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The (In)visible People in the Room: Men in Women's Studies

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The (In)visible Peoplein the Room: Men inWomen’s Studies

Peter Alilunas

AbstractMen who take Women’s Studies classes often exist in a paradoxical space, thephysical bearers of much that is discussed within the room while also the symbolof that which chooses not to participate. This status of (in)visibility, in which menfind themselves simultaneously the most conspicuous and the most absent mem-bers of the discourse, has led to a situation in which feminist theorizing has not keptup with practical reality. In this article, part narrative and part critical examination,(in)visibility is analyzed as both a phenomenon and an opportunity for the disciplineand the theory to move forward toward more productive coalition while keepinglived realities and experiences squarely in the forefront.

KeywordsWomen’s Studies, Masculinity, Gender

Why can’t men do feminism, or at least be seen to support feminism? After all,

feminism provides both men and women with an extraordinarily powerful analytic

prism through which to understand their lives, and a political and moral imperative

to transform the unequal conditions of those relationship.

Michael Kimmel (1998, p. 60)

It is difficult to avoid the conclusion that the very word feminism has become toxic

in large parts of American culture.

Toril Moi (2006, p. 1739)

University of Michigan, Ann Arbor, MI, USA

Corresponding Author:

Peter Alilunas, 6330 North Quad, Ann Arbor, MI 48109, USA

Email: [email protected]

Men and Masculinities14(2) 210-229

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Much has been written about men teaching Women’s Studies classes. Male

teachers have thoroughly documented their own experiences, discussing the

challenges of such pedagogy.1 Much has also been written from a broader critical

stance as to the legitimacy (or even possibility) of male feminism, from both female

and male critics.2 Far less prevalent, yet equally important, are accounts of

male student experiences within Women’s Studies. If theoretical explorations of the

validity of male participation have dominated the discussion, they have done so

while male students interested in feminism have sought out classes and negotiated

the practical realities.3 This has created a situation in which the small number of

male students willing to venture into Women’s Studies spaces become objects of

paradoxical scrutiny. They are simultaneously the most visible and invisible pres-

ence in the room, the glaring representative of much that is discussed and debated

within the classroom, and the conspicuous example of the absence of widespread

male participation and interest in the field. Often the male student is, at once,

anomaly and object of suspicion. This does not mean the male student is a victim,

the recipient of unfair treatment, or immersed in a climate of hostility. In fact, I will

conclude that this (in)visible status represents, for now, the best possible situation for

men in the Women’s Studies classroom.

My own experiences as an undergraduate and graduate student in Women’s

Studies classes, as well as in those classes with strong connections to Women’s

Studies, may provide a contemporary example and effective case study. Ultimately

I will also present some suggestions aimed at collapsing much of the tension sur-

rounding men’s participation in Women’s Studies classrooms—suggestions

intended to stimulate discussion and reexamination of the stumbling blocks that con-

tinue to make male participation in Women’s Studies classrooms such a divisive

issue. My experiences within the paradoxical space of (in)visibility may add to the

ongoing conversation and present a new perspective, that of the male student eager

and willing to seek out solutions based in coalition amidst the ongoing debates about

the viability and legitimacy of male feminism.

Raising Questions

My story begins in 2006, during my Master’s program in Media Studies at a large

research university. A pair of my female classmates (and now close friends) and

I went out for lunch, during which the conversation turned to one of our classes,

Feminist Television Criticism. One of them bluntly asked me: why do you call your-

self a feminist? Variations on this question populate the literature on male feminism,

and I have experienced such moments myself many times. Tom Digby describes the

interaction as one laden with particular and consistent responses, especially from

women in academic contexts, who tend to react with suspicion. ‘‘If feminism is seen

primarily as a source of empowerment for individual women,’’ he writes, ‘‘men

claiming to be feminists are incomprehensible at best, and interlopers at worst’’

(1998, p. 1). This quite accurately describes the encounter I had with my friends

Alilunas 211



at the lunch: open about their questions (and, indeed, suspicions), they probed at both

my presence in the class as well as my claims of being a feminist. They did not do so

with hostility, but with a genuine interest in understanding my perspective and hear-

ing my explanation. The question is not unwarranted, and should be expected and,

I believe, even welcomed by men interested in taking Women’s Studies classes.

Yet, the questioner in such encounters should be prepared for a variety of

answers, from a sort of feminist agnosticism to outright skepticism. Part of the pur-

pose of the university is exploration and education, after all, and that process can

often be neutral in ways that make ideological subject matters uncomfortable. Given

the real-world stakes of feminist theory, a tendency toward urgency and conversion

can circulate within Women’s Studies classrooms, resulting in the pressure of a

‘‘more committed than thou’’ attitude and reluctances toward public disagreement.

Participation does not always equal belief or even desire. We do not expect every

student in the Chemistry classroom to commit to a career in the discipline, yet a

cultural belief seems to exist that any person willing to enroll in a Women’s Studies

course must, by default, be fully committed even before beginning study.

My own answers at that lunch stem from experiences stretching further into the

past, prior to my participation in any formal academic setting. My upbringing and

family history may have inspired my interest in gender studies and feminism, but not

deliberately. Conservative, fundamentalist Christianity defined my parents’ world-

view during my childhood, and as such my development could not have been more

distanced from feminist ideology or politics. As I grew into adulthood, I began to

question many of the tenets and beliefs I had been taught, particularly those related

to men and women and the notions of ‘‘appropriate’’ behavior. I began to sense in

my own relationships with women, and in my general observations of the world, that

there was an incontrovertible and disturbing inequity embedded in efforts to keep

men and women in ‘‘traditional’’ roles. These efforts, I came to understand, really

just kept men in positions of power over women, justified through arbitrary and con-

tradictory ‘‘evidence’’ based mostly in religious dogma. Long before I studied fem-

inist theory or explored the sophisticated cultural mechanisms through which such

disparities are manufactured and reinforced, I recognized one, simple, inarguable

truth: sexism is unfair.

