Once upon a time, long after the feminist revolution dawned and yet before we could spell the word–let alone understand it–we were little girls. We knew we were equals to boys and no one was going to tell us we weren’t going to play kickball at recess with the toughest of them.

But if little Johnny knocked me over and didn’t stop to smile and help me up, well, then I told all of my friends he was a jerk. And this idea of “I’m as good as you so treat me like a princess” found itself a little home in our confused minds and it took over…without an invitation.

As we awkwardly tiptoed into the land of dating, this entire concept, fraudulent as it seems, was still very real. I’ve always been independent, strong, confident, smart (maybe a little full of myself, too), and was taught to believe that no guy could outdo me in ANYthing. So why did my mom tell me to let Eric pay for dinner on my first date? Why did my friends think it was “sweet” that he opened doors for me? How can we truly be equals if chivalry is still a card in this game? Read More »

Chivalry is not dead. It’s alive and well—or, at least alive.Since moving to New York, I have come across varying degrees of gallantry. Some is well intentioned and friendly; while some has a faded, slightly sour quality. Some acts of chivalry are carried out with genuine kindness, and some are done because the guy can’t bare the thought of letting a woman exert any kind of power.

How do you know what level of chivalry you’re getting on a daily basis? Read on.

LEVEL 1: On this, the brightest and friendliest level, the guy is being polite and helpful because he wants to be. Opening a door for you, standing up so you can take his seat on the subway, giving you room to pass on the sidewalk, all of these things are done with a smile and a pleasant glance. This guy’s mama taught him well, and it’s no trouble at all for him to show women that he holds them in high esteem.

Although it’s rare, this level does indeed exist, and I recommend immediately inquiring if such a polite lad has a partner, and if finding him to be single, snatching him up as quick as possible. Read More »

I’m a sucker for acts of chivalry, however contrived they may be. Opening doors, pulling out chairs, offering his jacket on a cold evening, and yes, paying for dinner—it all makes me swoon.

Though I never agree on first date to a place where I can’t afford to pay my own way, I do firmly believe that whoever does the asking out should pay. Being the introvert that I am, this translates into my date always paying. But of course, not wanting to seem unappreciative, I always end up doing what my friends and I now refer to as “the fake purse-reach.”

As soon as the bill lands on the table, I reach into my purse and dig for my wallet, which is usually lying in a prominent location that requires no digging to reach. At this point, my date will usually offer an ardent “No, no, I’ve got it.” You know how it goes, ladies. I offer a “oh, no, please, let me at least pay my share,” while opening my wallet and casually taking out bills. My date protests once again, and I wrinkle my brow and say “Are you sure? Thank you so much!” Read More »

The other day, a guy helped me off a city bus.

“Here you go, sweetheart” he said, standing near the last step and holding out his hand, “watch your step.”

I took his hand and said thank you, walking quickly down the sidewalk and willing the carsickness I had acquired from hours on a hot, crowded, jiggling city bus to dissipate before I threw up on 6th avenue. It wasn’t until my dizziness subsided that I had the energy to think back on my chivalrous gentlemen friend.

The guy who had helped me wasn’t much older than myself. Granted, he was bigger, about 200 pounds and seven inches bigger, but the years between us couldn’t have been more than a few. Here you go, sweetheart. I mean, he had helped me. But had I really needed the help in the first place?

One my biggest pet peeves is when men who don’t know me call me something endearing. Sweetheart. Honey. Used completely on purpose, those words—when uttered by a male close to my own age—are designed to make everyone in the conversation aware of who is in charge. Those words are condescension at it’s worst. I may be short and have the tendency to look young, but if you’re not my dad, boyfriend, or 100 year old neighbor, I’m certainly not your Honey. Read More »

I’m all for women’s rights, a feminist, no doubt. Recently, I even got into a heated (drunken) debate with a guy friend when he tried to claim that girls can’t drive. After all, how many accidents had he gotten into as opposed to my one measly fender bender? I refused to let him get away with such a pompous statement.

I have a point.

Somewhere along the road, as intelligent ladies demanded equal rights to our male counterparts, (Which by the way we still don’t have. 77 cents to a fella’s dollar, ladies!) men consequently decided that equal rights meant the abolishment of chivalry. Either that, or they just got lazy. (Ahem, the latter. In my opinion.)

What makes matters so atrocious is not even the actual death of chivalry, but the fact that girls everywhere have accepted it, and don’t expect much anymore.

Nowadays, wined and dined makes less sense than that damn word that lost you the spelling bee in fifth grade. (Who knew pneumonia had a P?) Girls’ expectations have become so minimal that if a guy opens the door for you he’s a Casanova, if he pays for dinner he’s practically Romeo, and if he calls you again within three days, well it must be too good to be true. Read More »