cleaning the floor, say, about fifty times before…

Strange Man: “You bite your nails.”

Me: “What?”

Him: “I’m really observant, and I notice little things like how short your nails are.”

Me: “I don’t bite my nails.”

Him: “You don’t have to be defensive.  It’s cute.”

Me: “I’m not being defensive.  I don’t bite my nails.”

Him: “It’s not a bad thing.  It just means you’re sensitive and thoughtful.”

Me: *sigh* “I’m a professional pianist.  I cut my nails every other day so they don’t click on the keyboard.”

Him: “Hey, you don’t need to make excuses.  I said I think nail-biting is cute.  In fact, can I get your phone number?”

Me: “No.”

(I’m not sure if this counts, since the ‘splainer was a woman, but it sure demonstrates internalized misogyny!)

A classmate of mine in high school went to see the guidance counselor to discuss where she should apply to college. The counselor, a middle-aged Southern woman, told her to not overlook Southern colleges, because “There’s lots of great medical schools in the South.” My classmate replied, “But I don’t want to study medicine. I want to study art.” “Well, you want to marry a doctor, don’t you?”

As an undergraduate in zoology, I worked in a research lab with a couple of other undergrads and two men who were completing their PhDs. Toward the end of my summer with them, one of the PhD candidates pulled me aside to let me know that, while he appreciated how direct I was in speaking to people, I should be careful because not everyone likes that in a woman.

I wasn’t sure whether to ask him if he thought being more oblique and deferential would help my job prospects, or if he really thought I hadn’t yet figured out for myself that some men are put off by my confidence.

I used to go to a Catholic school, even though I’m an atheist, as it was the only school with OK test scores and within walking distance of my house. Obviously the teacher and students were all mostly Republican, though when our teacher taught politics in class she made arguments for both sides and never forced her beliefs on us. (Not like our other teachers, but I won’t get into that.)

At one point I was asked why I wasn’t republican by a fellow male student. I explained to him I didn’t agree with most of the principles of the party, i. e. wanting to make abortion illegal, or not approving of same-sex marriage. Said student cut me off while I was explaining and went on to tell me all about how abortion was wrong, and how and why same-sex marriage was wrong, how “we don’t believe in that here.” And then gave me this look as if he’d just righted a wrong and changed my view on everything. 

I know this guy who is proudly a libertarian and I am proudly not (which is almost enough to leave with out the rest of the story). I was in his truck along with a couple of our friends. And we got into a discussion about taxes. He informed me that congress didn’t have a right to raise taxes. At which point I informed him that he was wrong. The control of Congress over taxes is written into the Constitution. His response to this was, “No it’s not—what amendment is it?” I was shocked because he claimed in the conversation to have read the Constitution. When I informed him that it wasn’t in any of the amendments but the actual articles in the Constitution his response was, “Oh well, I haven’t read that just the amendments.”

I am a student studying both French and English law. Needless to say, I feel rather well-versed when it comes to law, although I am only a student. Also, studying French law includes a slew of history classes in order to fully comprehend the formation of the civil code system. 

I was visiting the Panthéon in Paris with my significant other, an engineering student. For info, the Panthéon is a church-turned-mausoleum for the great French men and women who made an impact on French history, whether it be through politics, art, or war heroism. 

Anyway, throughout the entire visit, my significant other tried to mansplain basic French history to me. This was somewhat frustrating, but I let it slide, even when he tried to tell me who Voltaire was. I was kind of boiling inside when he mansplained to me that the first woman (Marie Curie) was only buried in the Panthéon in 1995 because “women couldn’t make an impact in the old days [referring to the 17th and 18th centuries] because they didn’t have power and were seen as inferior”. 

At one point, he said: “You might be surprised, honey, to see great French men buried in a old church even though France is a “secular state” [insert air quotes here]. You still see a lot of religious imagery because French culture is still hugely based on catholicism. When looking at French law, you can trace the core principles back to the pious Roman times…”

I blew my top and coldly told him “Honey, I know you like to act like a manly know-it-all, but you are an engineering student. I do law. I’m not trying to tell you how atoms work, do not teach me about my major in a condescending tone. Thanks, love”.