This may not be the most illuminating or sophisticated insight, but for many men

it certainly represents a first step toward a deeper and more nuanced awareness of the

need for change. Most importantly, this sort of moment encapsulates the critical

insight that privilege exists. In a culture devoted almost incessantly to reifying gen-

der difference, and stabilizing the male ‘‘right’’ to the privileges that have been man-

ufactured and defended without logic, this moment of recognition must be

considered one of crucial importance. For me, it represented an irreconcilable turn-

ing point. Following that awareness, however, and as is common for many men in

similar circumstances, came frustration. I had done nothing to earn the cultural pri-

vileges associated with being a heterosexual white man, yet found myself in a posi-

tion in which I could see no way to disengage from them; after all, I could not stop

212 Men and Masculinities 14(2)



being straight, white, or male. Thus it made complete sense to become a supporter of

women’s political causes and make small, realistic changes in my daily life and rela-

tionships, and at the very least try to find small moments of introspection regarding

my straight, white, male privilege and how I interacted with women, as well as other

men. This made me feel like a ‘‘good liberal,’’ an apparently enlightened man who

supported women, expressed displeasure with the cultural pressures to be ‘‘manly,’’

and attempted to be aware of moments of unearned privilege. This phenomenon of

being a ‘‘good liberal’’ man is one that seems prevalent throughout segments of con-

temporary American culture, particularly in academic settings. Such an attitude is, at

best, deliberately vague, existing within some liminal space in which no real chances

have to be taken, no privileges surrendered, and no additional labor required. Merely

vocalizing support for women’s political causes, expressing disgust for hypermascu-

linity, and having an understanding of basic feminist rhetoric, it seems, are often

enough for average ‘‘enlightened’’ men to feel better about issues related to gender

disparity and sexism, and to feel like they are making a ‘‘difference.’’

Such attitudes certainly represent a step forward from previous eras when few

men would acknowledge any of these elements, or connect them with feminism. Yet

it is difficult to see any actual work being done toward anything other than simple

verbal agreement and basic support of feminist political goals that are little more

than common sense, despite the constant and continual conservative efforts to under-

mine them. As Wade Edwards argues, ‘‘this kind of feminism . . . does little to rear-

range the constructs of power that keep men in positions of privilege’’ (2008, p. 153).

As Michael Kimmel suggests, this sort of ‘‘feminist’’ behavior is extremely conve-

nient for men since it presents few, if any, dramatic consequences. Even men who

claim to be feminists always have the option of choosing when and how to enact

those beliefs, in what contexts, or to drop or hide them in moments of inconvenience.

‘‘We can always retreat if the going gets tough or dangerous. This would be espe-

cially true for heterosexual white men, who slide seemingly without effort, into the

arenas of privilege, which often remain invisible to those who have it’’ (1998, p. 62).

Thus questions linger: What efforts are being made by men to examine their own

unearned status beyond vague ‘‘liberal’’ support? What beliefs are being disrupted

and questioned in order to realize fully the feminist goals of equality and justice for

women? What power structures and mechanisms are being interrogated and opposed

for those goals to progress?

Behind such superficial support, ironically, may be the cultural changes that have

occurred since the second wave of feminism (and other sociopolitical movements

such as gay and civil rights) forced open discussions on equality and justice for

women. Those changes have created a cultural environment in which ‘‘diversity’’

and ‘‘equality’’ have become historical accomplishments somewhere in the past,

able to be supported without any effort or labor, once again taken for granted as a

given as part of a ‘‘post-feminist’’ society. Yet once hard work is required, in which

cultural power structures must be examined and dismantled as part of the ongoing

efforts of those sociopolitical movements that are still very much alive and

Alilunas 213



necessary, the ‘‘retreat’’ described by Kimmel begins to occur, silently and without

any widespread accountability. This has created a contradictory situation in which

‘‘equality’’ has become a common sense political belief across virtually all

ideological boundaries even as proclaiming oneself a feminist continues to be

taboo.4 Kimmel describes the situation in similar terms: ‘‘Although most American

men remain, at best, indifferent, and, at worst, openly hostile, to the term feminism,

and especially dismissive of the term feminist, it is also the case that most men sup-

port every single element in what we might call a feminist political and social policy

agenda when its elements are disaggregated and presented as simple policy options’’

(p. 61). Thus the contradiction: some, albeit often superficial, support seems to exist

for everything feminism stands for—and yet without its name. That distinction is

critical for understanding why more men do not seek out Women’s Studies classes

and also why those that do often end up in the paradoxical (in)visible position, since

it is an almost universal cultural assumption that men would have no interest in

overtly aligning with feminist politics, regardless of their stance on individual (and

often vague) political issues.

My own experience conforms to this description. Prior to my time as a student

I would not have thought to consider myself a feminist. Feminism as an identity

seemed an anachronistic relic, something lingering on even though the primary

battles had been won in the past. I considered myself an enlightened, supportive,

‘‘good liberal’’ in favor of ‘‘women’s rights,’’ which I thought were mostly an

accomplished political goal interrupted by resistant conservatives and the occasional

disturbing sexist media representation. When I entered university these beliefs began

to change as my interests in gender and sexuality increased. I pursued film studies,

seeing cinema as a continual site of potential analysis related to these interests. The

long and critical importance of feminist theory to film studies was an immediate

discovery, and, for the first time, I began to see that ‘‘good liberal’’ beliefs were

insufficient to understand the nuances of the subject.

My introduction to feminist theory occurred in introductory film theory classes,

which frequently offer units on the topic. The overwhelming response to my interest,

which manifested in my class presentations and term papers, was silence. My early

instructors recognized and supported my eagerness to learn, but with layers of what

I now unmistakably recognize as a belief that I was naı̈ve and unprepared for the

eventual shock of discovery that men don’t do feminism. Other students were also

silent or, when they did talk with me, confused at my interest in studying feminist

issues. Digby describes his own, similar experiences: ‘‘With women it’s as if I had

just announced that I like to wear fuzzy animal slippers, while with men, it’s as if

I had just said that I am a turnip’’ (1998, p. 1). In other words, he suggests, many

women consider male feminists to bear a diminished or suspect masculinity, while

other men typically just find them crazy.

I certainly found this to be true in my case. Most other students simply did not

understand why a man—and, as will become increasingly critical, a straight

man—would have any interest in studying what are perceived to be women’s issues.




