This was written for two reasons: as catharsis, and because most similar threads are either perfunctory, too emotional, or lost in tangents. I wanted to keep it clear and direct. Happy reading.
You've heard it before. Repeated in classrooms, printed in textbooks, adapted into film. That women in mid-century America were oppressed. That they were silenced, shut out, kept in kitchens, denied the vote, denied lives of meaning. That they lived as second-class citizens in their own homes, under the rule of husbands and vacuum cleaners. The story is familiar. It is also false.
Oppression, if the word is to mean anything, must be used with care. It means to be subject to unjust treatment and systemic denial of rights. It means to be barred, not bored. A mid-century American woman could read, could leave her house, could vote. She could own property. She could file for divorce. She could attend college, and millions did. She lived in a society where her safety and comfort were paramount. If she chose not to work, she was not destitute. She was provided for. If she stayed home, it wasn't under coercion, but under the logic of division of labor. She had time. She had security. She had freedom, though it may not have been exciting.
The man had none of those luxuries. His life was harder, not easier. He was judged by his utility. If he failed to provide, he failed entirely. He worked in factories, in fields, in offices that had no air. He climbed power lines and crawled into mines. He went to war. Women were shielded from war, from hard labor, from economic instability. They weren't breaking their backs or inhaling coal dust or dying ten years earlier like their husbands were. While she had the freedom to find herself bored, he had no time to find himself at all.
So why do we hear the word “oppression” used to describe these women's lives? The answer is boredom. It was boredom dressed up as grievance. And boredom, no matter how dramatized, is not the same as injustice. Oppression was what Black Americans suffered under Jim Crow. It was what political dissidents endured under Stalin. It was not what suburban housewives lived through in Levittown. When Betty Friedan called the suburban home a “comfortable concentration camp,” she wasn't describing reality. She was giving shape to a feeling. And feelings, though real, are not always correct in their conclusions.
Routine defined the era. And it defined both sexes. Life for most was not thrilling. It was repetition. The man woke up early, worked long, and came home tired. There was little glamour, little recognition. And when he walked through that door, he didn't find respite. He found a wife who said she was unfulfilled. That she needed more. More than what? More than safety? More than leisure? More than a life free of physical risk? Ordinary life, for her, was not enough. But it wasn't enough for him either. That's the nature of ordinary life. It rarely is.
The narrative that women were oppressed in mid-century America sells because it flatters. It flatters the present. It lets us believe we are better than those who came before. But the truth is less cinematic. These women weren't oppressed. They were just bored. And boredom is not a crime against humanity. It's just part of being human.
You've heard it before. Repeated in classrooms, printed in textbooks, adapted into film. That women in mid-century America were oppressed. That they were silenced, shut out, kept in kitchens, denied the vote, denied lives of meaning. That they lived as second-class citizens in their own homes, under the rule of husbands and vacuum cleaners. The story is familiar. It is also false.
Oppression, if the word is to mean anything, must be used with care. It means to be subject to unjust treatment and systemic denial of rights. It means to be barred, not bored. A mid-century American woman could read, could leave her house, could vote. She could own property. She could file for divorce. She could attend college, and millions did. She lived in a society where her safety and comfort were paramount. If she chose not to work, she was not destitute. She was provided for. If she stayed home, it wasn't under coercion, but under the logic of division of labor. She had time. She had security. She had freedom, though it may not have been exciting.
The man had none of those luxuries. His life was harder, not easier. He was judged by his utility. If he failed to provide, he failed entirely. He worked in factories, in fields, in offices that had no air. He climbed power lines and crawled into mines. He went to war. Women were shielded from war, from hard labor, from economic instability. They weren't breaking their backs or inhaling coal dust or dying ten years earlier like their husbands were. While she had the freedom to find herself bored, he had no time to find himself at all.
So why do we hear the word “oppression” used to describe these women's lives? The answer is boredom. It was boredom dressed up as grievance. And boredom, no matter how dramatized, is not the same as injustice. Oppression was what Black Americans suffered under Jim Crow. It was what political dissidents endured under Stalin. It was not what suburban housewives lived through in Levittown. When Betty Friedan called the suburban home a “comfortable concentration camp,” she wasn't describing reality. She was giving shape to a feeling. And feelings, though real, are not always correct in their conclusions.
Routine defined the era. And it defined both sexes. Life for most was not thrilling. It was repetition. The man woke up early, worked long, and came home tired. There was little glamour, little recognition. And when he walked through that door, he didn't find respite. He found a wife who said she was unfulfilled. That she needed more. More than what? More than safety? More than leisure? More than a life free of physical risk? Ordinary life, for her, was not enough. But it wasn't enough for him either. That's the nature of ordinary life. It rarely is.
The narrative that women were oppressed in mid-century America sells because it flatters. It flatters the present. It lets us believe we are better than those who came before. But the truth is less cinematic. These women weren't oppressed. They were just bored. And boredom is not a crime against humanity. It's just part of being human.
