The Actual Female Eunuch

Sexy TV star Christina Hendricks' Letter To Men has become an internet sensation since it first appeared in the April issue of Esquire. In it, she told men what every woman in existence wanted from them, in 840 words, helpfully illustrated with pictures of her eating melon in her underwear.

The initial draft was even more illuminating, however. Here it is...

We're obsessed with men. You are our world. At all times of every day, we're thinking about you. Everything we do is an effort to snag one of you, for cuddles, marriage, children, etc.

Once we've finally got one of you, that's it. We're gone. We surrender ourselves to you completely. You just have to walk into the room and we go weak at the knees. You'll have to sweep us up in your big, strong arms and revive us with smelling salts. Seriously, we're nothing without you.

We hang off your every word, mentally noting down every single thing you do and say. We crave your guidance. How do you want us to look? How should we behave? Are our breasts too small? We'll make them bigger for you. You like those big bowling-ball tits, right? Like that woman who died? Please, tell us. We're blank canvasses, just waiting for you to daub your sexy man paint all over us. We live to please. The only thing worse than being a slave to a Victorian patriarch is not being a slave to a Victorian patriarch. Subjugate us, you big, hairy brutes!

Please don't say anything bad about our friends, because we're incapable of forming and sticking to our own opinions about anything. If you were to say, "Sarah is a bitch," no matter how much I loved Sarah previously, you would throw me into confusion and doubt, because your thoughts and feelings automatically supersede my own. If you think Sarah's a bitch, then she must be. I have no idea why you think that, but if you said it, then it's true. Sarah's a bitch. I'll call her tomorrow and tell her she can't ever see me again. I'm sorry if her presence offended you.

We like: chocolate; puppies; rainbows; shoes; cushions; potpourri; anything frilly and/or pink; chocolate; diet soda; cuddles; chocolate; good bacteria; chocolate; you; chocolate; chocolate. All we ask is that you remember this short list and palm us off every now again with one or more items from it. Then you can pretty much treat us how you like. But if you don't, it's okay! Don't think we're, like, psychos or anything. We'd hate for you to think that.

Drink Scotch. It makes us so hot. Really, we're that superficial. Also, keep one eyebrow raised at all times. Walk around in your underwear carrying a baby. Beat up other men smaller than you. Maybe crush things between your bicep and forearm from time to time... house bricks, small woodland creatures, Fabergé eggs. And let out a little roar while you're doing it. You know, stuff that real men do. Use your imagination.

When you perform basic tasks on our behalf, it makes us feel important, and we need you to make us feel important. We're so racked with self-doubt that we require constant validation from external sources, preferably external sources with penises. Unassailably self-assured external sources with penises. Because you are, aren't you? That's why you guys fight each other all the time and climb things.

Don't wear clothes that I don't like. No woman likes clothes that I don't like.

I don't like Facebook either. I especially don't like men being on Facebook, because I have no idea what you're doing on there. What if you're friends with other women? I would appreciate it if you could keep your relationships with other women to real life, where I can threaten them without having to figure out your login details.

This doesn't really have much to do with anything, but just as an aside, I've kind of got this thing about sneaking off and changing into sexy underwear after a date. I get really self-conscious about it. I might as well squat down and shit in front of you. I don't really know why I'm telling you all this. Just so you know, I guess. Oh God, I'm babbling, stop babbling, Christina, it's not attractive! Oh, I'm sorry. Please ignore me. You know how neurotic we can be! I haven't put you off, have I? You still think I'm pretty, right? Please tell me I'm pretty. And then... (Jesus, you're gonna think I'm nuts)... then will you please say "panties"? I love it when you say "panties". It's just this thing I've got, okay? Please just tell me I'm pretty and then say "panties".

So there you go, gents. The complexities of human relationships unravelled, finally, by Joan off Mad Men. Drink Scotch and say "panties". It really is as easy as that.