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We women of 2016 love to complain. I am clearly not an exception to that. We certainly have our reasons – if you look at a snapshot of gender equality today, you can easily surmise we still have a long way to go. But if we compare the rights and privileges we have today to those of our mothers and grandmothers, we are inclined to be grateful. Our generation gets a lot of shit for reasons we do not need to address here, but pretty much anyone will agree we are the most progressive generation in history on numerous issues – gender equality being one.
A significant privilege that comes with being a young adult woman in the 2010s is the sheer number of options. In the 50s and 60s, most women did not work, and those who did rarely saw opportunities to advance past menial jobs offering little more than minimum wage and rampant sexual harassment.
The 80s and 90s, on the other hand, saw the emergence of the dual-income household as a prevalent familial model. My mother started her own business in her twenties and put off marriage and kids until her late thirties. Growing up, almost all of my friends’ moms worked. The few stay-at-home moms of kids in our class were usually taking classes themselves, in an effort to elevate their educational stature and contribute more to the family pot of gold. From my understanding as a kid, it was almost frowned-upon to not at least be working toward a career.
Now, in the 2010s, pretty much anything goes when it comes to career/family balance. A lot of women view it as some sort of Cornelian dilemma in which you must sacrifice the emotional bond you develop by personally taking care of your kids in order to sustain a lucrative career, or vice versa. However, since a young age I have dreamt of a familial structure that I think, for the most part, evades the career versus parenting dilemma plaguing young women throughout our culture. And what is that?
I want a trophy husband.
I have no problem being the sole breadwinner of the family. In fact, I would prefer it that way. I want a man to be so dependent on me, he will stay with me no matter how fat I get. I want an unspoken agreement with the provision that for as long as I stay wealthy, he must stay attractive. I want to come home each day, kick off my heels, and put my feet up on the freshly cleaned coffee table as I flip on The Bachelor. And I want the first words I hear to be “Dinner’s ready!”
I want to show him off at all of the haute galas. Dressed in the most expensive suits. All eyes will be on him. When I see my frenemies with their less attractive trophy husbands, they will only be able to tell me “Wow, good for you.” When he asks me if he can make the guaranteed purchase on the autographed jersey of his favorite player in the silent auction, I will roll my eyes in jest and say (loudly, so the whole table can hear) “Don’t you already have three of those? Oh, not in this color? Well alright, you’re lucky it was a good month!” As I laugh with my friends, because could you imagine if that mattered?
When it comes to raising the kids, I want nothing more than the duty of sponsoring their sports teams with a monetary donation and attending at least three games per season. My husband takes the kids to school, practice, and piano lessons in the Lexus he begged for, because, “The Volvo didn’t have satellite radio, which is crazy. I mean, what are we, Amish?”
When the kids are in school or with the old, fat, British nanny, I will expect him to be seen at the country club socializing with the other trophy husbands. His only responsibility therein is to let the others know how different the papaya tastes in Fiji, how oops, he forgot to change his Tag Heuer back from Greenwich Mean Time, and how he cannot remember the last time he flew commercial.
Sure, I want love, affection, companionship, and everything else that makes up a happy and healthy marriage. I just happen to want those things from someone over 6 feet tall with a great hairline and no desire to succeed on his own. As a woman in 2016, I hold the potential to make just as many ridiculously excessive sums of money as a man does, and I intend to do just that. Whether that means closing deals and hustling up the corporate ladder, or hanging out at the country club to find the richest guy who is closest to death, only time to tell..
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