Posted on 01/15/2007 7:16:36 PM PST by Lorianne
Decadent stay-at-home wives who take their rich husbands for a ride have finally been rumbled, says Tara Winter Wilson
Once upon a time, there was a truth, universally acknowledged, that a man with a powerful job and a beautiful house must be in want of a wife – preferably of the trophy variety. Domesticated, docile yet dazzling, she was the perfect finishing touch.
Not any more. According to research to be published in the journal Labour Economics, the earnings gap between married couples is narrowing. While in the 1980s it was the case that the higher a professional man's salary the fewer paid hours his wife would put in, men today are more likely to want a dynamic high-flier, an equal who wows him as much in the boardroom as in the bedroom.
Poisonous: 'It is like a perversion of the evolution theory: they have evolved into creatures whose function is simply to get the most for doing the least,’ says one husband A victory for feminism? Sadly not. The reason for this change, sisters, is nothing to be proud of.
Rich men, I believe, have finally cottoned on to the sinister side of the stay-at-home wife: unless you marry an equal who's going to pay her own way, you will end up with a lazy, indulgent, over-pampered slug. For the transition from trophy wife to toxic wife is as fast as the end result is furious.
I should know: many men of my age and acquaintance have become deeply bitter and disappointed about how their wives have changed since they hung up their working wardrobes. I am talking about university-educated women (often Oxbridge graduates) who do a couple of years work in the City before harnessing themselves to a milch cow and "having it all".
Apparently there's a new take on "having it all" – and it's not what the majority of us understood it to mean. Back in the 1970s, it meant effortlessly maintaining a beautiful home, entertaining in grand style, raising perfect children, keeping the husband sweet and having some sort of career in order to create financial independence.
"Superwoman" was the phrase coined for these energetic pioneers; "trophy wives" for the less energetic ones. Today it's a whole new ball game.
"It is like a perversion of the evolution theory: they have evolved into creatures whose function is simply to get the most for doing the least," whispered an exhausted husband to me recently. "I wouldn't mind providing her with so much if she just did something for me occasionally. She's never even once cooked me a meal."
"She doesn't know the definition of sacrifice," said another angry husband. "Relationships are meant to be about compromise, but she is more about selfishness. I bend and adapt to her needs, yet all she gives me are ultimatums."
"Can't you just divorce?" I asked.
"Are you kidding?" he replied. "I'd lose everything I've worked for, including my children, and I'd be paying her an indecent amount of money for life."
"There's another reason these husbands don't divorce," added a sympathetic onlooker. "They don't want to admit to failure – they don't want to be ungallant. There's an unspoken nobility or gentlemanly understanding that divorce is something they don't do."
Indeed, "something they don't do" is a mantra that extends to practically every area of toxic wifedom. Once an intelligent, educated woman who could hold her own in any dinner-party conversation, the toxic wife will do nothing of the sort.
"They not only become utterly vacant, they never throw dinner parties or entertain anyone outside of their small, closeted circle of other vacant wives," said irate husband number one.
"None of us can understand this: they become obsessed with perfection, grooming, with all aspects of their personal appearance… in a word, they become boring."
"Vain, boring, indulgent and lazy," adds yet another voice to the growing army of fed-up husbands. "I have to take the children out of the house every Sunday morning and wander around with them trying to find things to do because my wife must have a lie-in. I'm only allowed back in the house after 11am. Sunday is the nanny's day off, you see."
"My wife," chipped in husband number two, "gives over the whole of the weekend to pursuing what she calls 'me time'. She goes to retreats, yoga mini-breaks, a spa, a health farm, even art classes… all of which I pay for, of course. What do I get back in return? Nothing."
So today's concept of a wife "having it all", simply put, means never doing anything personally if she can pay someone else to do it for her. And if she can't find someone else, her husband must do it.
"To be frank," said another unfortunate husband, "I was conned. And I'm by no means the only one. There's a pattern of behaviour that these wives all adopt."
There are five tell-tale signs, apparently. First, she gives up work, ostensibly to care for the brood, only to have the children packed off to either boarding school or intensive (ie, lots of extra-curricular activities) private day schools.
Secondly, she suddenly wants to move somewhere more rural/suburban that suits her idea of family life, yet location-wise is horrendous for her exhausted, ever-commuting husband.
Thirdly, she demands wall-to-wall help, which nearly always includes an abused Filipina who works 12-14 hours a day, six days a week.
Fourthly, she refuses to fulfil in any way the traditional contract of the non-working spouse in terms of doing anything for her husband (such as cooking), while, fifthly, she expects her husband to fulfil the traditional but anachronistic male role in the household (such as paying all the bills).
Here is a typical day outlined by one husband of a toxic wife.