Most people I encountered seemed to presume that I was in the middle of a scholastic

phase that would soon pass, that I was an academic tourist temporarily visiting in the

women’s section of the university and would eventually retreat to more traditional

and understandable territory, having ‘‘wised up’’ to the practical, silent reality of

academia. My parents, too, registered confusion, and clearly preferred to avoid the

topic rather than engage in awkward discussion. My partner, always a supporter and

ally to all of my academic interests, and herself a graduate student doing research on

gender and language, initially questioned me not because of the ideological implica-

tions, which she fully understood given our shared political beliefs, but rather

because of the practical reality of a straight man studying feminism. She suggested

repeatedly that I would increasingly stand out in these environments, be the anomaly

in an unfamiliar and not necessarily friendly territory, and have to deal eventually

with entering the job market. At that point in my academic journey it did not seem

strange to me that a man would be interested in feminist theory; was it not a legit-

imate pursuit? Did it not offer a valuable course of study to someone interested in

understanding the cultural creation of gender and sexuality, and the accompanying

power structures? I forged ahead, thinking the best course of action was to ignore the

swirling debates and treat the subject like any other, persisting in my goal of learning

the discipline and applying it to my work in film studies.

I have since come to understand, of course, that my attitude at the time was a per-

fect example of the need for those debates, and yet it was also probably a natural

progression for any male undergraduate interested in feminist study. Entering a

Women’s Studies classroom for the first time was deeply intimidating: I was the

only male person in the room, surrounded by female students looking at me with

a mix of confusion and suspicion. Some of them, I imagine, might have been think-

ing I had the wrong classroom and would realize it, get up, and leave. The instructor,

too, hesitated for a moment upon entering the room, and a brief look of confusion

crossed her face. I felt a mix of emotions: the desire to crawl under my desk, to leave,

to remain completely still and silent for the rest of the term, but also a desire to gain

confidence and participate. As the course progressed, and the readings about patri-

archy, female oppression, and male domination ensued, such feelings intensified.

Kimmel notes that Women’s Studies classes ‘‘typically have only one or two men

. . . and they spend much their time cringing defensively in the corner, feeling

blamed for the collective sins of two millennia of patriarchal oppression’’ (1998,

p. 57). I would not say I felt blamed in the way Kimmel describes, and certainly

my classmates did not make me the object of such criticism, but I definitely felt con-

spicuous and always in a position of (in)visibility, always somewhere between stick-

ing out like a sore thumb and completely hidden.

The consequence of this first foray into the Women’s Studies classroom was that

my attitude of simply walking in and treating it like any other subject collapsed.

Actually sitting in the room, participating in the discussions, and seeing the physical

space made clear the long history men have of reenacting and recreating patriarchal

behavior, as well as the reasons behind the reluctance the discipline has had for male

Alilunas 215



entrance. My presence in the room, regardless of my motives, sincere interest, and

willingness to learn was accompanied by layers of discourse far outside my control,

choice, or behavior. Beth Berila notes that male interest in Women’s Studies ‘‘may

appear to be another form of male privilege, with men finagling their way into the

only branch of scholarship that has consistently focused on women. If there’s a

sudden influx of male students into our courses, Women’s Studies faculty may worry

that female students who have experienced the classroom as a safe space for women

will lose that space’’ (2005, p. 34). However much my respect for the material and

my classmates may have been present, there is still no doubt that my status as a male

person disrupted and altered the potential for such a space and changed the trajectory

of the course.

Given the connections between Women’s Studies, post-structuralism, queer

theory, and gender studies, an underlying, unspoken irony circulates within this

situation. While scholars such as Judith Butler and Judith Halberstam have

eloquently deconstructed the notion of any essential connection between gender and

sex, and, indeed, described the performativity of both, the practical reality of the

Women’s Studies classroom still holds to many deep-seated beliefs and assumptions

about the essentialization of masculinity to men.5 Patrick Hopkins, relating his own

experiences as a male Women’s Studies student, writes that, ‘‘For the first time, sim-

ply being the kind of body I was made me masculine—indeed too masculine.

Whether interpreted biologically or as an unavoidable social construction, my male-

ness of being a man was assumed to be central to who I was, how I would think, and

constitutive of where my energy would go’’ (1998, p. 39). I encountered a similar,

consistent trend throughout my experiences as an undergraduate.

While never overtly or deliberately, there nevertheless seemed to be a pervasive

assumption that I would speak for all men, be an expert on masculinity, or be an

exemplar of ‘‘typical’’ male attitudes and behaviors. I often found myself aligned

with men and masculinity even when I did not do so deliberately. Even those female

students, early in my academic experience, who were open to my presence seemed to

retain traces of suspicion, seemingly presuming that at any moment I might revert to

some more stereotypical form of male masculinity or provide proof of the incontro-

vertibility of patriarchy that must be hiding under the surface. My body, it seemed,

presupposed what my attitudes or opinions would be, as well as automatically decid-

ing both my experiential background and my subject position. This presented

another paradox to me: if feminism, as Hopkins has pointed out, has thoroughly

debunked the notion that experience or subject position—both essentialist mar-

kers—creates an ‘‘authentic’’ feminism, then why was I (and, by proxy, all men)

being held to that standard, even when our class readings and discussions contra-

dicted such an approach at every turn? Furthermore, why was my sex (male) being

taken as evidence of an apparent set of gendered characteristics (masculine)? As

Hopkins writes, ‘‘What makes a feminist is belief, action, and position, not the

subjective assessment of one’s experience combined with a revelatory appreciation

of one’s objective gender identity’’ (1998, pp. 47-51). Yet, while a theoretical




argument such as this makes logical sense, and is easy to turn to in moments of

frustration, I hesitated in its belief when I would look around the classroom and see

the women around me, contending with different cultural pressures and expectations

in their lives than my own, with all its inherent and unearned privilege and status.

Subject position, in other words, does matter when moving beyond theory’s pages

and into the classroom’s (and the world’s) realities.

