Barbie says "Be Yourself" and I agree with her

The barbie doll I ordered a few days ago for my art coursework has just been delivered to my door. I sit for a while looking at the box and the monster that lies dormant inside it. After I have wrestled her out of her clear plastic coffin and untangled her from her shackles of clear plastic bands that keep her hands strapped to her sides and unwound the thread that stops her hair from being tousled in the box, she lies in my hand like a remote control. She is slighter, lighter, smaller than she seems in my child eye memory. Her face seems crueler. Her hips are narrower. Her legs are skinnier too, I'm sure, and her shoes are higher. Her plastic flesh is less glossy and less sticky than it was. This model is less busty than the previous design but, fret not, she still has those same strange echoes of feet. Her head is still disproportionately large, like a globe balanced on her neck. Her hair is undeniably blonde. She stills wears those weird knickers moulded out of her skin and, while her bum is definitely more defined than it was, she remains utterly vagina-less. She still bears her iconic back tattoo, made in China. This Barbie is kitted out for a night on the town, (her box proclaimed her part of the "fashionista" collection so I trust her style expertise) sporting a hot pink metallic pencil skirt and a t-shirt emblazoned with- I think we can all agree- Barbie's mantra:

Oh, the irony. 

I might be wrong- this mass produced, plastic, perma-smile princess might have a fully formed, complex personality (what a terrifying thought) but I was pretty sure that these dolls weren't famous, or infamous, for encouraging and embracing the diversity and individuality of human beings. Barbie, I suppose, is diverse- you can purchase a barbie with brown hair and she has quite an extensive wardrobe, if you are prepared to pay, including a staggering variety of wedding dresses and bathing suits. bleurgh. 

There is something a little sinister about Barbie proclaiming that girls should be themselves. Not that i don't think the message "be yourself" is sinister, quite the opposite in fact, but I think my discomfort comes from the fact that there is something... oxymoronic about Barbie supporting the cause of individuality. Barbie, after all, as an icon, is the monster that we rally against for indoctrinating young girls with a twisted concept of what a beautiful body is, what a woman's value is derived from and what a rich and full life is- she is the beach blonde, pouty, pinked dictator of what is pretty, girly, fun and fashionable. She is lined up on shelves next to an army of unblinking clones. She is a trend setter, a trend imposer, a trend enforcer. 

While I was scrolling through barbie after barbie online to try and find one within my price range (no, thank you, my art project really does not require a bedecked ball gown barbie for £37.99 plus postage) I met barbie on her way to the spa, barbie in her chelsea club house, barbie waiting for her dinner date, barbie in a wedding dress, barbie being a mermaid, barbie at the stable, barbie at the hairdresser, barbie getting a sushi lunch, and, perhaps more surprisingly to me at least, Barbie playing tennis and football and going kayaking, a girl band of guitar playing barbies and in the "I can be" section, barbie posed in various professional roles. 

This was interesting to me. Perhaps Barbie really was now using her majesty of the market to encourage girls to pursue a wide range of careers... yes! here was Barbie as a babysitter, a zoo doctor and an entrepreneur, a teacher, a vet and a paediatrician! All good, right? Except that in every one of these sets, (except entrepreneur barbie who stands all alone in a pink suit with her smart phone and tablet) Barbie is looking after either a baby animal or a small child. Not that it's not important that someone looks after animals and children, not that all of these careers that Barbie has taken up aren't admirable and essential services, but I simply wonder whether Barbie can ever represent working women without maternalising them or pinking them up or reinforcing the idea that women are really only good at looking after people. Why does barbie have to be a paediatrician? could she not have been a doctor, without a defined specialism so that the child could have imagined what sort of work she might do? Why is it so important to insist that the only doctoring Barbie would do, would be for children? Why is soccer player barbie's kit so tight fitting? surely that's not very ergonomic when it comes to dashing round the pitch? Why must every professional barbie wear tightly fitting clothes and high heels? 

And Why are all of these career barbie dolls white? In fact, the only black barbie dolls I saw on the barbie website were in two photos advertising the collection but when I scrolled through to see if I could find these dolls, they didn't seem to be available to purchase. I have never seen a barbie doll with an afro. Besides the china barbie in the "Barbie doll of the world" collection (which does not count, it's just barbie in a red, embroidered dress and red lipstick with a panda balanced on her hip and a hair style that apparently "evokes an eastern style", meaning only that it's black, not blonde), I have never seen an east asian Barbie, or, for that matter, pretty much any barbie that would not tick "white british" or "white american" on a form. 

