I think today I'm going to open with a comment I overheard my grandmother say to a sister years ago, and that's "harder ways to make money than laying on your back". Now, I have no clue why she said this, and it was definitely not the typical kind of statement out of her mouth. This was the same woman who had not long before told me to not allow any man to dance me close to the door… sure there's a story there, but in every aspect, she seemed highly prudish, so this statement was like a big honking urggggg?
It fits into this idea that there are two kinds of women… whores and ladies.
Before we start digging really deep, I should warn everyone that I'm going to be using the word pussy a lot in this episode because frankly, no other name for female genitalia works as well in this conversation. It's a powerful word… one that has power in terms of the connotation. It's this version that is tied with bringing men to their feet, and why it's also used as a negative slur to a man who doesn't stand up for himself.
It's a powerful word, and so I'm using that… if it's an issue, guess I'll see ya next episode.
Granted this is changing in Western culture, largely in the past couple of generations, but damn does it still hold strong all over, including in many places here in the U.S… people just don't say it out loud as much.
At the root is the idea, going back to last week, of sellability, and the idea that is understood pretty early, and that is that men will do some stupid ass shit for even the hope of a bit of vag. As soon as we turn around 13, every woman I know has had the joy of understanding that men now acted… different. It's usually around this age that most girls get cat-called for the first time. How a girl deals with these attentions is a big deal… no matter where you stand on the subject, and there tend to be a few different reactions.
The shy girls who rolly-polly and hide themselves in clothing… either really big or really weird… or both. For some it hides the newly developed form, and the weird becomes a distraction from the form to the why a girl would dress like that… why wouldn't she want attention? Is she trying to scare people? It's total mind warfare, even if realized only on a subconcious level.
For those a bit more comfortable with the male gaze and attention, there are two approaches that seem to be obsessed about through the cultural sub-conscious. Let's call them the whore and the tease. The whore is open with her sexuality and uses it to her advantage. There is a clear exchange of something. If not money, it's things that are being exchanged.
I think a great example of this is in Silk Sonic's "Smoking out the Window" where Paak sings "This bitch got me payin' her rent, payin' for trips. Diamonds on her neck, diamonds on her wrist
And here I am all alone"
Here the man has given things in exchange for the vag… and let's be honest that's what's happening here. It's clear that this is not a love for her personality or brain, and it's the same reason people talk about how a man can get "pussy-whipped”. They don't say… humor-whipped… it's pussy whipped.
So, while in Smokin Out the Window, the woman meets her end of the exchange by giving it up…. She also doesn't see it as a bought situation, but a lease situation.
You are renting that pussy, and she is free to rent to whoever is willing to give in exchange for it. If this were a relationship based on mutual love, understanding, and respect, then this wouldn't be the case, but we aren't talking about those healthy relationships.
We are looking at those fiery, passionate relationships based primarily on sexual attraction and money.
The other side of this same game is the woman who let's a man buy her things… and accepts them… but never gives over said pussycat. Today we call her the tease… and there are many arguments about how men should be giving without expecting something in return, and I 100% agree with this. I also 100% think that if a man is showing interest by giving you shit, and you have no interest in him, you kindly give that shit back, and explain you aren't interested…. Like a god-damn lady.
If he keeps it up.. You keep giving it back… it's a clear signal that you aren't interested, and if he keeps persisting, you have a stalker and call the po-po.
So today, we are looking at two songs, one that looks at these two types of women, the one who's too good for the sheets and one who's for the streets.
First, let's look at a girl who placed a bit too much value on her… valuables?
The full title is THE High prized Pin-Box. This Damzel she doth set great store by her Pin-box brisk and rare, But every ordinary Whore hath got such kind of ware and it was published between 1681 and 1684
I think we call it The High Prized Pin-Box, and I also don’t think I need to clarify what Pin-box refers to.
It reads:
I Have a gallant Pin-box
the like you ne'r did see,
It is where never was the Pox,
something above my knee:
O 'tis a gallant Pin-box,
you never saw the peer;
Then Ile not leave my Pin-box
for Fifty pound a year.
My Pin-box is the Portion
my mother left with me;
Which gaines me much promotion;
and great tranquility:
It doth maintain me bravely,
although all things are dear;
Then Ile not leave my Pin-box
for Fifty pound a year.
My Pin-box is a treasure
which many men delights:
For therewith I can pleasure
both Earles, Lords, and Knights;
If they shall use my Pin-box
they will not think it dear,
Although that it doth cost them
an hundred pound a year.
The Parson and the Vicar
though they are Holy men,
Yet no man shall be quicker
to use my Pin-box, when
They think no man doth know it;
for that is all their fear:
Then Ile not leave my Pin-box
for Fifty pound a year.
