I regret belittling men. At 63, I’ve ended up alone

A few years ago I went to Italy with my then-boyfriend, James. As we sat tucking into a plate of frutti di mare at a seaside restaurant, I struck up a conversation with the waiter in Italian. While I was enjoying myself, James sat glumly and fiddled awkwardly with his phone. Back in the hotel room he asked why I had ignored him. By speaking in a language he didn’t understand, he said I had managed to make him feel small. I could see his point. I spent quite a while chatting away, oblivious to how he must be feeling. I then went on to joke that as the Italian speaker I would order for us – after all he didn’t know what osso buco meant… I was showing off. It wasn’t the first time something like this had happened to me. I have always taken the driving seat, been determined to get the last word and was too busy with books to master the art of charm. (Photo: Supplied).

Sacrifices for successful career

I’m convinced that the reason I’m still booking a table for one at the age of 63 instead of having settled with a significant other is because, like so many women of my generation, feminism has ruined my love life. Instead of empowering us, those ideals of the second-wave feminists made us believe marriage and domesticity were to be avoided like the plague and that men were competition rather than partners. I might have a successful career as a writer and broadcaster, but I have never had children or been married, and my longest relationship lasted eight years. I regret this; I had always imagined I would end up married with two wonderful children and living in a house in the countryside. I have paid a hefty price for my so-called liberation. I was 17, and a pupil at Godolphin and Latymer – one of Britain’s most academic institutions – when I was introduced to the Women’s Liberation movement. (Photo: insta_photos/Getty).

Joining a movement

It offered such hope and excitement, and we spent our lunch breaks soaking up the feminist mantras of Germaine Greer and Betty Friedan: “Act like men,” they cried as they burnt their bras and demonised housework and the family. By the time I was 25 clutching a degree in French and Italian, I was a bright, confident feminist, keen to flex her intellectual muscles and to never let a man get the last word. I read Nietzsche for fun and my bedside table has always buckled beneath the weight of substantial, intellectually challenging books. At first, men loved my wit and intelligence. “You’re such a breath of fresh air”; “I love talking to you”; “You’re the first woman I’ve met who stimulates me,” they’d trill. That was until I had lectured them for the umpteenth time on the virtues of modernism. “You’ll never win an argument against Kate,” one man said as he watched me outsmart yet another potential lover. Subtext: don’t bother. (Photo: Tara Moore/Getty Images).

Looking for an equal

Men have called me “intimidating”, “scary”, and “opinionated”. I now see that not only was I trying to prove I was their intellectual equal – or superior – I was treating every encounter with a man like he was my adversary. If a date bought me a bouquet of flowers, instead of smiling and putting them in a vase of water. I would bite their head off. “Can’t you buy me some nice olive oil or balsamic vinegar?” I said with an eye roll, to one hapless suitor as he stood wilting faster than the fragrant offering he held in his hand. He had bothered to think about making me happy and I crushed him for it. I placed so much importance on finding a “strong man” who could match me, that I forgot men are people with feelings. Indeed I forgot I had feelings and hid my softness. I now see that I longed to be loved but I was too scared to be vulnerable. I was using my sharp mind to protect my all-too-soft heart against yet further rejection. (Photo: skynesher/Getty).

Different generations

Another thing I regret deeply is my tally of one-night stands when I was younger. I distinctly remember thinking it would be uncool to say no to the men I met at parties, or dated but I struggled to enjoy it. There was always a disconnect. This was abundantly clear the morning after. As I lay there waiting for a sign of affection, he would be singing the triumphant “had her” song in the shower. A quick cheerio and he was gone. While I pretended to enjoy it, I felt uncomfortable about sex so early on. I felt empty and used. My generation of women were encouraged to “have sex like a man” – in other words have casual sex – but it backfired. Fast forward to now, the idea that women are different from men and that casual sex can be harmful to us is gaining traction. (Photo: courtneyk/Getty).

Sexual revolution for women

In her latest book, A New Guide to Sex in the 21st Century: The Young Adult Adaptation, Louise Perry explores how the sexual revolution impacted women negatively and led to unwanted consequences. She argues that casual sex, dating apps, pornography and the normalisation of sexual kinks are putting women at risk. Although contraception has reduced the chances of pregnancy, she points to the risk of contracting diseases or being a victim of violence – in a culture where “premarital sex is the norm”.

Learning to let go

Whilst I will never be a giggly man-pleaser, and have no intention of playing second fiddle to a man, the confident signals I have been giving out all these years were at odds with what is going on inside. I have learnt to step back and let things go, and have realised that things mustn’t always veer towards the satisfaction of the self. I am struck by how easy and peaceful it feels to let my dates/boyfriends take the lead. It is not a case of dumbing down or morphing into a Stepford woman, but simply dialling down a bit of me, and letting them shine. FYI my diary’s wide open. Go on, I dare you. (Photo: MixMedia/Getty).