Barbie, as we all know, is a white woman who is perpetually young, dangerously out of proportion and has the emotional range of... well... the mould her plastic face was made in. She does not represent or root for individuality, no matter what her t-shirt might say. She is destined only ever to work in pink clothing and excruciatingly high heels, to work only with things that need her womanly love and affection and to work only for a system that indoctrinates young girls and fosters in them a sense of duty to fit the barbie mould, and if they don't meet her exacting standards, a sense of inadequacy and shame. She is the smiling mascot of capitalism. She is the child friendly champion of patriarchy. She is the embodiment of status quo. 

Oh yes, she wants you to "be yourself" but she wants you to want to be her. She wants you to be tired and miserable and ashamed of being yourself. She wants you to compare yourself to her and find yourself wanting. 

She wants you to be yourself in her shadow, BUT remember that barbie is only 11 and half inches tall so her shadow is easily stepped out of. 

Barbie proclaims "be yourself", but I mean it. Yourself is much better than barbie's self. Barbie's self has been manipulated and rewritten a million times to make her easier to flog to small children, to make her more attractive, to make her seem less threatening. Barbie's self can be bought for £7.99. Barbie's self can be reproduced and mass produced. Barbie's self gets lost and grown out of and thrown away. Barbie's self is disposable and replaceable. Yourself is none of those things. 

The scariest thing about receiving my barbie gargoyle in the post was that I felt that old, childish excitement and enthusiasm about taking her out of her packaging, smoothing out her hair, adjusting her accessories, making her do the splits... I thought too, initially, before I really looked at her, "how pretty she is". I thought how much I'd like to have legs as long and thin as hers, a stomach as flat, arms as slim... And then I snapped myself out of it. I reminded myself that- thank god- i will never be barbie. I must "be myself" and I am glad of that, because I'd rather be me, with all of my idiosyncrasies and flaws and fuck ups, than just another barbie in a plastic prison on a shelf, waiting to be bought by a child who wants to lose themselves for a moment in a game. 

So even if we shouldn't listen to Barbie on any other issue, she might be onto something with this one...

Vida
xx

A Letter Regarding Your Review of My Skirt

To whom it may (or, more often, may not) concern, 

Over the last few days, weeks and months I have been made acutely aware of how oppressive the sight of my thighs, chest and stomach are to a number of the general public. I, for one, had been oblivious to the horror that is my human flesh until these impromptu reviews, recommendations and critiques and complaints started pouring in. For this, I apologise. May I never insult your retinas with my limbs again. I accept total responsibility for your distaste and discomfort with my body. 

Of course, it is only appropriate to censure and chastise me about the way I dress before I enter an exam hall. It is, indeed, more than simply appropriate- it is absolutely paramount. It is your duty. Your role is to make it known to me that you are not happy with the outfit that I chose- that it offends you and therefore that it is offensive. Objectively. 

Your displeasure at the sight of my clothes on my body is also, of course, completely rational and fair. Your assessment that my body would prove a distraction to men is completely substantiated and it falls to me to try and amend and prevent this by covering myself up (or indeed, it seems, perhaps just changing my clothing style to fit more conservative tastes... or, even better, if possible, change my body shape so that it fits with your concept of the virginal ideal of femininity) because my body is, first and foremost, a sexual object that must be tamed. This is not a case of predator and prey, your raised eyebrows confirms to me, this is more slab of meat and slobbering dog. 

I am indebted to you for confirming my preexisting insecurities, for corroborating stranger's comments and for continuing a trend within society that pins the blame for sexual harassment and assault on the victim. I am glad that my body is being appreciated for what it really is- not anything to do with a human being, but rather an artefact to be scrutinised, criticised and hidden in a cupboard when you think it looks out of place. I am so thankful for all your hard work making my morning just a little bit harder. 

Every time I try on an outfit before leaving the house now, I will think of your words and your eyes rolling over my body. I will abstain from wearing the clothes that make me feel empowered, comfortable, happy, confident, strong, proud and- goddamn it!- sexy. I will feel ashamed. I will look at other women in shorter skirts and lower cut tops that have walked past you uncensored and I will feel angry with them, and angry with myself for feeling angry with them. 

Perhaps instead I should be feeling angry with you? Angry with you for sexualising my body, for your slut shaming,  for your victim blaming, for your insensitivity. I should be fuming. I shouldn't care what you think about how I look and I shouldn't lose a single tear over what you have said. I shouldn't think twice about what i wear in light of your ("constructive") criticism. I should stalk past you wearing whatever i want because the only thing that clothes should do, is make me feel good about myself. The only thing i should feel towards my body is love. The only thing i should feel for myself is pride. And what i should feel for you? Anger. 

But i don't. I am not angry; I am sad. I am not empowered; I am ashamed. I am not saying "fuck you"; I am staying silent. 