5.30am: Husband leaves for London. 7.45am: Filipina brings wife tea in bed. 8am: Nanny takes children to school. 8.30am: Breakfast, suduko and the papers. 9.30am-4pm: God knows; possibly gym, spa, shopping, boozy lunch with friends, nap or massage. 4pm: Nanny collects children from school. 5.30pm: Nanny gives children tea and goes home. 7pm: Filipina gives children bath. 7.30pm: Wife disappears off to book group. 9pm: Husband returns and roots around for an M&S ready-meal. 10.30pm: Wife returns. Bed. 10.35pm: Sex? In your dreams.
If the above timetable seems hideously parasitic, it is, and so is the woman behind it. The other day I nervously accepted an invitation for lunch with an old school friend. I felt daunted because, several years ago, she married a rich banker and I'd been dumped from her circle.
"Sorry I'm late," I said on arriving at her mansion. "Got stuck in traffic so bad it gave me road rage."
"Road rage?" replied Olivia, her eyes swivelling down to my shoes and up to my hair in a split, judgmental second. "Well, I'm suffering from maid rage. I mean, come and look…"
She led me into her kitchen, three times the size of my flat, and slid open a drawer. "How shoddy is that?" She was holding up a fork.
"What's wrong with it?" I asked, peering at it politely.
"Just look! It has a disgusting piece of encrusted mashed potato on it. I mean, it's so shoddy! She can't even unload a dishwasher. I'm really going to have to sack her. And guess what else I discovered this morning? When I opened the towel cupboard after my bath, I noticed that she'd stacked the pink towels amongst the white ones. Can you believe it?"
What made this conversation so scary was the fact that the terrified Filipina was in the room with us, hunched over a table slicing up bits of duck and foie gras for our lunch. "Juanita!" snapped Olivia. "This is your last chance. Do you understand me? You'll be back in Manila within the week… I couldn't possibly recommend you to anyone. Understand?"
"Yes Madam," she sniffed with a tremulous sob.
"And stop dripping your revolting bodily fluids over our lunch. Throw that away and start again. "
Horrified by her manner and the distressing scene, I asked her for a tour of her home. She had just moved into one of those massive houses in Chelsea Square. Rich folk tolerate people like me (ie, broke ones) only because we make them feel better about themselves.
"Would love to, darling," she drawled, "but first how about a drinkie-poo? Juanita! Open the champagne chilling in the wine fridge and bring it upstairs to the south drawing-room."
"Yes Madam," replied the poor slave.
"I won't have any, thanks," I said. "I'm driving and have to pick my children up from school."
"You mean you don't have a nanny to do it?" Olivia's eyes glared with horror. "I have the most delightful Norland one. Although the uniform is brown and ghastly, they are so well trained. She's downstairs in the basement doing my ironing at the moment…"
This was now utterly surreal. I had no idea that real people lived like this. Yet, minute by agonising minute, it got worse. I tried a bit of light humour.
"Well, let's hope she's not weeping tears on to your party dresses, eh?"
"What?" snapped Olivia.
"Well, then you'd ask her to redo the whole lot again, wouldn't you?"
"Possibly," she replied. "But a little moisture is no bad thing when ironing out the creases…"
Was she exhibiting a dry wit? I didn't know. In her pre-toxic wife days, she was amusing and droll. Now we were different beings living in parallel universes. She showed me lavish room after lavish room, and at one point I heard some strange shuffling coming from one of her closets. Maybe her life is not so perfect after all, I thought; maybe she has rats.
As we sat down to lunch in the "informal" dining-room adjacent to the kitchen in an open-plan L-shape, I noticed that Juanita was eating a rather more humble repast slightly around the corner; although I couldn't see all of her, I could detect an elbow jutting out from time to time.
"She won't be joining us then?"
"Are you mad?" cried Olivia. "Why would I want to even see my servants?"
As if on cue, a wizened little Filipino man appeared, bowing and scraping. "Madam, I have finished all the shoes. I will go now, thank you madam." He hurried out.
"See you on Thursday as normal, Pedro," she replied, barely glancing at him.
"Where did he spring from?" I asked. After all, I'd just endured an exhaustive survey of her house, and there had been no sign of Pedro.
"Oh, he's our shoe polisher. He comes twice a week. He works in a cupboard – probably why you didn't notice him." No rats after all.
Here was an educated woman who spent her days rotting her brain with alcohol, and bossing an army of staff.
"Olivia," I said, "don't you miss your old job, your financial independence? Isn't all this a bit decadent?"
"Forget the work ethic," she laughed. "Why on earth would I want to struggle, feel tired and look old before my time?"
