We all know the archetype: there are the simple girls and the Katie girls, per Carrie Bradshaw’s stark, The Way We Were-based assessment. The Katies (Barbra Streisand, in all her Marxist Jew glory) are the ones “men” deem too “interesting” a.k.a. complicato to deal with on a long-term basis. Sure, at first, there’s a “fun” novelty to them, both sexually and intellectually, but after a while, “men” ultimately can’t resist yearning to return to the no-frills nature of a basique.
While there’s nothing wrong with basiques, per se, they will never challenge a “man” in a way that will prompt him to grow or question himself in any real or meaningful form. However, they will be there to hold his hand/fake dick, encourage him in all of his bullshit artistic pursuits and essentially serve as a wordless sounding board that can be fucked whenever he isn’t feeling doughy or self-obsessed. In short, the complicatos are forced to go the Kristen Stewart/St. Vincent route, because, really, what other choice do we have apart from the hollow insertion of a dildo?
I don’t know about you, but I think Barbra Streisand, a Williamsburg native, is a lot more masculine than most of the men currently inhabiting her turf. The woman dresses in tailored suits, after all, which is always an instantaneous emblem of power/being in total control.
Looking about as masculine as any “male” denizen of Wburg
The men who have overrun Barbra’s sweet Williamsburg of the post-WWII era have shown her no respect. They’ve allowed themselves to atrophy in the face of no struggle. Barbra, on the other hand, grew up fatherless and penniless. And then she had to inhale all manner of secondhand smoke while singing in nightclubs as a teen. That’s why her voice is also generally deeper that a Williamsburg “man’s.”
Barbra once said “I’m so glad I came from Brooklyn–it’s down to earth.” Not anymore, Babs, not anymore. And especially not with all these dickless men running around your town without at least offering the hipster consolation of having seen some of your more esoteric films, like What’s Up, Doc? or The Owl and the Pussycat.