The more I progressed in my undergraduate education, the more such questions

and scenarios presented themselves. The first few meetings I had with my eventual

mentor, an established feminist media studies professor, might best be described as

awkward. She was wary of my interest in feminism, concerned that I was not entirely

aware of the long and detailed history of feminism in both the academic and the

political spheres, and unprepared for serious study. We undertook an independent

reading course in which I read selections of feminist theory and history and worked

through my questions. It was in these invaluable sessions that I finally began to

understand the difficult and potentially irresolvable complexity of being both male

and feminist. For the first time I encountered Tania Modleski’s insight that ‘‘we need

to consider the extent to which male power is actually consolidated through cycles of

crisis and resolution, whereby men ultimately deal with the threat of female power

by incorporating it’’ (1991, p. 7). This was an invaluable discovery, as it showed me

the need to recognize the internal and silent power structures governing men’s par-

ticipation in feminism. It was also the first time I began to think about the necessity

of maintaining a self-directed analysis, to be constantly aware of my interests and

motivations, as well as the greater ramifications they might have in the classroom

and with my colleagues. And, once again, it reminded me of the systematic ways

in which male privilege is maintained and recycled, always in new guises but with

the same potential outcomes.

Like many feminist instructors encountering men in their classes, my mentor

realized the legitimacy of my interest, and that I genuinely believed in feminist theory

and practice, was not an interloper or skeptic interested in disruption or antagonism, or

bearing an arrogant attitude bent on reclaiming space. Frequently, it has been my sense

that the complications surrounding the male presence in Women’s Studies classes, the

discourses of viability and legitimacy, of whether or not men can be feminists, stand in

the way of the reality of many men wanting (to a wide variety of degrees) to participate

and learn. As I will explore further, this has a double-sided outcome: on one hand, it

allows for a safe space in which women can explore feminist history and theory without

the problematic intervention and disruption of inquisitive—and, occasionally, poten-

tially hostile—men; on the other hand, it creates what Ross Wantland has described

as ‘‘a women’s studies classroom committed to changing only half the society’’

(2005, p. 161). My observation is not meant to take away from the importance of these

spaces for women, only to inquire as to the greater cultural purpose of Women’s Studies

and to question the long-term strategy of the discipline.

The other revelation that occurred during my undergraduate study was the

cultural connection between sexuality and feminism, one that is critically important

Alilunas 217



for understanding the contemporary climate for men in Women’s Studies. The more

my work incorporated feminist theory, the more people assumed I was gay. In fact,

this reaction has become so common as to create a moment of surprise when col-

leagues learn that I am a straight man and in a committed relationship with a woman.

Many people, even after this revelation, still believe I am ‘‘questioning’’ my sexuality

simply because of my feminist academic interests.6 Kimmel describes his own

reaction to this commonality: ‘‘Why would some people believe that supporting fem-

inism is somehow a revelation of sexual orientation? I offer no clues to my sexuality in

my lectures or in my writing, no references to the gender of a ‘friend,’ ‘partner,’ or

‘lover.’ All I do is agree with women that inequality based on gender is wrong, and

that women and men should be equal in both the public and the private spheres’’

(1998, p. 60). The reasoning stems, somewhat, from reality: the overwhelming

majority of men I have encountered in Women’s Studies classes are openly gay.

Yet the reasoning also persists with people who have never been in a Women’s

Studies classroom because cultural definitions of hegemonic masculinity preclude

homosexuality from ‘‘legitimacy’’ in much the same way feminism has been denied.

As Raewyn Connell argues, ‘‘from the point of view of hegemonic masculinity,

gayness is easily assimilated to femininity’’ (2005, pp. 37, 78). Thus, the connection

persists that men interested in feminism must also be feminine, and thus (as the

stereotype dictates) gay; or, as Kimmel writes of the stereotype, ‘‘Any man who

supports feminism cannot be a real man, hence he must be gay. Thus does interna-

lized homophobia often keep men from supporting feminism’’ (1998, p. 66).

Heterosexual men invested in avoiding anything that might be culturally understood

as questioning their ‘‘manliness’’ would probably consider a Women’s Studies class

the last possible option when looking through a course listing; the heteronormative

implication is that they will be perceived as gay—by both men and women. In a

multitude of unexpected ways, then, Toril Moi’s statement about the toxicity of

the word feminism that serves as this essay’s epigraph continually proves to be true.

Hegemonic male masculinity currently has little room for delving into a discipline

antithetical to its interest in stabilizing heteronormativity.

While no concrete statistics exist for men’s participation in Women’s Studies

classes, I would speculate, based on my own experiences and anecdotes from friends

and colleagues at various universities, that the overwhelming majority of male stu-

dents who do enroll in such classes identify as gay; the outcome being that the par-

ticipation and education of straight-identifying men is almost completely absent.

This creates an odd academic vacuum in which heterosexual male behavior is dis-

cussed, analyzed, critiqued, and made the focus of much critical attention—all while

few, if any, heterosexual men are present to learn from or contribute to the discus-

sion. Thus, the stereotype that only gay men take Women’s Studies classes continues

just as that very scenario plays out in the classroom, perpetuating a cycle leaving lit-

tle space for coalition and dialogue.

Having encountered these various phenomena throughout my own undergraduate

education, I found myself in a somewhat confusing position as it came to an end.




I was simultaneously much farther along in my development as a scholar immersed

in feminist theory, attuned to the historical struggles and academic developments in

the field, and yet even more confused as to my place in the discipline. As I neared

graduation, my focus began to change. Sensing that my own internal struggles were

indicative of larger issues, I foregrounded them in my work, moving away from fem-

inist histories and analyses of women’s issues to study male masculinity, cultural

constructions of hegemonic ‘‘manhood,’’ and the ways in which film constructs and

complicates these formulations. This move stemmed from my ongoing belief that

men’s participation in feminism should be one that does not stray from keeping the

analytical lens pointed inward. As Jonathan Culler argues about even those men

willing take ‘‘apprenticeship’’ roles in ‘‘instructive positions of discipleship’’ to

women, ‘‘the tradition of male hegemony is sufficiently strong that any man doing

this may be suspected of trying to show women how to do feminism, so that the

alleged justification may evaporate without taking effect’’ (1994, p. 188). My move

toward studying male masculinity, I suspect, is a common one with men interested in

feminism but cautious about inadvertently becoming (or being seen as) interlopers.