He mumbled a half-apology, obviously flustered. Maybe his mansplaining came from a good sentiment, but I hate being treated like a child. 

[Redeeming update: he did later apologize and he has worked on keeping his mansplaining to a minimum, even in situations directly related to his field of study. Some men do change girls!]

I moved to a new country recently and made some new friends. I’m open to new experiences, of course, so one of my new friends decided to introduce me and another guy to the fascinating world of frisbee golf, or disc golf, which I was unaware even existed until that very day, since home country invented golf and tends to stick to the original game.

That said, I was having fun flinging squidgy bits of plastic in the vague direction of the targets. It all seemed a little bit silly to me, but I’m a fan of silliness.

Then a middle-aged male disc golfer invited himself to join our game. He has obviously been playing for a while, he has a bag full of different types of discs, and he knows that the other dude and I have never played before.

Completely ignoring the other newbie, he directs all his very helpful and very important, life-altering frisbee advice in my direction. Of course, he’s passionate about his hobby, which is fine, but then, when my throw is sub-par, he chimes in with, “And that’s why we have the female handicap rule.”

I jocularly respond, “Did I just hear something a little bit sexist?” and he spends the rest of the game saying things like, “Don’t anger this one, she wants to kick me in the balls.”

Maybe I’ll just stick to my rock climbing, hiking, jogging, trail running, swimming, longboarding, cycling, badminton, squash, basketball, juggling, poi and bodyweight workouts.

About a year ago, my apartment window was broken, so I called the building’s maintenance worker to fix it. While he fixed it, he showed me how he did it, saying the entire time “Your husband can just do this himself…” “If your husband has a screwdriver he can push this little thing here back together” “…so just tell your husband that this is the way to fix it.”

I was so shocked at his mansplaining that I didn’t speak up. I’m still kicking myself for letting him get away with that, especially since my young daughter was listening. 

The kicker? He fixed it wrong and it was broken again within the week.

I am in a labor studies class and one recent reading was about washerwomen in the 1800s. This was one of the few ways that women were able to start their own businesses and make money for themselves, and they had created networks of information and skill sharing amongst themselves. However, once these businesses started getting larger and more mechanized, the men started to take notice and published weekly newsletters directed only towards men, “creating” business plans and discussing amazing “new” innovations in laundry services, which of course these women had been doing for many years. The women continued to dominate much of the laundry business because of course, none of these ‘discoveries’ were actually anything new. I wrote my weekly paper that week about how great it would have been if these women had had access to tumblr, and comparing them to an 1800s mansplaining. I got an A.

I work in fashion photography and my company has multiple floors in the same building so I spend a lot of time hauling racks of merchandise up and down the freight elevator. I’ve been there for close to a year and usually move merch multiple times a day, so I’m pretty aware of how much can fit - Three racks at a time. Most of the men (they’re all men) who operate the freight are really nice and helpful, but there’s one who is extremely sexist and prone to outbursts. He once held on of my coworkers on the elevator between floors to yell at her about something that had nothing to do with her job. They won’t fire him, so I’ve memorized when he’s usually on and try my hardest not to move anything during those times.

I had three racks to go upstairs and I thought I had a little time before he got on shift, but he either started early or I miscalculated. I put the racks in and he roughly shoved them into the back of the elevator, making shoes and bags fall off as he’s forcing everything together. As I moved the third rack in, he started saying “You can’t bring any more than that. This elevator only fits three racks at a time.” I told him that I knew that and he explained to me that the reason he couldn’t let me bring all the other racks up (which I didn’t have) is that there was no more room in the elevator and that because we had filled the space it would be impossible to fit it in anything else.

You don’t say.

In my senior year of animation studies I met a man who was older but still in his first year. He’d ask me to look at his projects and I’d give a critique. Usually pointing out the most glaring issues and try to offer a simple solution.