You are the men on the street, the men on the platform, the man in the lorry, the teacher in reception, the exam officer, the woman at the bus stop, the girls on the bus... You are everywhere. You are the sound of footsteps behind a woman as she walks home that makes her take out her keys. You are the hot breath on the back of a woman's neck on a tube. You are the lawyers that think it is valid to make a comment on what a woman was wearing. You are the cackle of a punch line in a sordid joke. You are eyes ogling bar staff. You are double standards. You are an invasion of personal space. You are the "grey area". You are a dress code. 

And this week, you are the straw that broke the camel's back.

I will spend the rest of my life, in all likelihood, trying to evade your stare. Perhaps the worst bit of all is that I won't succeed. That no one will succeed. That it is almost impossible to saunter through life, never having your body or your clothes judged without a fleeting thought given to your person. We shouldn't ask someone else when we get dressed "Do you think this looks good?" or question whether something is "appropriate", whether something might make us look "too slutty", we should just get dressed in clothes that we like, that we feel comfortable in, that make us happy. 

Just remember that when you pass judgement on someone's outfit or try to find out what sort of person they are by how they dress or comment on someone's body (even if you think it's a compliment), unless your comment was invited, you are imposing your ideas and your criteria for perfection and attractiveness on someone else against their will. You are, in effect, assimilating your prejudice and their personality. And it is wrong. 

It is more than wrong, in fact. It is disgusting. It is pervasive, putrid sexism. It is sickening, it is superficial, it is cruel. It demeans and dehumanises. We have a culture that encourages people to rank one another out of ten, to swipe left or right, to damn someone as hot or not but we all know that humans are not binary- they cannot be reduced to a single figure, a single word and to do so is in fact to say that the whole of society can be summed up just as simply...

Oh wait.

It can be. 

"shit."

yours, 

Vida Adamczewski

How Revealing!

As I walked up to the gates of my school this morning, my face was set into my usual I-woke-up-before-the-birds-did frown but today it was a little more stern because I had been reading Laura Bates' book "Everyday Sexism" on the bus and was feeling even more acutely aware of the crushing force of the patriarchy and how much still needs to be done. The book itself was held tightly to my chest as I trudged along the pavement.

"Give us a smile, love!" came the chipper call of a man in van that had paused chivalrously next to me. Having caught me quite unawares, I turned my head to look at him (usually I would have flicked my finger at him and stormed off) and he laughs, winks and then the van drives off. I look at the book in my arms and, no thanks to Mr Spontaneous 8am Life Coach, I smile. I smile because in my head I am warning my new charming best friend that his days of flippant, casual, uncensored cat calling are numbered. I think about all the things are happening to start to eliminate behaviour like his and I begin to feel hopeful that the patriarchy's power is waning, that people everywhere are opening their eyes and standing up and fighting back. 

You are what you wear... apparently...

David Cameron has been getting a lot of stick recently for not donning a 'this is what a feminist looks like' t-shirt, unlike Nick Clegg and Ed Milliband and a whole bunch of celebrities proudly declaring themselves feminists... or at least feminist lookalikes.

I never thought that I would find myself criticising criticism of Cameron (enemy of an enemy is my friend and all that) BUT I really do think that all this 'just put the t-shirt on, you fucker' stuff isn't getting to the heart of the issue. While I'll admit that trying to defend his decision by saying that he hasn't got time to put a t-shirt on (it takes approximately 5 seconds) is a bit pathetic and that, by rights, the Uk PM really should be glad to proclaim himself a feminist, I actually don't think we should be condemning him for not wearing a grey slogan t-shirt... after all there are (admittedly, very few) more important things in life than t-shirts... 

If I am honest I am relieved that I don't have to look at a photograph of "a C3PO made of ham" (couldn't have said it better myself, Caitlin Moran) wearing a feminist slogan t-shirt for Elle Magazine. I am retching just thinking about it. And it isn't just because i don't think it would a wise style choice for him.

Had David Cameron worn the t-shirt, we would have been presented with an oxymoronic image- David Cameron should not be depicted as an image of feminism. Lest we forget that this is the man that told Angela Eagle to 'calm down, dear'. It would have been disastrous if those deciding whether to consider themselves feminists or not, were told that this...

....is what a feminist looks like?

Because it isn't. David Cameron in a feminist t-shirt would be wrong, confusing and downright disturbing. *shudder*

It is worrying that our Prime Minister is one of the few people that I would actively discourage from labelling themselves a feminist... because i think it undermines the cause. It renders the word meaningless. It turns feminism into something that you can label yourself without actually supporting the cause- anyone can wear one of these t-shirts but they only mean something if you are actually what a feminist looks like. 

And, i'm afraid to say, Cameron is not. 

I say thank fuck he didn't wear one. I wish we had a prime minister that could wear one and genuinely be a feminist, but, as yet, that is still a wish not a reality. We should stop chastising him for not wearing a t-shirt and start admonishing him for not being a feminist. 