Toward Answers

Entering graduate school presented new opportunities and also new challenges,

mostly related to the increased level of seriousness such study requires. In relation

to my interest in feminism, this means that the (in)visibility moments have been

amplified even as my colleagues and professors have an immediate understanding

of my dedication simply due to my presence and willingness to commit to such

study. Venturing out of media studies into feminist-oriented courses in Sociology,

Anthropology, Psychology, Women’s Studies, Queer Studies, and English depart-

ments has again frequently meant being the only male person in the room, or one

of only a few, and has again summoned the double-take moments on the first day

of class, and the lingering, silent suspicions.

It has also opened a more complete understanding of the complications of men

participating in feminist study, even as willing disciples to female leaders and men-

tors. Gaining a more nuanced awareness of academia as an institution and commit-

ting myself to a career in the field has meant an exploration of the behind-the-scenes

mechanics of the profession and has thus made me aware of the historical challenges

faced by Women’s Studies as university departments and of students and faculty try-

ing to establish institutional legitimacy. Entering the classroom as a graduate student

has given me a new appreciation for Kimmel’s argument that, to many women, men

participating in Women’s Studies opens a floodgate of historical tensions. ‘‘No

sooner do women get a foothold on a legitimate domain in the academy,’’ he writes,

‘‘than men rush in to a new growth area, displacing women and setting up shop’’

(1998, p. 62). Surrounded almost entirely by female students, similarly on paths

toward academic careers, I have been struck by the delicacy of my presence. Regard-

less of my sincerity and willingness to probe the nuances and complications of my

Alilunas 219



male participation, perceptions and associations are equally important and cannot be

dismissed simply in some idealistic, theoretical fashion. The equation male ¼ mas-

culine ¼ patriarchal is one that has been utterly demolished by gender theory; yet, it

persists both culturally, in the classroom, and in the discipline. If it did not, one could

argue, special issues of journals and anthologies on the subject would be unneces-

sary, and the debate would located somewhere in the past, a relic of the journey

toward coalition.

Thus the questions continue. Working during my Master’s program with a promi-

nent feminist professor in a Sociology course, with only female classmates, the silent

tensions that had been hovering since the first day finally emerged into the open

midway through the term. The professor stopped the discussion, turned to me, and

initiated a conversation about my presence. Initially I was frozen, feeling

the (in)visibility simultaneously disintegrate and erupt with everyone watching. Yet

as the brief discussion progressed I realized it was not only positive but necessary.

The course was a graduate-level seminar designed to train feminist scholars, the vast

majority of whom are women. My anomalous presence in the room was not some-

thing that could be ignored; indeed, it was something on everyone’s mind even as it

remained silent the first few weeks. The professor’s decision to confront the (in)vi-

sibility, discuss it, and make it a layer of the class resulted in an extremely produc-

tive remainder of the term. My feelings and explanation were out in the open and the

awkwardness was acknowledged. Yet, as I will probe further below, it did not elim-

inate the paradoxical (in)visibility, it merely acknowledged it—a crucial difference

that maintains the self-directed awareness I believe is required by male participants

in Women’s Studies classes.

A similar moment occurred during the first year of my doctoral study. It occurred

during a Queer Studies course, a discipline that has offered much to my work on con-

structions of male masculinity. During my final presentation on the scholarship

examining straight men doing queer studies, I identified myself as heterosexual.

As I had not explicitly done so all term, it was clear that some people (including the

professor) were surprised at my statement. I felt no pressure or need to state my iden-

tity as a precursor to participation at the beginning, and did so only at the end as a

means of connecting the research to my own work and to challenge some of the pre-

vailing ideas about legitimation and validity (much as I have done so in this essay).

Like many straight male students in Women’s or Queer Studies classes, this moment

of identification felt awkward to me and created some unease in the room; after all,

we had just completed a term of study highlighting and exploring the myriad ways in

which heterosexuality can foster and bolster heteronormativity and patriarchy.

When I concluded, the professor offered a series of comments effectively asking

me to defend and explain my presence in a room so decidedly critical of ideologies

associated with straight male behavior.

Once again, this moment struck me as curious (as well as deeply problematic),

not only because we had spent much of the term breaking down essentialist gender

and sexuality perspectives but also because I subscribe to Connell’s argument that




one of the most important and productive strategies for interrogating and altering

contemporary conceptions of hegemonic masculinity is through coalition between

gay- and straight-identifying men (2005, p. 242). My journey toward accepting

Connell’s proposal was not without resistance. Early in my academic development

I strongly believed that straight men must initially work without such alliances to

move forward toward cultural change. Hegemonic masculinity, I thought, cannot

undergo thorough critique and lasting alteration if it does not come from within, and

that coalition would not be lasting or fruitful if that early work and ownership did not

happen.

Yet Connell’s argument gained momentum with me as I realized that such isola-

tionism can only result in further division. Such alliances run somewhat contrary to

established historical and political practices: ‘‘The familiar forms of radical politics

rely on mobilizing solidarity around a shared interest’’ (2005, p. 236). This is where

my initial beliefs resided, in a unity among straight men toward change. Yet, as Con-

nell, writes, solidarity will not work in this case. ‘‘[T]he project of social justice in

gender relations is directed against the interest [men] share. Broadly speaking, anti-

sexist politics must be a source of disunity among men, not a source of solidarity’’

(2005, p. 236). Understanding the historical tendency of male unity to gather and

reinforce positions of power led me to see Connell’s greater point about the necessity

of broader alliances. Ultimately, I recognized that this approach represents a way for

straight men to interrogate and disrupt privilege: to seek coalition, to ask for help and

leadership, and to avoid reinforcement of power are all ways in which coalition

offers a chance for genuine change. This is by no means an easy task; men are cul-

turally inculcated with a sense that masculinity is, in part, defined by leadership.

The moment in the Queer Studies class offers an example of such difficulty. No

one, particularly the professor, disagreed with my alignment with Connell’s argu-

ment for alliances, yet there was still a hesitation to see it literally enacted. Moving

beyond the theoretical, in other words, ruptured the smooth surface of the classroom,

which had clearly preferred to maintain some sort of illusion of stability. My sense of

awkwardness and slight defensiveness during this post-presentation discussion (par-

ticularly given that it occurred in front of all my classmates and without time for me

to prepare my response) made me aware of my own ongoing struggle to accept

critique about my motives and presence, yet it also gave me a new understanding

of the challenges facing the discipline. As is to be expected, I still retain traces of

a culturally constructed belief that I should be trusted without suspicion and that

my efforts should be recognized; this is undoubtedly a perspective common to men

based in the privilege of being accepted in virtually any social or professional situ-

ation once the work has been established. At the same time, Women’s Studies also

seems to have a disciplinarily constructed belief that men’s presence in the class-

room must automatically engender suspicion, which again raises questions about its

intended purpose and the ensuing political ramifications. That the discussion took

place at all illustrates a critical problem within Women’s Studies: by teaching the

nuances of the sex/gender binary, but not always recognizing their complications

Alilunas 221



in the classroom, the discipline runs the risk of further isolation from practical

realities, all the while theoretically secure.

