Sexism In The (Body)Workplace
by Andrew Yavelow (©1999)
Saturday, January 30, 1999
Three days a week, I work as a massage therapist at one of Hawaii’s major resort spas. Yesterday, there were six therapists on duty, and 28 guests called in to schedule appointments for massages and other bodywork treatments. At our spa, the therapists get paid only when we actually work on clients, and the work is supposed to be shared equally among all therapists on duty. One would expect, therefore, that yesterday each of us would have been assigned four or five treatments. But that's not what happened. All 28 treatments were divided among just five therapists, not six. One therapist was assigned no work at all. Me. And the only reason for this inequity in scheduling – and earnings – was because I'm a man.
Sexism in the workplace is, of course, nothing new. Women have been battling the injustices and indignities of unfair treatment, unfair pay, and blatant prejudice ever since day one of the patriarchy. And as a politically and socially conscious intellectual of the '70s, and '80s, I am proud to think of myself as (among other things) an enlightened feminist. But putting up with discrimination against myself simply because of my maleness is far stronger a feminist statement than I'd ever possibly want to make.
Among bodyworkers, it's no secret that most clients prefer to work with female therapists. This phenomenon is so well known, in fact, that of the 30 therapists who have been given contracts to work at our spa, only four of us are men. The reasons for client bias toward female therapists are, on the surface, completely understandable. Most female clients, in my experience, perceive it as a safety issue: "If I'm going to be alone, undressed, and vulnerable in a closed room with a total stranger, I'd just feel safer with a woman." This feeling, of course, grows from the ugly truth that so many women have experienced breaches of trust with men, including male therapists; why should they even think about "risking it" during a massage – a treatment they are paying dearly for, and that must be safe and comfortable if it's going to be therapeutic and healing. For male bodywork clients, the issue seems most often to come down to one of homophobia – not that it's necessarily expressed that way. "I've always preferred to be touched by women, that's just the way I am," the men explain. And because the majority of men in our population are, indeed, unaccustomed to being touched by other men, this too seems to make a lot of sense.
But regardless of the reasons, or their degree of validity, the fact remains that male bodywork therapists are often dismissed out of hand. Clients call the spa and – without knowing anything about any of the therapists on duty – almost always request females. What's more, if ever a client makes no mention of a gender preference, it is our spa's policy that the attendant booking the appointments pointedly ask the client, "Is a male therapist OK?" Every time I hear that question, I rankle. It's a set-up. It's a prompt for the almost inevitable response: "No, I'd rather have a woman." Immediately, the appointment gets booked as "Requests Female," and I've got another unpaid hour to kill while my colleagues fatten their wallets and enjoy the professional satisfaction of working at the jobs they've been so well trained for.
Truly, it isn't fair. And, of course, I'm pissed off about that. But beyond this pettiness of who gets to work more than whom, and make more money, there's another issue at play here. An issue that goes to what I believe is the very core of this work I've chosen to do with my life. And that's the issue of "healing."
Why do people people seek out a massage, or another type of bodywork? Yes, a lot of people come (to our spa, at least) just because they've got tight shoulders, or a sore back, or a stiff neck – and having those muscles rubbed feels good. And that's the American medical way: treat the symptom. Heart pain? Take a pill. Sore back? Get a massage. My intention in doing this work, though, is to help my clients progress beyond their symptoms and uncover and understand the causes of their discomfort. I'm here to help people know that it is possible to change their often-unconscious unhealthy behaviors – and to become healthier and more pain-free in their lives. This is what I mean by "healing." Yes, it's great to give someone a massage and know that they walked out feeling better; but it's one of deepest satisfactions of my life to help other human beings permanently change their own lives for the better.
So what does this type of healing have to do with the gender of the therapist? Potentially, I think, quite a lot.
If a woman has experienced a physical breech of trust with a man, having a positive experience with a male bodywork therapist can be an enormously healing experience. Likewise, for a man to lie down and feel that it's OK – even pleasurable – to receive a massage from another man, that too can be a huge opportunity for healing and growth. Why do we resist the things we're afraid of? Well, because we're afraid of them. But if we look beyond that knee-jerk fear and allow ourselves to learn that our fears are based on the past and now quite possibly not still justified, we open ourselves to new experiences of the world around us, and of our very selves.
We have some damn fine male bodywork therapists who work at my spa, myself included. We're well trained, highly experienced, ethical, caring, and compassionate. To generalize, we're bigger and stronger than most of the females on staff – an advantage to the many clients who request "deep" work. And without a doubt, through the energy of our maleness itself, we offer a healing experience that simply isn't available from any female therapist.
If you routinely request a female bodyworker – whether it be simply out of habit or due to an unfortunate past experience with a male – I encourage you to broaden your thinking and expand your experience. Ladies, not all men are slime. And gentlemen, it isn't about sex, or even about gender. For all of us, healing is about opening to the full measure of our humanness – something each of us can only do if we're willing to be open to everyone.