This t-shirt campaign is all about raising awareness of the cause and making it accessible and inclusive. It is about revealing to the general public that feminists do not have to be women, do not have to be a certain type of woman, do not have to be something that you don't identify with. The people wearing the t-shirts need have only one thing in common- that they are feminists. And Cameron simply does not make the cut.

The campaign is well intentioned and I am glad that efforts are being made to make feminism a more accessible and inclusive movement. I am glad that the new mission of feminism is now to make it universal. I am glad that so many public figures in our society have happily pulled on their t-shirts to support the cause. BUT I am somewhat perturbed by the fact that in our society it is necessary for the emphasis to be on what a feminist "looks like" and not what a feminist thinks or believes or does. I would gladly don a t-shirt that read "I think all people are equal regardless of gender" on the front and "I am a feminist" on the back because i think you need both the belief and the label for the term to carry any weight. 'Feminist' is a convenient word to sum up the ideas we are striving for but if we continue to dissociate it from the actions and beliefs that it represents then we risk turning it into nothing more than 8 letters that can be printed on a t-shirt. Feminism belongs in people's minds, their words and their actions, NOT on their clothes. Feminism is not a fashion statement.

Feminist is what you are, not what you wear. Cameron would still be sexist whether he wore the t-shirt or not so I have to give him a little credit for being honest because, of course, it would be far, far easier to yank on the t-shirt in 5 seconds, take a picture and pretend. But that is what it would be: pretending. After all, you've got to admit, that a feminist t-shirt would make an excellent disguise for a blushing misogynist.

-Vida 

RuPaul's Drag Race and Feminist Little Comets

Hello! I'm currently taking a break from seemingly incessant revision for the last of my GCSEs to catch up with you guys about my most recent feminism/sexuality/gender-portrayal related ponderings- and in doing so, tell you all about my new favourite ever show on TV. Exciting stuff.
I have just realised that the title of this post probably makes no sense to any sane person who may be reading this, but don't worry, all will become clear.

First things first- RuPaul's Drag Race is the name of the programme I cannot seem to get enough of as of late. Basically, if America's Next Top Model and Project Runway had a child, this is the show they would birth. Except it's infinitely more funny. And replace the almost-models with drag queens. I know. Amazing. If you can't quite picture it, I'll insert some promotional pictures for some of the series here:

 (If you aren't thinking this is the best thing you've ever seen, or you aren't wondering WHERE this programme has been your entire life, then you may as well stop reading this entry now, as we probably won't agree on anything. Alternatively, if you are anywhere in your right mind, I'm pretty sure there are 6 series available for you to watch on Netflix. So get on it now.)

Put simply, the show begins with a group of drag queens from a surprisingly large range of backgrounds, and as the weeks go on, they have to 'battle it out to become America's next drag superstar', competing in an array of tasks including decorating a pair of platform heels to reflect a given cocktail, and dressing up puppets to create the most catty and inherently hilarious caricatures of their fellow contestants. Each week the two queens who, according to RuPaul, have not performed fabulously enough, risk elimination and must 'lipsync for their life (!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)' in order to stay in the competition. Those who are sent home are told by RuPaul to 'sachay away'. It's so tense. Real edge of your seat stuff. If I'm not portraying the drama well enough, here's a video of some of the best bits:

It's witty and outrageous, but there is a real rapport created with the contestants. Unsurprisingly, under all the drama and sass, the girls had faced harsh amounts of prejudice not only from people they didn't know- ignorant arseholes, basically, who have little or no knowledge or understanding of the drag community and would outrightly abuse them verbally and physically in public, but most sadly from their own families. There were countless stories of parents who had disowned their biological sons because they enjoyed dressing and expressing themselves as women, and some accounts were genuinely heartbreaking. At many points I was made to question and criticise my own society for its general lack of acceptance and tolerance for a community that was completely harmless, and that I percieved as genuinely beautiful.  Honestly and genuinely it was difficult for me not to cry a little bit when Latrice Royale was sent home. The show embraced and celebrated the exploration of gender and femininity which is such an unexplainably important thing to do, but it also revealed a lot of the sickeningly negative attitudes towards anything that shows itself to be remotely different from the excepted norms of society, from many members of the public.

What I loved most about the programme was, to paraphrase the band  Little Comets, the 'atypical portrayal of the feminine role'- I'll come back to them later. I adored that RuPaul's drag race was an excellent example of how femininity can be celebrated by anybody at all. It conveyed perfectly that anybody can be a feminist! We aren't all insane and extreme. And we aren't all biologically women.