Yet, I have increasingly come to the conclusion that such moments are not only

helpful but also essential for the Women’s Studies classroom. By confronting the

paradoxical awkwardness at the heart of the male student’s presence in the room, not

only can the issue be explored within the seminar, the silent undercurrents of power

and privilege can also be made visible and broken apart. The anxiety on one side and

the suspicion on the other can be brought out into the open and examined, revealed

alongside the theory rather than hidden under it. My interest in encouraging this

practice comes with potential complications. First, there is the immediate concern

that the focus is once again placed on men, creating an implicit suggestion that

men’s issues must take a prominent position in the discussion. Related to this is the

problem of legitimation. Men’s awkwardness in feminism (and the institutional sus-

picion greeting them at the door) should be spotlighted and assuaged, such reasoning

might go, as a means of ensuring that feminism can be taken more seriously in both

the academic and the public spheres. Such discourses invoke a sexist approach that

still believe only men’s interests are valuable and worthy of serious discussion, and

thus once men have interest in feminism it will be viable. I should be clear that my

suggestion of making the (in)visibility an open part of the discussion has quite the

opposite intention. While I acknowledge the unavoidable (and temporary) moments

of centering male concerns within this approach, I also believe that the goal is not to

place men in the center of the discussion but rather to highlight their position on a

deliberate and necessary margin in the hope of moving beyond the anxiety/suspicion

relationship and toward something more productive.

An unintended outcome of a strategy of highlighting male (in)visibility in the

Women’s Studies classroom in order to reveal the tensions circulating beneath the

surface might be to alleviate the accompanying awkwardness and discomfort male

students experience. As with the previous concern, my intention is the opposite:

rather than abating the (in)visibility, it might be more productive to identify and illu-

minate it as a means of discursive creation without a goal of elimination. Culler

makes a similar argument when he suggests that if such discomfort ‘‘prevents men

from finding a comfortable position either in feminism of outside it, that seems to me

neither surprising nor particularly regrettable’’ (1994, p. 188). This argument encap-

sulates my own approach: rather than a negative, the awkwardness and paradoxical

nature of (in)visibility is an immensely powerful tool for men interested in Women’s

Studies classes as well as for the other students and instructors. It keeps the male

student focused on the historical (and ongoing) contextual tensions of men’s compli-

city in patriarchy and sexism, even when, as Connell suggests, that complicity is

unintended or even unwanted (2005, p. 79). It also keeps the notion of privilege

squarely in the foreground by emphasizing its absence in the Women’s Studies

space, where male (in)visibility directly interrogates assumptions of silent, autho-

rized male dominance in a cultural gender hierarchy. Ultimately, the Women’s Stud-

ies classroom can still make men feel welcome and part of the conversation without




eliminating this (in)visibility. Simply acknowledging its existence and bringing it

into discourse at opportune times could go a long way toward breaking down the

anxiety/suspicion relationship that seems to define the contemporary landscape.

As I continue my academic journey toward a PhD and into a career, the questions

that began my interests still hold true. New questions have joined them, such as my

interest in why men seem reluctant to question their invisible privilege, even when

their ‘‘good liberal’’ beliefs strongly support feminist goals and concerns. Applying

this to film studies has meant an investigation into the cultural fantasies and images

of gender that pervade popular cinema, and why a cultural reluctance to stray outside

these boundaries seems to exist. My experiences in Women’s Studies classrooms, in

courses based around feminist theory, and in coalition with like-minded men and

women have opened new avenues of exploration even as they have contextualized

the difficulty and historical complications of such participation.

Conclusions

As my own narrative comes to a close, I would like to return to that lunch with my

colleagues and offer my answers to them here as a series of suggestions for going

forward. Why do I call myself a feminist? My answer to my colleagues that day

at lunch is the same as it is now: because language matters. Some have argued, such

as Kimmel, that men can be ‘‘profeminist’’ but not necessarily ‘‘feminist.’’ He sug-

gests the profeminism is a ‘‘position that acknowledges men’s experience without

privileging it’’ (1998, p. 64). While I see the reasoning in this position, particularly

in the invocation against privilege, I have concerns with the outcome. Labels matter,

undoubtedly, but so does unequivocal support and actions, as does moving beyond

claiming the word feminist and into daily, practical behavior. To diminish that sup-

port, even subtly, by disengaging and aligning into familiar, sexed groupings seems

another way, ironically, for male privilege to sneak back in. This suggests to me an

impassable division, which takes the discussion back to the larger questions I have

raised throughout this essay: what is the purpose of Women’s Studies and feminism

more generally? Is it to create safe spaces for female students to gather and learn

women’s history and theory? Or is it to foster praxis that can lead to social justice,

equality, and cultural change? Certainly it can be both, but if the latter is to be part of

the strategy then I see a particular urgency in encouraging men’s full participation,

albeit from a supportive position following female leadership and with cautiousness

that recognizes the historical tendencies for men to assume and appropriate author-

ity. Without men’s involvement, how can any hope exist for altering the imbalances

that most benefit them? Thus, I see it as a simple and effective strategy to claim the

word as an effort toward breaking down the divisions and separations and to

announce a willingness to participate and learn within such alliances. In other words,

any division, even linguistic, may tend only to reify the current situation, which

seems to teeter continually on the verge of outright essentialism in the anxiety/

suspicion relationship I have outlined.