The cogging cheating Lyer
that doth all men abuse,
Will speak me very fair
my Pin-box for to use;
Yea, and will be as liberal
as any that come there:
Then ile not leave my Pin-box
for an hundred pound a year.
The Usurer that grindeth
to get Use upon Use,
Often a time he findeth
to come to play with Puss;
Yea, and will give me something,
saying take this my dear:
Then ile not leave my Pin-box
for an hundred pound a year.
The grievous hard Curmugeon
that lives upon brown bread,
Unto me will be trudging,
if that he be not sped;
Yea, and will give me something,
though little he will spare:
Then ile not leave my Pin-box
for an hundred pound a year.
The Chyrurgion and the Doctor,
that doth both cure and kill,
The Chanceller and Proctor,
and the Paritor will
Bestow large gifts upon me,
if that they shall come there:
Then ile not leave my Pin-box
for an hundred pound a year.
The Grocer and the Draper
that liveth on their Trades,
Will leap and skip and caper
and think themselves brave blades,
And for to use my Pin-box,
they will give me some Ware:
Then ile not leave my Pin-box
for an hundred pound a year.
The Dairy-men and Farmers
that liveth on their Stocks,
Who love to fill their garners,
and to increase their flocks;
For the use of my Pin-box,
the best of it will spare:
Then ile not leave my Pin-box
for an hundred pound a year.
The Clothier, and the Dyer,
and Tucker drest with flocks,
Doth very oft desire
for to use my Pin-box;
And though they hard doth labour,
yet something they will spare,
Then ile not leave my Pin-box
for an hundred pound a year.
The Wool-comber that labours
for's living with his Combes,
Will sell them, and the Weavers
will do away their Loomes,
And all to use my Pin-box,
because it is so rare,
Then ile not leave my Pin-box
for an hundred pound a year.
.
The Butcher that is killing,
sometimes of Cow and Calf,
Is very often willing
to give me more than half
For the use of my Pin-box,
and will not think it dear:
Then ile not leave my Pin-box
for an hundred pound a year.
The man that live by's labour,
those piteous ragged sots,
Will think it a great favour
for to use my Pin-box;
And though he gets but little
yet something he will spare,
Then ile not leave my Pin-box
for an hundred pound a year.
And to be short there's no man,
let him be high or low,
That did come of a woman
but will some Coyn bestow
For the use of my Pin-box,
because it is so rare:
Then ile not leave my Pin-box
for an hundred pound a year.
But to conclude my Ditty,
and my most harmless Song
If any in the City
or the Country doth long
For the use of my Pin-box,
and will some money spare,
Then they shall use my Pin-box
as long as they can stare.
Now… that last stanza I’d have removed… I think the writer may have been attempting that flip that happens in the last couplet of a sonnet, but the meaning gets muddled. The rest of the ballad has an interesting inverse happening. When she’s talking about letting lords and knights have at her box, it’s a cheaper amount in her refrain… not for 50 pounds. Then as it goes down the social ladder, she goes up to 100 pounds.
Now often, the singer had some leeway in the refrain to make it their own, and I can imagine a good singer would have continued to raise this price to show how foolish or unrealistically vain the speaker was being.
It creates a fantastically absurd tone, but then that last stanza comes in, and she basically says anyone can have it. Perhaps as a last bit effort to show that she sets herself so high for so long that in the end she is desperate for everyone. In that case, the amount in the refrain should continuously lower as she lowers her standards.
The reality of most of history is that as a woman, your choices were not exactly grand when it came to surviving. If you were super lucky, you’d marry early, and he’d die off… leaving you a widow who had the most freedom a woman could have. If you drug your feet too long, or kept your standards too high, you could end up not being able to marry at all, which meant that you’d have to earn a living in some way, and depending on the class, but mostly it was things such as service, seamstress, governess, or whore. There are some exceptions in there of course, usually a widow who took over when her husband died, so she ran the bakery/pub/boarding house etc. If you’ve been listening, you know what could and would very often happen to women or girls in those roles more respectable service roles…
Now to contrast, let’s look at a girl who openly owns the power of her box, and uses it to the fullest of her advantage.
This Marke was her old Mothers gift, Shee teacheth all Mayds how to shift… or let’s call it Fayre Portion, and it was written between 1623-1661.
NOw all my Friends are dead and gone,
alas what shall betide me,
For I poore maid am left alone
without a house to hide me:
Yet still Ile be of merry cheere,
and have kind welcome every where
Though I have but a Marke a yeare,
And that my mother gave me.
I scorne to thinke of poverty,
or wanting food or cloathing,
Ile be maintayned gallantly,
and all my life want nothing;
A frolicke minde Ile alwayes beare,
my poverty shall not appeare,
Though I have but a marke a yeare,
And that my mother gave me.