Furthermore, within the seasons themselves, the drag race conveyed the equality and shared beauty of all kinds of women. That is, the women in each series were all entirely different and not at all alike, but each of them were equally beautiful. Specifically, one of my all time favourite contestants that I have watched so far was called Sharon Needles. She portrayed a character who dressed as though it were always halloween and constantly looked like she had stepped out of a horror film, wearing white contact lenses and having fake blood spilling from her mouth at one of her runway looks. I loved it. She was so outgoing, in fact, that her performances were a shock even to the most experienced in the drag community on the show, and she went on to win her respective series (she definitely deserved it). Conversely, but equally as beautiful, was another of my favourites, Chad Michaels. She sported plastic surgery that she had undergone in order to look like Cher, who she admitted was her idol; and of course, Latrice Royal was completely different again. She was definitely plus-sized where the others in the final four were considerably more petite, but never was this conveyed as a negative aspect of her appearance. It was always fully embraced and used to her own advantage.

In these ways I kind of wished while watching the show that my life was more like RuPaul's drag race. I wish that in my own society, what was different was celebrated rather than abused, and that feminism was recognised as something not exclusive to biological females themselves.

Here is where I link this whole anecdote back to the aforementioned lyric, and explain 'Feminist Little Comets', the second component to the title of this post. Little Comets are a band who I first discovered at a very small music festival in Canterbury, and I really think their song The Blur, the Line, and the Thickest of Onions relates to my views surrounding RuPaul's Drag Race flawlessly. I considered writing two separate posts about the show and the song, but later decided they are much more effectively discussed in unison as the song highlights perfectly the more serious connotations of the otherwise lighthearted and fabulously bitchy Drag Race.

Luckily, Rob Coles, singer of Little Comets frequently writes his own blog posts about the lyrics to their songs and what they mean. Here is what he has said about The Blur, the Line, and the Thickest of Onions:

'It is with great sadness that every other song either purrs with a bland fecundity or proffers an image of society that I don’t want to recognise – and the chief irritant in a sea of misogynist bile was plain for all to see.

That’s what this song is a reaction against: the incoherent lack of effort to connect with a lyric. The type of laziness which at the same time suggests that all is ok in society – we can recline, we can produce meaningless music, debase women, promote violence all because we’ve cracked it. Parliaments are full with democratic agendas, with all ethnicities, genders, sexualities and regions well represented, business is not an entirely brigand based masculine affair, whilst mass media is of course populated by positive role models for young women, typical gender roles aren’t constantly reinforced and the workplace is not a sexist wasteland of ignorant design.'

In the song, Coles and the rest of the band speak out about many of the corrupt features of our own society, including the minimum wage and the more relevantly, the portrayal of women in the media. Overall the song conveys the importance of writing and discussing what is important and what needs to change, rather than using music and the media for 'the typical portrayal of the feminine role. I have never been more appalled'. I'm not sure if these were intentional, but I did notice the repetition of the use of 'blurred vision', and 'you write about a non-existent blurred line, but not about abortion rights'. I thought these might be references to the infamous Robin Thicke's Blurred Lines which caused so much controvosy earlier on this year.

Coles asks 'why empower misogyny when violence towards women grows?' and acknowledges that body image is used 'as a form of control'.

So both Little Comets and RuPaul's Drag Race challenge typical and accepted gender roles. I don't think the more poignant messages in the Drag Race about the importance of self expression and the truth about the range of people who can be feminist that are hidden in the humour and drama of the competition could be more eloquently presented than the song by Little Comets.

Admittedly, I doubt RuPaul's Drag Race was intended to be particularly political- it really is that kind of light and rubbish entertainment that is purely addictive. But some of the women on the show were genuinely some of the most beautiful I have ever seen. And I can't ignore that it is important to celebrate the beauty of femininity in ALL forms, (and to simultaneously give an empowered 'fuck you' to society).

I have recently discovered that RuPaul does have a follow up to his Drag Race series. It's called RuPaul's Drag U and will be the source of my entertainment for many weeks to come.

Daisy

Sam: Chelsea's New Resident Sexist

So I was just watching series 7 of Made in Chelsea (i can feel your judging eyes. give me time.) and a thought suddenly struck me: who the fuck does Sam think he is?!

Now bare with me- for those of you (wise, intelligent, strong people who i bow down before) who don't watch made in chelsea, Sam is this little twerp who is only in the programme because his big sister is princess Louise, who had a, shall we say, rocky relationship with Spencer Matthews, who can't keep it in his pants. So Sam is only there because Spencer has the horn. basically.

This is Sam:

He even looks annoying! But that is beside the point. 

The fact is that over the last few episodes i have become increasingly aware that Sam really does believe that if he sleeps with a woman, she becomes his property. This delusional fool seems to think that if he has slept with one of chelsea's lovely ladies, then aforementioned lady can't sleep with any one else and, while i am aware that Made In Chelsea is designed to milk every (fake) situation for as much drama as possible, i think this says something important about how we as a society think about women's sexuality. 