Alilunas 223



At the same time, the importance of lived experience cannot be overstated. While

theoretical explorations of the slippery, performative nature of gender (and its

intersections with race, sexuality, class, and other identity markers) have been

thoroughly documented, the practical reality is that women have a much different

cultural experience than men. This is why arguments such as those made by

Hopkins, who suggests that the ‘‘core of feminism [should] be feminist positions, not

women’s experiences,’’ seem rushed and preliminary, based around utopian desires

that disregard the contemporary cultural climate (1998, p. 52). Even though Hopkins

and I agree that men can (and should) be feminists, I hesitate to move beyond the

historical contexts that have led to the debate. Male privilege has not yet been widely

interrogated enough for a seamless, immediate transition away from the recognition

of experience and subject position, much as they may be theoretically dismantled.

(in)visibility disrupts male privilege among men who claim feminism (and for those

who do not), which is precisely why I believe it to be such an effective and produc-

tive step on the path toward Hopkins’s utopia. Yet a crucial part of that process is in

the act of public claiming of feminism, which can clearly signal a commitment to

that interrogation, to genuine dismantling rather than just ‘‘good liberal’’ support

or an abrupt seizure of leadership and equality by men among feminist women.

As Digby asks, ‘‘Why would a man advocate change that is inimical to his own inter-

est?’’ (1998, p. 2). It is precisely that disjunctive moment that makes the claim so

effective and potentially useful—not just to the bearer of the claim but to other men

who might also be interested but reluctant to take the next step.

In an account of his own student experiences, Kyle Brillante argues that ‘‘the

problem is far greater and deeper than men’s fears concerning the stigma of

women’s studies, or fears of being associated with the history and stereotypes

women’s studies and feminism conjure. Men do not exist in women’s studies, except

by way of entry through queer/race studies, because women’s studies do not allow

men to exist’’ (2006, p. 10). If men are wary of taking Women’s Studies classes,

(in)visibility as I have described it will not necessarily help to sway them, which

is to say that very few male students seem interested in enrolling in courses where

they know they will feel out of place, uncomfortable, and even (as Kimmel sug-

gests), blamed. Unless the phenomenon is pulled into the open, made part of the dis-

course, and used as an educative tool by faculty to foster discussion among students,

it will continue to be a preventative force keeping many men away from moving

beyond being ‘‘good liberals’’ to feminists interested in genuine critiques of male

privilege and legitimate, lasting social equality. I see a critical difference between

‘‘not existing’’ (as Brillante describes it) and existing under certain conditions

guided by an instructor and in a particular state of awareness and self-critique, high-

lighting practical realities and opening discursive space to explore cultural privilege.

This last point is worth emphasizing. Cultural change cannot occur until more

men make a move toward serious critique, and until that happens feminism can often

seem very one-sided and disinterested in male participation. As bell hooks argues,

‘‘Until men share equal responsibility for struggling to end sexism, feminist




movement will reflect the very sexist contradictions we wish to eradicate’’ (2000,

p. 83). But how can the academy get men to take up that struggle? Kimmel has sug-

gested framing the discussion with how men will benefit. Part of his strategy is to

outline the difference between what men will gain and the illusion of what they

already have, describing the approach as ‘‘a challenge to that false sense of entitle-

ment to . . . power in the first place’’ (1998, p. 67). Kimmel has done illuminating

and insightful work in this area, identifying the ways in which men feel besieged by

a culture apparently determined to take away their power, even when those same

men may not have any overt power or authority to be taken away; he refers to this

as a ‘‘wind chill’’ phenomenon, noting that such reality may be offset by how men

actually feel (2006, p. 218). If those feelings can be acknowledged and examined, his

argument suggests, feminism may provide ‘‘benefits’’ to men by opening up an

understanding of imbalances and expectations of power, and alleviating some of the

burden of trying to live up to impossible standards.

Nevertheless, garnering male interest through the idea of ‘‘benefits’’ to men (even

configured through such a useful framework) raises questions that tread toward a

fundamental contradiction. Even if those benefits, as Kimmel describes, lead to

‘‘happier and healthier lives, with better relations with the women, men, and children

in [men’s] lives,’’ it still frames the discourse from a perspective of what men will

gain instead of what they will have to give up. While it may seem like a basic point,

it is worth explicitly stating: fostering genuine equality will not require elevating

women (as liberal feminism would like to believe), it will require dismantling male

privilege and authority. How that can happen simultaneously with a discursive strat-

egy of appealing to men’s sense of cultural entitlement, by stressing the apparent

benefits men will obtain, does not seem logical or practical. I would suggest it will

lead only to a partial measure of success as it asks for nothing to be given up or chal-

lenged—only gained. It seems to me that such a strategy can lead only to an exacer-

bation of what I have described as ‘‘good liberalism.’’ This attitude recognizes all of

Kimmel’s points without having to undergo a difficult and perhaps even painful

examination of the privileges that all men hold, regardless of their social or financial

standing.

Inspiring men’s feminist participation by suggesting they will have to interrogate

and surrender privilege is, admittedly, an extremely difficult challenge; indeed, it

may take much longer and with far slower growth than using a benefits-based

strategy. Moving beyond academic interest into actual political practice may take

even longer; given that so few men are willing to take Women’s Studies courses

it will take time and dedicated effort to increase extra-curricular activity. The stakes

are obviously higher outside the classroom, which, despite the low numbers of male

students, still offers some insulation from ‘‘real-world’’ beliefs and practices. Lisa

Marie Hogeland writes, ‘‘To stand opposed to your culture, to be critical of institu-

tions, behaviors, discourses—when it is so clearly not in your immediate interest to

do so—asks a lot of a young person, of any person’’ (1994, p. 21). However, such a

strategy does have one distinct advantage: the change will not be limited by a male

Alilunas 225



belief in entitlement or the unspoken, culturally supported belief that men have

natural, inherent leadership abilities.

