There’s a lot of things I dislike in the world, so I’ll only name a few at the top of my list. I dislike Trumpist culture-warrior conservatism. I dislike that I’m but a cog in a capitalist machine which charges my family hundreds of dollars for each fifty-minute biochemistry lecture I skip — especially considering I learn more from reading the textbook that was automatically charged to my “bursar.” And, I dislike men who are patronizing about smoking weed.
It’s not just the mansplaining about all things canna-bro culture (marijuana stock investments, the supremacy of Rick and Morty humor, etc.) that irritate me — given that men ’splain about everything everywhere all of the time, I’d have shot myself in the eye by now if I let that act alone get under my skin. I guess what I really hate is that on top of speaking at intolerable length on topics I never asked about, men of this breed find countless other ways to lay their canna-condescension on me.
It’s worth noting, I’m mostly writing in retrospect of an era earlier in my life that I know many other women can recall versions of in their own experience. ’Twas a time — mostly high school and the summer afterwards in my own case — when I was substantially less comfortable with the modes and methodologies of weed consumption than I’ve since become. I recall the many times my 17-year-old self would choke to death over a single rip from a penis-shaped bong brimming with bacteria, while the barely pubescent boy who never bothered to give this glass piece a wash sits beside me and sneers at my inexperience. Or, when I would find myself stuck on yet another Tinder date with some self-identified stoner-llectual going on (and on and on) regarding his unprompted opinion that the hours I invest everyday into my schoolwork are pointless — an understanding he tells me that I, unlike his college drop-out self, simply haven’t grasped in full because my psyche hasn’t undergone the drug-fueled journey that his has towards the true meaning of existence.
I would notice the way these guys stared at me as I took a hit, intently watching for any indication that I didn’t know what I was doing, that I needed their assistance. And when it was clear that I could use some help — even when just a few words of explanation would’ve done the trick — they’d leap at the opportunity to break the process down to its most detailed mechanics, and in the most condescending tone of voice they could muster. If their monologue ever came to an end and I got to try taking another hit, my attempt was usually met with some needless criticism followed by the suggestion that I try yet again, and again. In hindsight, there’s no doubt that the objective of their game was to take advantage of my naivete and get me higher and higher (i.e. easier and easier for them to fuck).
To this day, men continue to feed me critiques of my rolling technique, smirks of disbelief when I dare say that I, too, am a pothead and scoffs at the suggestion that their subpar bud is not the “gas” they think it is. It only makes sense that men feel they have a monopoly over recreational cannabis consumption. Men have always made up the majority of marijuana’s industry and consumer base, and the market overflows with advertisement and content catering to the male stoner (Bart Simpson imagery, sexualized images of women, phallic smoking equipment, etc.). As the American pot industry grows ever larger and ever more involved with major American investors (white banker bros mostly), it grows increasingly important to recognize the many women and female-oriented companies that are a part of this industry as well. Support women in weed.
Brat Baby is a student at Cornell University. Pillow Princess Diaries runs alternate Sex on Thursdays this semester. Sex on Thursday runs every Thursday this semester.