Firstly, Sam only ever seems to be angry with the guys that sleep with his exes. I mean, i don't want him to be angry with the girl- although i think that would make entertaining viewing, but i do think he appears to feel as if these other men have taken his property without permission. News flash: They may seem mutant to you, but these girls really aren't the same as that ninja turtle ruler that bad old Spenny took from your pencil case in year 2... ("i don't like people taking my things" said Sam to Stevie, who wanted to dance with his ex-girlfriend.) Grow up. If he really has a problem with the situation, he should try approaching the girl herself and saying how he feels rather than just grumbling in the corner and assuming that she can't communicate- they are not inanimate objects; it is just you hanging on them that makes them all go into premature rigamortis, it isn't their natural state.

Secondly, why does he have a problem? It is not for him to dictate someone else's love (or lust) life. Did he really expect all of his ex-girlfriends to mourn the end of their relationship for eternity and remain celibate for the remainder of their lives? Come on.  Women are not commodities- you can't put a stamp on them saying 'property of Sam'. They are just as entitled to a sex life as you are and, luckily for them, it doesn't have to involve you because.. eww...

Thirdly, "if i wanted to get her back, i'd probably get her back anyway". Lol. no.

Finally, i know that this is just a characteristic of the show and that the whole of this fantasy Chelsea are really perpetrators of this crime BUT sam is going to take the brunt of my abuse. STOP DISCUSSING IT, YOU IDIOT. No one cares that you have pulled a couple of blonde chicks and now someone else has pulled them away from you... or whatever you think has happened... WE, the viewers, are all too absorbed in the Binky/Alex drama to be busying ourselves with listening to you moan. 

sub point: throwing a drink in Spencer's face? really? soooo predictable.

So basically: shut up, Sam.

vida
xx

please can everyone stop telling me i'm beautiful?

(wow. we are really bad at this regular posting thing... sorry about that.)

I have my own fair share of qualms about my appearance from the fact that the bridge of my nose in verging on the aquiline to my short blonde eyelashes that sometimes appear to be playing hide and seek to my lack of that much sought after (pffff. whateverrrr.) 3 finger thigh gap. If i am honest, sometimes i can look at my reflection and sometimes i can't bring myself to. Sometimes i pinch and squeeze my body, scrutinising every inch, looking for another imperfection to add to the list. Sometimes i make lists of things i could do to change how i look. But sometimes i just don't give a shit.

It comes in waves, this self-criticism. The intensity of it fluctuates between overwhelming and negligible. Sometimes it thumps me in the stomach like a stone and sometimes it just tugs at my wrist like an impatient child, willing its parent to stop gossiping in the middle of the street (in my experience, usually just 'good morning' is enough- why people insist on recounting their entire life story on the pavement will never cease to amaze me!). 

Unfortunately i am more than aware that this experience is not uncommon. That there are hundreds of thousands of people (male and female alike) who feel this way, some more violently than me and some less. I am pretty much certain that almost everyone has felt their body is inadequate at some point in their lives- even if it was just for a split second. And it is in the name of all of these people and their self esteem that every day i encounter hundreds of examples of "every one is beautiful" propaganda...

I don't want to sound bitter BUT personally i can't wait for this fad to simmer down. I'm sure it does bolster some people's self confidence and really, truly make them feel wonderful again, empowered and gorgeous. But, honestly, is that what we want? 

I don't mean to say that i don't want everyone to be confident and content with their bodies, because i do, but i do also feel that this gets so much exposure and is given so much importance over other, more valuable, things. 

I read so many things discussing how we should feel about our bodies, what we should do with them and how we should use them, when a) it really is nobody's business and b) i'd rather read about how i should use my mind and my voice and my words. I am so bored of listening to people ramble on about how feminism is about loving how i look and appreciating that i am beautiful. It's not. It's much bigger than that. 

Dove shouldn't be telling you that you are beautiful and that is why you should be happy. The online articles shouldn't be proclaiming that they have found a 'shocking 15 sexy celebrities that prove the thigh gap is overrated' (because, shock horror, some guys still want to shag them even though their thighs touch- thank fuck for that). People should not be told that being thin doesn't matter because you can still be beautiful without it (phew.), they should be being told that being thin doesn't matter because there are much more important things to be thinking about. Where is the motivational post that says "acne? who cares? You're the next Frida Kahlo.", "flat chested? fuck it. you need somewhere to stack your books!" or even something as simple as "having a thigh gap does not affect your IQ." 

Shouldn't we be telling teenagers (and adults too) that their biggest assets are not their figure, face or clothes, but rather their potential? Shouldn't we be promoting confidence across the board rather than just about the body? 