If I have been vague in describing the application of (in)visibility, that is some-

what deliberate. In part this is because its status as a vague interaction best described

paradoxically has tremendous value as an awareness tool for the student. Thus, I

mostly describe its presence as an application for male students to examine and

internalize. The marginalized position in which (in)visibility places the male student

is not a negative one; indeed, it merely exposes the actually invisible privilege other

spaces (including those within academia) offer to men. As I have described, instruc-

tors can and should illuminate the phenomenon, draw it out and into conversation,

and use it as a means of tying the readings and discussions into something with

real-world ramifications. This is not to suggest that male students be highlighted and

called to answer for their identity (as I was) or to redesign the course to accommo-

date male participation; rather, I mean simply to say that such discussions merely

open up what is obvious and unspoken in most situations but has a great deal of polit-

ical potential to foster coalition and dialogue. The point, as I have argued, is not to

collapse the margin but to highlight and examine it. This process also offers the

potential for a process of reevaluating the theory presented in Women’s Studies

classes as well. If the ways in which gender has been culturally constructed and rein-

forced have been thoroughly unpacked, such theory is rarely aimed squarely at the

classroom. Perhaps (in)visibility suggests a way (among others that should be pro-

posed) to take that very necessary step.

Ultimately, my experience as a student in Women’s Studies (and related

courses) has taught me that owning up to privilege, interrogating cultural gender

structures, and understanding feminist history and theory is not an easy undertak-

ing for male students. That is not likely to change, nor do I believe it should. Nei-

ther invisible nor visible, the male student is positioned in a state of heightened

awareness regarding the historical and ongoing contexts of the purposes of and

need for feminist politics, as well as their own crucial role in affecting change.

As bell hooks argues, ‘‘Like women, men have been socialized to passively accept

sexist ideology. While they need not blame themselves for accepting sexism, they

must assume responsibility for eliminating it’’ (2000, p. 73). While (in)visibility

should not be a permanent strategy, it does represent a present reality for male stu-

dents, and should be acknowledged, discussed, and made productive, pulled into

discourse and turned into a pedagogical opportunity, not to mention a theoretical

one that can inflect future feminist research. To do so represents a potentially

effective means of coalition, an entry point in getting beyond the anxiety/suspicion

relationship within the classroom, and a possible resolution of the lasting and

ongoing tensions of male feminist viability.

Declaration of Conflicting Interests

The author declared no potential conflicts of interest with respect to the research, authorship,

and/or publication of this article.




Funding

The author received no financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of

this article.

Notes1. See C. W. Heller, ‘‘A Paradox of Silence: Reflections of a Man Who Teaches Women’s

Studies,: in Teaching What You’re Not: Identity Politics in Higher Education, ed.

K. J. Mayberry (New York: New York University Press, 1996), 228-37; J. S. Johnson,

‘‘No Middle Ground? Men Teaching Feminism,’’ in Teaching What You’re Not: Identity

Politics in Higher Education, ed. K. J. Mayberry (New York: New York University Press,

1996), 85-103; L. Kampf and D. Ohmann, ‘‘Men in Women’s Studies,’’ in Against the

Tide: Pro-Feminist Men in the United States 1776-1990: A Documentary History, ed.

M. S. Kimmel and T. E. Mosmiller (Boston: Beacon Press), 389-93.

2. See R. Braidotti, Nomadic Subjects: Embodiment and Sexual Difference in Contemporary

Feminist Theory (New York: Columbia University Press, 1994); S. Heath, ‘‘Male

Feminism,’’ in Men in Feminism, ed. A. Jardin and P. Smith (New York: Routledge), 1-32.

3. I should note my terminology here at the start: while I use ‘‘male’’ and ‘‘female,’’ as well as

‘‘men’’ and ‘‘women,’’ throughout this article, I acknowledge the problematic nature of

these terms. ‘‘Male-bodied’’ and ‘‘female-bodied,’’ as well as ‘‘male-identified’’ and

‘‘female-identified’’ are also useful yet incomplete descriptors, and further imply a binary

understanding. While I do not subscribe to such a rigid binary (and think there are nearly

infinite areas in between and across these terms), I nevertheless use ‘‘men’’ and ‘‘women’’

as a means of efficiently conveying the contemporary situation in the classroom, even

though that situation is both complicated and complex. What is clear is that linguistics

offers very little room to articulate the nuances of gender and sexuality, which is undoubt-

edly a reason many of the tensions I explore exist. In some ways my primary interest is in

how those terms become attached to ‘‘masculine’’ and ‘‘feminine.’’I should also further

define my use of the term ‘‘feminism,’’ which I broadly mean here as the political practice

of understanding (as well as disrupting and altering) the systems of power through which

patriarchy organizes and reifies gendered relationships as a strategy of securing male

supremacy. This article, unfortunately, does not have the space to articulate fully the term

and its contexts, so my usage may appear bland. This is partially deliberate, as my primary

interest is in describing the situation encountered by most male students familiar with only

the most basic concepts.

4. While my focus here is on the taboo status of male feminism, extensive work has been

done on why women also seem reluctant to take up the label. See J. Baumgardner and

A. Richards, ‘‘The Number One Question About Feminism,’’ Feminist Studies 29 no.

2 (2003): 448-52; L. M. Hogeland, ‘‘Fear of Feminism: Why Young Women Get the

Willies,’’ Ms (1994), 18-21; T. Moi, ‘‘I Am Not a Feminist, But . . . ’: How Feminism

Became the F-Word,’’ PMLA 121, no. 5 (2006): 1735-41.

5. These would be, of course, just two examples of the detailed and rigorous work done in this

area (which is far too immense to recount here completely). See J. Butler, Gender Trouble:

Alilunas 227



Feminism and the Subversion of Identity (New York: Routledge, 1990); J. Halberstam,

Female Masculinity (Durham: Duke University Press, 1998).

6. Much like my earlier explanation of the difficulty of avoiding the binary between ‘‘men’’

and ‘‘women,’’ I should also stress here that I do not subscribe to nor intend a similar

binary regarding sexuality. My discussion here of my own sexuality, and the responses

to it, is meant as a starting point on the discussion of assumptions and expectations regard-

ing male feminism. Ironically, as some scholars have articulated, the discussion of the

fluidity of sexuality (much like my experiences with feminism) often leaves out men who

identify as heterosexual. See C. Thomas, Straight with a Twist: Queer Theory and the

Subject of Heterosexuality (Chicago: University of Illinois Press, 1999).

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Bio

Peter Alilunas is a doctoral candidate at the University of Michigan in the Department of

Screen Arts & Cultures. His primary research is in the cultural and technological transforma-

tion of pornography from celluloid to home video in the 1980s. He also continues to have an

interest in the mediated constructions of male masculinity.

Alilunas 229



Documents

Men and Masculinities 2011 Alilunas 210 29