The first time I thought: That’s original. My friend Nadja only invited girlfriends to her birthday party, unfortunately men had to stay outside. After all, said Nadja, she was friends with the women. Less with their partner, who sooner or later joined them: “If I want to listen to lectures about the miracle of Wolfsburg or the last tax havens in Europe, I can also turn on the television.” Next, Bettina celebrated in female company, while her current lover in the kitchen stood and made sushi. When Birgit then also invited to a “women only” party, I knew: This is no coincidence. This is trending.
I just didn’t know how to find it. As the offspring of the last baby-boom cohorts, you meet many old friends again: homemade knit sweaters, fitted kitchens in bright colors and brightly flowered tunics with so many folds that they still fit in the final stages of twin pregnancy. On the bestseller lists, neo-feminist rinds from Sweden and West German swamp flowers jostle for the top spots. And a look in the shop window shows: purple is the new black. So now the women’s party. Do we really want them back?
After the third manless event, I am convinced: Yes, we want that. Because just as the fitted kitchens, tunics and knitted sweaters look the same as they did 30 years ago, a celebration evening with women is no longer an ideological event today. You can see a lot of purple, but very little wild armpit hair. And hear about men who are very – what was it called in the seventies? – are “solidarity”: because they support their wives as babysitters, Asian snack makers and next-morning aspirin suppliers .
The fact that my three very different friends – one with a husband, villa and second car, the other with a bicycle, boyfriend and broom closet shower, the third notoriously single again and again – all come up with the same idea is probably a sign of extremely relaxed feminism. At least two of them would not even put the F-word in their mouths. But precisely because we no longer have to engage in bitter trench warfare, we can pick the best of both worlds. Celebrate with friends. Send your loved one to the kitchen. And wake up with him the next morning.
Women are not the better people. But sometimes the better soulmates. At eleven, when we play adulthood over blackberry and vanilla tea. At 25, when we need our girlfriends to hold hands in the relationship jungle. And at 39, when we neither expect deep looks from strangers at a party nor want to talk shop with other couples about scrapping bonuses. Just get a little touchy-feely, drink red wine and feel retro. In lilac floral tunics, in brightly colored kitchens. Maybe I should bring my husband a tapas cookbook. Then he can already practice for my next party.