Being proud and happy with your body IS important but so are so many other things that are overlooked by the media as well as by friends and family. Maybe if we stop paying so much attention to the body and how it should/shouldn't look/be perceived, we might encourage others to do the same. Recognising other qualities other than appearance and nurturing a prevalence of these over 'beauty', is, to me, what feminism should be about. Every one is beautiful. But they also tend to be funny, clever, interesting, talented, musical, inspiring, angry, political, creative, good at crosswords, brilliant bakers, clean, organised, messy, have good balance, sporty, lively, sassy, witty, aware etc etc... you get the idea. 

But don't get me wrong! I don't mean to belittle lacking in body-confidence! What i am saying is that surely taking the emphasis off beauty, making it not seem to matter so much, making it into just something that you are rather than something that you must strive for, could help people recognise that they are more than just the sum of their parts and value their bodies as the vessels for all their other qualities? Every time someone tells me that i am still beautiful without a thigh gap, all i can think is "still?". All that i hear is that being "beautiful" is still the important thing and should still be my focus. That it is the fact that i am a "beautiful" that gives me my worth, that should inspire my confidence. That i should be happy to walk along in public because "don't worry, you are beautiful" not because i am a human being, or because i am intelligent, or because i have as much right to the pavement as any one else. It can be lovely when someone tells you you are beautiful, as long as it doesn't feel like that is all you are- that your beauty is the be all and end all of your existence. 

All we need to do is make sure that there is as much a focus on reminding people of all of their other qualities as there is on their physical appearance, if not more. 

If i am honest, i'd rather be told that i'm interesting or funny or clever, than that i am pretty. it's boring, it's predictable and it makes me feel like everything else that i am is nothing in comparison to the size of my thighs. 

vida

x

A Plea For Self-Confidence and Sensible Chocolate

Hello! First things first, I must apologise to the (approximately) 0 people who read this blog for the reason that my blog posts are now few and far between. I am, admittedly, not as good at this as Vida. I would, however, like to share with you the events of last weekend's shopping trip with my beautiful and wonderful mother (I bought myself two new shirts and Haim's new album, in case you were remotely interested). The day did end with me moving all the Robin Thicke CDs to the Drum & Bass section of HMV, where nobody in their right mind would venture, but unsurprisingly, the first stop we made was the local corner shop. My mother and I alike are not able to go more than about an hour without stocking up our systems with chocolate, and it was here that I noticed the new packaging for Kinder Eggs- bear with me, this anecdote will gain some sort of relevance to the general theme of the blog at some point.

Kinder eggs are fab. No doubt about it. I mean, you get chocolate, and a toy. Possibly two of my favourite things, all wrapped into one cute little egg-shaped thingy. But here's the catch- and I'm not exactly sure if this is news, or if they have always been packaged in this way, but the foil wrapping now has a cute little pink or blue patch on, depending on whether you are a girl or a boy, respectively.

 How considerate of you, Ferrero!!!!!!!!!!!! Gone are the tedious days when a girl would have to put up with a free toy car or aeroplane, or when a boy would have to settle for a cat or  weird princess thing or whatever. How. Useful. Gender stereotyped chocolate. Chocolate. Ludicrous.

I am in no way of the opinion that this is the most important or offensive example of gender stereotyping today- but it has baffled me since I first saw the advert on television, and the product in the corner shop, that we would want to inflict the beginnings of expected gender roles on children so early on in life. Of course this does not affect me personally- I prefer a chocolate of substance- A Lion, or a Double Decker or what have you. But in general, assuming girls will favour one thing, and boys another, is always wrong.

This, in particular, is a minor issue when you consider the broader range of more poignant gender and sexism-related problems, I know, but I cannot ignore the implications that come with it. Small things like this are what indoctrinate young children into accepting what is 'normal' about their gender. And why should they? I worry that young girls- and boys (sexism works both ways, and don't you forget it!!!!!!!) who are not interested in what society, or Fererro, think they should be, will come to the conclusion that they are, in some way, not normal. And as trivial as relating this rather serious topic to chocolate may seem, the reality is, it's just not fair.

All I am saying is that small things like this are what bring children up to normalise gender stereotypes. They encourage a desire to change the things you enjoy and the things you like, which essentially make up what is important about who you are, to conform to the unrealistic expectations of our society.

So whether or not you buy Kinder chocolate is, really, irrelevant. What I'd like you to know is that whatever appeals to you, whether it conforms to gender roles or not, is really cool. My main message is- if it's not broken, don't fix it. And just as Kinder did NOT need to add these stupid pink/blue patches of patronisation, you do not need to change anything about your likes, dislikes, or hobbies. If you associate yourself with the pink patch, that's fine. And if you associate yourself with the blue patch? Also fine. But what about associating yourself with a combination of the two? I hear you ask. You guessed it- that is. Completely. And utterly. Fine.

-Daisy

a feminist "fuck you!" to Godfrey Bloom.