Three days a week, I work as a massage therapist at one of Hawaii’s major resort spas. Yesterday, there were six therapists on duty, and 28 guests called in to schedule appointments for massages and other bodywork treatments. At our spa, the therapists get paid only when we actually work on clients, and the work is supposed to be shared equally among all therapists on duty. One would expect, therefore, that yesterday each of us would have been assigned four or five treatments. But that's not what happened. All 28 treatments were divided among just five therapists, not six. One therapist was assigned no work at all. Me. And the only reason for this inequity in scheduling – and earnings – was because I'm a man.
Sexism in the workplace is, of course, nothing new. Women have been battling the injustices and indignities of unfair treatment, unfair pay, and blatant prejudice ever since day one of the patriarchy. And as a politically and socially conscious intellectual of the '70s, and '80s, I am proud to think of myself as (among other things) an enlightened feminist. But putting up with discrimination against myself simply because of my maleness is far stronger a feminist statement than I'd ever possibly want to make.
Among bodyworkers, it's no secret that most clients prefer to work with female therapists. This phenomenon is so well known, in fact, that of the 30 therapists who have been given contracts to work at our spa, only four of us are men. The reasons for client bias toward female therapists are, on the surface, completely understandable. Most female clients, in my experience, perceive it as a safety issue: "If I'm going to be alone, undressed, and vulnerable in a closed room with a total stranger, I'd just feel safer with a woman." This feeling, of course, grows from the ugly truth that so many women have experienced breaches of trust with men, including male therapists; why should they even think about "risking it" during a massage – a treatment they are paying dearly for, and that must be safe and comfortable if it's going to be therapeutic and healing. For male bodywork clients, the issue seems most often to come down to one of homophobia – not that it's necessarily expressed that way. "I've always preferred to be touched by women, that's just the way I am," the men explain. And because the majority of men in our population are, indeed, unaccustomed to being touched by other men, this too seems to make a lot of sense.
But regardless of the reasons, or their degree of validity, the fact remains that male bodywork therapists are often dismissed out of hand. Clients call the spa and – without knowing anything about any of the therapists on duty – almost always request females. What's more, if ever a client makes no mention of a gender preference, it is our spa's policy that the attendant booking the appointments pointedly ask the client, "Is a male therapist OK?" Every time I hear that question, I rankle. It's a set-up. It's a prompt for the almost inevitable response: "No, I'd rather have a woman." Immediately, the appointment gets booked as "Requests Female," and I've got another unpaid hour to kill while my colleagues fatten their wallets and enjoy the professional satisfaction of working at the jobs they've been so well trained for.
Truly, it isn't fair. And, of course, I'm pissed off about that. But beyond this pettiness of who gets to work more than whom, and make more money, there's another issue at play here. An issue that goes to what I believe is the very core of this work I've chosen to do with my life. And that's the issue of "healing."
Why do people people seek out a massage, or another type of bodywork? Yes, a lot of people come (to our spa, at least) just because they've got tight shoulders, or a sore back, or a stiff neck – and having those muscles rubbed feels good. And that's the American medical way: treat the symptom. Heart pain? Take a pill. Sore back? Get a massage. My intention in doing this work, though, is to help my clients progress beyond their symptoms and uncover and understand the causes of their discomfort. I'm here to help people know that it is possible to change their often-unconscious unhealthy behaviors – and to become healthier and more pain-free in their lives. This is what I mean by "healing." Yes, it's great to give someone a massage and know that they walked out feeling better; but it's one of deepest satisfactions of my life to help other human beings permanently change their own lives for the better.
So what does this type of healing have to do with the gender of the therapist? Potentially, I think, quite a lot.
If a woman has experienced a physical breech of trust with a man, having a positive experience with a male bodywork therapist can be an enormously healing experience. Likewise, for a man to lie down and feel that it's OK – even pleasurable – to receive a massage from another man, that too can be a huge opportunity for healing and growth. Why do we resist the things we're afraid of? Well, because we're afraid of them. But if we look beyond that knee-jerk fear and allow ourselves to learn that our fears are based on the past and now quite possibly not still justified, we open ourselves to new experiences of the world around us, and of our very selves.
We have some damn fine male bodywork therapists who work at my spa, myself included. We're well trained, highly experienced, ethical, caring, and compassionate. To generalize, we're bigger and stronger than most of the females on staff – an advantage to the many clients who request "deep" work. And without a doubt, through the energy of our maleness itself, we offer a healing experience that simply isn't available from any female therapist.
If you routinely request a female bodyworker – whether it be simply out of habit or due to an unfortunate past experience with a male – I encourage you to broaden your thinking and expand your experience. Ladies, not all men are slime. And gentlemen, it isn't about sex, or even about gender. For all of us, healing is about opening to the full measure of our humanness – something each of us can only do if we're willing to be open to everyone.
