PUTTING IT OUT THERE
I absentmindedly stared through my window at a giant penis for three years before the thought of questioning its omnipresence even occurred to me.
It was one of my last nights in Brooklyn. Earlier in the evening, while enjoying a few drinks at an outdoor bar with some of my girlfriends, a lull in the conversation prompted one of us to whisper “penis”, which then prompted another one of us to say it a bit louder, which, of course, then initiated a good old-fashioned round of The Penis Game.
Within three or four more exclamations at our table, the game had infiltrated the entire outdoor patio space, spreading from table to table with each bolder, louder shriek of that short, simple word. Nothing brings strangers together like an unexpected and public eruption of The Penis Game.
Later that night, perched on my fire escape for a smoke and looking out across the Brooklyn skyline, one building in particular returned my mind to the joyous shouts at the bar. You see, I was living in an apartment in Gowanus with a comically direct view of the Williamsburgh Savings Bank Tower. If you were sitting on the couch in the living room, you were facing two large windows, and those two large windows were just twelve short blocks southwest of the protuberant tower.
No matter which direction you spin your view of this building though, its architectural shape has all the right angles in all the right places to resemble a giant limestone penis. In fact, as I learned that evening, it was this very building that, back in 2003, prompted the official World’s Most Phallic Building contest.
The whole thing initially began with an article by writer Jonathan Ames for Slate magazine. In the article, he described his own opinion of the building:
With that, Ames had unintentionally started a heated debate. A significant amount of readers started writing in to respond to the article and dispute his claim with their own big-dicked theories. Thus, it was inevitable; a contest had to be held to determine where the world’s true biggest dick stands erect.
Is it the giant, four-sided, timekeeping penis-bank that stared through the windows of my Brooklyn apartment?
What about the tall, sturdy structure, flanked on both sides with two low domes, that is the Florida State Capitol Building in Tallahassee?
Or maybe, the Torre Glòries—that giant, sparkling geyser of illuminating hope that stands tall in Barcelona as an ode to the forgotten past of Hotel Attraction. (If you don’t know the story behind Hotel Attraction, go follow it. Especially if you’ve ever entertained any sort of 9/11 conspiracy theory in the dark alleys of your mind.)
Turns out, none of the above.
After Cabinet magazine created a website for the contest so that entries could be submitted, the deliberation began. Though it was the Florida State Capitol Building that technically garnered the most votes in a readers’ poll, the winning title was given to the Ypsilanti Water Tower. According to the Cabinet editors, this building “is clearly the world’s most phallic.” Also known as the “Brick Dick”, this structure has stood on the highest point in Ypsilanti, Michigan since its first (and only) erection back in 1890.
Regardless of the results though, it can’t be forgotten that the contest would have never even taken place without its first looming entry, the Williamsburgh Savings Bank Tower. The same one that I finally decided to Google that evening after loudly shouting “PENIS” at it into the night sky and crawling back through the window into my apartment.
As I scanned the Wikipedia page for the building, I had to snort-laugh at the fact that Magic Johnson apparently converted the top part of it into luxury condominiums. Is that really just supposed to be taken as some kind of silly coincidence? Is the absurdly priapic shape of all of these contest entries actually meant to be viewed as accidental, or subconscious?! What is the deal?!?!
The next morning, I made my usual walk over the Union Street Bridge and across the Gowanus Canal toward 4th Avenue.
A few months before, a short section of sidewalk between Bond and Nevins had been repaved, and in the brief period of wet cement, an anonymous opportunist saw one of the smooth squares of new pavement as a blank canvas. Spanning across the width of the sidewalk square, two big balls and one large shaft had been set in stone for all to see… and step over.
When I got to this particular square, I paused for a moment to look down at a big, stone penis, and then to look up at a big, stone penis. And if I’m being quite honest, I once again had to laugh.
As a strong, independent female in the age of Times Up and #MeToo, it’s tempting to chalk all of this genital symbolism up to “toxic masculinity” or misogynistic displays of power, or something. But after more research and more laughter, I know for sure that that’s not how I view all of these big dicks.
The truth, if you ask me, about the impulse to obsessively recreate penises (think Jonah Hill in Superbad) is as simultaneously simple and complex as the truth about life. Life is scary, and funny, and beautiful, and strange. It’s hard to understand and even harder to control—and when we can’t control it, it shows. Sometimes it has a firm and direct path, other times it flops all over the place. It’s a part of us, but it is also outside of us. The penis is separate and vulnerable in a way that—unfortunately for men—is distinctly different from female genitalia.
And considering all of the pain, stress, and struggle that women undergo to carry the creation of life forward, how can you not find a little humor in artistic renderings of a big old penis’s flip-flopping vulnerabilities?