Though I am but a silly Wench
of countrey education,
Yet I am wood by Dutch and French,
and almost every nation:
Both Spaniards and Italians sweare
that with their hearts they love me deare,
Yet I have but a Marke a yeare,
And that my mother gave me.
The Welch the Irish and the Scot,
since I came to the Citie,
In love to me are wondrous hot,
they tell me I am pretty:
Therefore to live I will not feare,
for I am sought with many a teare,
Yet I have but a Marke a yeare,
And that my mother gave me.
This London is a gallant place
to raise a Lasses fortune;
For I that came of simple race,
brave Roarers doe importune:
I little thought in Wostersheere
to find such high preferment here,
For I have but a Marke a yeare,
and that my mother gave me.
One gives to me perfumed Gloves,
the best that he can buy me,
Live where I will I have the loves
of all that doe live nigh me:
If any new toyes I will weare.
I have them cost they nere so deare,
And this is for a marke a yeare,
And that my mother gave me.
My fashions with the Moone I change,
as though I were a Lady;
All quaint conceits, both new and strange,
Ile have as soone as may be;
Your courtly Ladies I can leere,
In cloaths but few to me come neare,
Yet I have but a Marke a yeare,
And that my mother gave me.
FRench gownes with sleeves like pudding-bags
I have at my requesting:
Now I forget my countrey rags,
and scorne such plaine investing:
My old acquaintance I casheere,
and of my kin I hate to heare,
Though I have but a marke a yeare,
And that my mother gave me.
My Petty-coats of Scarlet brave,
of Velvet, silke and Sattine:
Some students oft my love doe crave,
that speake both Greeke and Latine,
The Souldiers for me domineere,
and put the rest into great feare,
All this is for a marke a yeare,
And that my mother gave me.
The Precisian sincerely woes,
and doth protest he loves me,
He tires me out with Ies and noes,
and to impatience moves me:
Although an oath he will not sweare,
to lye at no time he doth feare,
All this is for a Marke a yeare,
And that my mother gave me
My Coach drawne with foure Flanders mares
each day attends my pleasure,
The Water-men will leave their fares
to waite upon my leasure:
Two Lackies labour every where,
and at my word run farre and neere,
Though I have but a marke a yeare,
And that my mother gave me.
It’s pleasantst place the Suburbs yeelds,
my lodging is prepared:
I can walke forth into the fields,
where beauties oft are aired;
When Gentlemen doe spy me there,
some complements Ime sure to heare,
Though I have but a marke a yeare,
And that my mother gave me.
Now if my friends were living still,
I would them all abandon,
Though I confesse they lovd me well,
yet I so like of London,
That farewell Dad and Mammy deare,
and all my friends in Worstershire:
I live well with a Marke a yeare,
Which my old mother gave me.
I would my sister Sue at home,
knew how I live in fashion,
That she might up to London come
to learne this occupation:
For I live like a Lady here,
I weare good cloaths and eate good cheare
Yet I have but a Marke a yeare,
And that my mother gave me.
Now blessed be that happy day
that I came to the Citie;
And for the Carrier will I pray,
before I end my Ditty.
You Maidens that this Ditty heare,
though meanes be short, yet never feare,
For I live with a Marke a yeare,
Which my old mother gave me.
Like… this girl owns being what most would consider a "whore” or "for the streets"... but when you think of the other options… can you blame her? She states all her friends are dead, so she can't turn to them.
Now, I think this gives us the perfect opportunity to talk about a historically famous box, that of Nell Gwyn, the main mistress of Charles II. She goes to prove just how much using both the mind and box can take you. First off, we don't know her exact date of birth, but a couple of different sources place it as either 1642 or 1650. Outside of that, we don't know much about her early life, a marker that she was not of the aristocratic class. If she had been, while we probably wouldn't have had much based on her being a female, we would have at least a few more solidly square facts… but we don't. If you want to look at all the different theories, I've linked her Wiki in the show notes.
What we do know is that she made her way onto the stage in the West-end, which had only relatively recently started to allow women on stage. She immediately got attention for being vivacious, witty, and hilarious… not to mention beautiful. All of these attributes would gain her the attention of those men of power, and because she was a smartie, she used it to the best of her advantage to gain a safer and more secure place in society, therefore giving her financial security as well.
By 1665, she's mentioned by a very important person to this podcast, Thomas Percy, who was a huge ballad and broadsheet collector. I'd really say he understood the importance of popular media in terms of historical importance. He actually created a term that has remained her top descriptor, "pretty, witty, Nell".
That comedy aspect is an important part of Nell, because, while beautiful, it was that humor that gained her the love of so many, and anyone who knows about comedy knows you have to be sharp as a tack to do it well because it involves being observant to human nature, and quick enough to respond to words and actions in a way that will lighten any tensions in the air and create laughter.
