The Southern Belle

I like the use of language here:

In an open-handed demonstration of feminine wiles, in Gone with the Wind, Scarlett smirks to herself before putting the new hat Rhett Butler has brought her from Paris on backward, in order to let Rhett show her how to wear it—she allows herself to be scolded by him as he ties the satin bow under her chin. It makes Rhett feel capable, necessary.

I never thought that kind of shit would actually work with real men, which was why I was agog when Amy delicately leaned against Brinky’s shoulder and asked him how to use some function of her own iPhone (and perhaps give him a better view of her lovely blouse).

Right, I sat there thinking. Like he’s going to believe that this smart girl, who runs her own fashion website, doesn’t know how to use her own phone. I almost laughed out loud, until I saw that it was working. Brinky couldn’t help himself. He’d taken the bait, hook, line, and sinker, and was compulsively jabbering instructions at her like an Apple Store Genius. Amy had handily tied him up in a big pink ribbon and had him chuckering like a turtledove against her shoulder within three minutes of arrival. It was formidable.

God, I realized (for the eighty-zillionth time in my life). Playing dumb swans right past men’s conscious/intellectual defenses, as lethally as psychological depth-marketing. Amy had tipped Brinky’s hat brim down and made all the marbles roll out of his brain and down the front of her blouse, just like that. What may look like the most artless connivance to other women sure as shit wraps men around a girl’s finger. It’s awful to watch; the men look so dumb when they fall for it, but God—they always fall for it.