He never fixed any of these problems. He’d also often look insulted by what I was pointing out. I never really thought much about why.

One day I invited him to lunch. We talked about school projects and I mentioned I was stressing over one of mine. My big project was a 30 second sushi restaurant commercial.

I talked about how the rig might not meet my animation needs, and how I may not have enough time to composite everything properly.

To which he replied with a twenty minute explanation on how he always does his homework on Fridays and never Sundays so he can have more time to do what he wants. How its important to not procrastinate on homework and how animation is actually more time consuming than I might realize.

No. Fucking. Shit.

Thanks for the lecture my parents use to give me when I was seven.

When I was studying abroad in London, I started going on some dates with this guy in my program. Our first sort of semi-date was a random trip to a couple of London’s great museums, the Museum of Natural History and the Victorian and Albert. As we were walking through, we both made our interest in academia, art, and history pretty evident. I am an art history major, so I was glad to share some of my thoughts on a costume exhibit at the V&A, and he seemed glad to listen. Yadda yadda.

We were getting along alright, but I did notice some little odd things while we were hanging out. First, he called me “kid” and “kiddo” quite a few times, which I found a bit strange but excused, assuming he may have been trying to overcompensate for nerves or something. But then, the next time we were hanging out— the time when I started to think that maybe I didn’t want to see him anymore— he thought it was ok to tickle me under my arms and comment on the little bit of perspiration that I’d think is always in that area (I guess not for females, though. We’re plastic, perfect little flowers.)

The final exchange that led me to end things with this guy was over coffee one evening. I don’t remember exactly how, but we eventually got on the topic of Greek mythology. Although I don’t know a lot about it, I am familiar with some of the famous myths. When I at one point demonstrated some of my knowledge of the myth of Theseus and Ariadne, the guy, seeming pretty surprised and almost proud like a father, said “Smart girl!”

Whoa, a smart girl? How rare!

So this is more of a stepdadsplained.  Due to losing my job and being unable to find a new one, and being unable to afford my apartment plus bills on unemployment, my 29-year-old self had to move back in with my parents. I have bipolar disorder, and have been in treatment for it for most of my life.  I’ve tried every medication and every treatment that’s come down the pipeline for it. I have a bachelor’s degree, and have lived independently since graduating from college at 22, so I am not new to being independent and all the joys that come from said independence, such as bills.

My stepdad, however, is an engineer, and therefore he can fix everything. We sat down and had a discussion about my current state of unemployment and my current depression. I was trying to explain bipolar disorder to him, and he is convinced he already knows everything because he’s a recovering alcoholic so AA has all the answers. He kept trying to convince me that if I just took my medication, got to bed on time, and attended groups, I would magically be stable and able to work again. Despite my repeated attempts to explain that bipolar disorder doesn’t work like that, he continued to assert that he knew exactly how I feel because he has been depressed before and he just “worked through it” and changed his thinking and was grateful for the things he had, and it works. He also insisted that if I just got more exercise it would make me better, despite my bachelor’s in psychology, six years as a mental health case manager, being in treatment most of my life, working closely with my psychiatrist, psychologist, and GP to find the best treatment plans for me, having TRIED it and found it doesn’t help my overall mood, and quoting a recent large-scale study that found no statistical significance between exercise and depression.  Obviously I don’t know what I’m talking about.

He also decided to explain how credit cards work when I was expressing some incredulity at the fact that my CareCredit card that I used to pay for my cat’s dental work gives me six months to pay off my balance without interest, but didn’t actually provide me with the amount I needed to pay in order to meet that goal, just a “minimum payment” of $25/month, which was not exactly how much I needed to pay. He went into how that’s how credit cards work and that’s how they get you trapped. Thank you, I’ve only had a credit card for a decade now, however could I have possibly understood it without you?

I might not survive living at home.  He stepdadsplained his way through my teenage years, so I do not anticipate much change now that I am an adult who has hit hard times. Clearly it is because I am a woman and haven’t had his sage advice guiding my every move for the last decade or so.