Her talent was enough to get her included into The King's Company, which would have been the theater group to perform for the king.
There's a ton of politicin between then and when she becomes his mistress, but ya girl became the mistress of the king, and not just a short-lived on either, and it was all due to that wit. Granted, there were other mistresses on the side, but none as important or as long-lived as Nell. She even gave him two sons, Charles and James, and had parliament put the royal property she lived at into her name… that's right, the girl who used to sell oranges in the street now could get parliament to sign property over to her.
She owned herself so much that she wasn't afraid to own to being a whore, once breaking up a fight between her coachman and another saying, "I am a whore. Find something else to fight about."
I love it. Yet, it begs the question of why society looks down so much on a woman being so pragmatic and not afraid to take what is offered for sex if it gets her a more secure lifestyle. I mean, is it really that different than a woman who stays married to a man because it means keeping a roof over her head and food on the table?
What if she has children to provide for? If she can make 1k in an 8th of the time on something like Onlyfans, and then be able to not only provide better for her children but also be able to spend more quality time with them… is that really so horrible?
Or is it worse for a mother to keep her dignity and work three jobs to the point that she's always exhausted, and only gets to see her kids for brief moments at the end of the day?
A great example of that is in Bobby Gentry's Fancy, and yes I know most people know it from Reba's version, but I consider Gentry a southern literary genius, so I'm going to for her version, which goes:
"Well, I remember it all very well lookin' back
It was the summer that I turned eighteen.
We lived in a one-room, run down shack
On the outskirts of New Orleans.
We didn't have money for food or rent
To say the least we was hard-pressed
When Momma spent every last penny we had
To buy me a dancin' dress.
Well, Momma washed and combed and curled my hair,
Then she painted my eyes and lips.
Then I stepped into the satin dancin' dress.
It had a split in the side clean up to my hips.
It was red, velvet-trimmed, and it fit me good
And standin' back from the lookin' glass
Was a woman
Where a half grown kid had stood.
She said, "Here's your last chance, Fancy, don't let me down!
Here's your last chance, Fancy, don't let me down."
Momma dabbed a little bit of perfume
On my neck and she kissed my cheek
Then I saw the tears welling up
In her troubled eyes as she started to speak
She looked at our pitiful shack and then
She looked at me and took a ragged breath
She said, Your Pa's runned off, and I'm real sick
And the baby's gonna starve to death.
She handed me a heart-shaped locket that said
"To thine own self be true"
And I shivered as I watched a roach crawl across
The toe of my high-healed shoe
It sounded like somebody else was talkin'
Askin', "Momma what do I do?"
She said, "Just be nice to the gentlemen, Fancy.
They'll be nice to you."
She said, "Here's your last chance, Fancy, don't let me down!
Here's your last chance, Fancy, don't let me down.
God forgive me for what I do,
But if you want out girl it's up to you
Now don't let me down,
Now get on out, you better start sleepin' uptown."
That was the last time I saw my momma
When I left that rickety shack
The welfare people came and took the baby.
Momma died and I ain't been back.
But the wheels of fate had started to turn
And for me there was no other way out.
It wasn't very long after that I knew exactly
What my momma was talkin' 'bout.
I knew what I had to do.
Then I made myself this solemn vow:
I's gonna to be a lady someday
Though I didn't know when or how.
But I couldn't see spendin' the rest of my life
With my head hung down in shame.
You know I mighta been born just plain white trash.
But Fancy was my name.
"Here's your last chance, Fancy, don't let me down!
Here's your one chance, Fancy, don't let me down.
Wasn't long after that a benevolent man
Took me in off the streets
One week later I was pourin' his tea
In a five roomed penthouse suite.
Charmed a king, a congressman
And an occasional aristocrat
And I got me an elegant Georgia mansion
And a New York townhouse flat.
Now I ain't done bad
Now in this world there's a lot of self-righteous
Hypocrites who call me bad.
They criticize Momma for turning me out
No matter how little we had.
Though haven't had to worry 'bout nothin'
Now for nigh on fifteen years
But I can still hear the desperation
In my poor mommas voice ringin' in my ears.
"Here's your last chance, Fancy, don't let me down!
Oh, here's your last chance, Fancy, don't let me down.
God forgive me for what I do,
But if you want out well it's up to you.
Now your mama's helping you move uptown."
It’s so well done that there are handful of folks who don’t even realize this is about prostitution, but it’s made clear that this is the last resort solution to what is a tragically sad situation, but one that many a girl has and will continue to find themselves in, so if you ask me, would I rather starve or pawn the puss, I’m gonna pawn the puss.
And with that, it’s time to say goodnight and keep it saucy till next time.
Comentarios