I left, more agitated than when I arrived. Forget road rage; I was suffering from toxic-wife rage. Driving to collect my children, the outside world felt like a haven of normality and peace. How I pitied these rich and successful men who had naively hoped for a domestic goddess, only to end up with a diva.
Wake up, toxic wives, the game is over. Your milch cows have seen the light of day. You are toxic, you are trouble and you are about to become extinct.
"been there .done that. not much worse than the toxic wife."
Same here. Cheers.
My first husband, like you both, has never remarried. I dumped him for cheating. I've got this funny thing about monogamy that just went batshat crazy when AIDS hit the country.
Not everyone is 'fit' for marriage. It never works when one person is all 'take' and no 'give.' Usually that person never realizes how selfish s/he is.
BULL. If you want to stereotype, so can I. There's very few good men out there. My husband is constantly counselling young men that work for him. They have good incomes and spend it all on their toys. Then, when they do decide to get around to marrying, they want a wife who will continue to work and make a professional salary so as not to cut into their toy purchasing power - new car, boat, expensive golf memberships, trips, etc.
Thankfully, some of them do grow up and realize that their weekends are better spent being a good role model to their sons and daughters than a good buddy on the nineteenth hole. Sometimes, priorities do change. That doesn't mean you have to completely give up a personal life.
Ditto that. Plus, they can change their own flats too.
My two cents: These poor trapped men get no sympathy from this quarter. The way I see it, you make your bed, you lie in it....even if it turns out to be an expensive and lonely place. They do have options, albeit quite painful ones. Gold diggers will always exist, these men have just got to get smarter.
#40 is a great post.
If kids are that much trouble, put them up for adoption. You can sleep all you want when they are gone.
These gentlemen went wrong in simply failing to realize that "trophy" and "trophy wife" are not synonyms. ;)
Dear girlangler,
"When I met my husband his first wife was dead,..."
Typically, most folks think of "trophy wives" as the women men marry after divorcing the wife who helped them get to where they are.
I don't think that you really qualify.
I think your marriage qualifies more as a May-December type of thing. Glad it worked out. ;-)
sitetest
He was many things, most of them unflattering, but not dumb.
Your situation is COMPLETELY different and glad it is working out for you. We are talking about guys who leave there 30 year marriages and go with some 18 or 19 year old. Your marriage is no where near like that.
I still maintain that there are very few "good and decent" women out there, but I am trying to help form some "good and decent" young men, just in case the number of like minded young women happen to appear in the next generation..
I can't help thinking of the exchange in "Everybody Loves Raymond" where the mother refers to herself as a 'trophy wife' and her husband says, "A trophy wife? What contest in Hell did I win?"
If you already have children, what good will it do to stay at home in a decade?
Not if you marry a good hard working Christian woman who had good parents. It won't matter if she works or stays home and works.
"Good and decent" is a judgment about a person's current emotional state, life experiences, and level of self-understanding. When examined closely, the person who makes the judgment that someone isn't "good and decent" usually means "That person is reflecting back to me something about myself that I don't like".
Ha, ha! Well, that's usually what happens when one marries looking to fill up a hole in one's own Being. ;)
Why would it be any 'worse' in England?
If there's any truth to it ping to Ivan...
Bingo! And the knife cuts both ways.
The Feminist movement is all about "selfishness". One doesn't have to be a feminist to be selfish. But it does guarantee it!
And they think they're going to get sex from a woman who herself is flying to London on business and working all day then comng home to work get some sleep. She will just be substituting office time and meetings for the nap and bookclub. She will travel, have the office to go to daily but she will still want the me-time for spa, nails, and boozey lunches or dinners. You might not have to outlay as much cash but you won't get any more time and attention. Most likely even less. The mistake these men made was probably picking airheads who haven't a thought deeper than nails, hair and clothes. They should have married smarter women.
From my own experince...
I grew up with an executive mother back in the day when most mothers stayed home. She was frequently away on business. We had a housekeeper. My father was there every night as he was an engineer and worked locally. When our housekeeper was off, Daddy cooked. Al he knew how to make was tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches. While we had much more money and material things than my friends had, they had mothers, who were available. My mother was a phone call away. My father was proud of her, she is very smart and did well in what was a man's field. She was frequently asked who's secretary she was? Would I want her life? NO Women have been sold a bill of goods about having it all. You can't do all of it and do it all WELL. Something or someone suffers.
I wanted to be a wife and mother and I didn't want anyone else doing my job. I was a proud stay at home mother. I don't have a housekeeper, a nanny nor did I have boozy lunches with friends. I homeschooled. I did occasionally get my nails done.
Our children are grown now and our last is in college. I devote my time to my husband and my community. I still occasionally get my nails done, but I seldom even have time for that. I have yet to have a boozy lunch.
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