Godfrey Bloom has managed to secure his place in most people's, and especially feminists', "bad book", if you will... And i thought, why not make a list of Bloom's misogynistic mishaps!? and that's what i have prepared for you today. SO, if you have been living under a rock for the past few months and thus are not familiar with Bloom's outrageous ability to offend the entirety of humanity, and women in particular, in a just a few words, you may want to take a seat.

Here we go:

numero uno- 

2004: Bloom is appointed to the European Parliament's committee on Women's rights and  Gender equality. Just weeks later he told reporters that "no self-respecting small businessman with a brain in the right place would ever employ a lady of child-bearing age." 

eww man- not only is this a ridiculous suggestion because of the simple fact that would cut out a huge number of years of a woman's life, but also because just because a woman is capable of having a baby doesn't mean she is a less valuable worker than a man who is equally capable of impregnating that woman. we shouldn't be penalised for having wombs. jesus. 

2-
"i am here to represent Yorkshire women who always have dinner on the table when you get home". classic.

ah yes, because the only acceptable, desirable and worthy women are those who conform to your twisted ideas of a woman's appropriate status and role within society. Those good, ideal women. It's not like women can actually choose whether they stay at home, or actually equally come home, after work (shock! Horror! A working woman?!) and have other things to do than prep a meal- they might even dare to ask their partner, f they have one, to cook. radical, right?

3-
"I just don't think [women] clean behind the fridge enough" - oh, it's dirty, is it? ah. shame. Here take this scrubbing brush and this bucket of water. Why don't you do something about it yourself, eh? 

and on the same train of thought, women are apparently better at "[finding] the mustard in the pantry" than driving a car. hmmm. highly questionable. Especially as i don't even have a pantry. 

4-
when writing about feminism in August of this year for politics.co.uk, he wrote it off as a "passing fashion" that had been created by "shrill, bored, middle-class women of a certain physical genre" and that any men who supported feminism were "the slightly effete politically correct chaps who get sand kicked in their face on the beach."

What is wrong with these comments? WHAT IS RIGHT WITH THEM?! i think it is particularly shocking that he suggests that men who support gender equality should be teased and mocked- i rather think it should be the other way round: Misogynistic sociopolitical dinosaurs should certainly be made to feel embarrassed about their primitive ideas.

5-
"This place is full of sluts" 

I hate to break it to you, Godfrey, but it doesn't matter which way you try to paint it, this comment still demeaning and degrading women as it dismisses them as dirty, irresponsible and promiscuous... Also, on the "it means different things to different generations" argument, it's still offensive to call women dirty and lazy, generalise all the women in the room as one, homogenous group and, tbh, Godfrey ought to modernise his language and understand the implications of that word now. It's called not living in the dark ages and it's pretty darn useful. 

i could go on, but i'm getting a little bored of regurgitating his foul comments, so there you have it: Godfrey Bloom's top 5 sexist slip-ups! (on point with the alliteration today) huzzah! plenty of fodder for feminist debate and argument- just what i like. 

vida

xxx

On Doing Your Bit

Now that we have the formalities out of the way- we've introduced ourselves in an introductory post, and Vida has shared with you her first eloquent and beautifully written train of thought (just a warning: my posts will never be as much of a joy to read), I figure it's time for me to sit down and actually, you know, write something. I mean bloody hell, Daisy (Queen of Procrastination), we've had this blog for at least a month now.

The first post, from me to you, is not, in fact, my own tale. Because I am lazy and have a shit ton of art coursework to finish (yay). It is instead something rather funny that my Mum told me when she got home from work yesterday; but if you're a sassy chick with a fine sense of humour (which I am sure all of our 0 followers are/have) then you should be able to appreciate it nevertheless.

Mum works at LSE. For those of you who don't know, 'LSE' is shorthand for the London School of Economics and Political Science. It is situated in Aldwych and is able to pride itself for being one of the top Universities in the country- probably the world. In some way or another, the school gets a whole bunch of magazines which they then give out to staff and students for free. Fine. Of course this is a great thing. Free stuff. When is free stuff ever not a great thing?

According to my Mum, free stuff stops being a great thing when it starts to consist of free copies of FHM, the front covers of which are more often than not used to display photographs of near enough naked women (!!!!!!!!!!! Right on, Mama Keefe!!!!!!!!!!))))))))

'I was shocked, more than anything,' explained Mama Keefe to me, 'that this school, which has always been able to say it provides equal opportunities regardless of gender, could have such a blasé attitude towards the encouragement of demeaning and inappropriate images of women being easily available for public viewing. And for free!' (YES MUM. YOU GO GIRL.)

Then Mum proceeded to tell me the best bit. Apparently she was with one of her work mates when she saw these boxes full of disgrace, ready to be given out. 'I felt like a rebellious fifteen-year-old' she said in between the snorts in her laughter. She said that her and her mate decided that just to make a point, they would carry the boxes to the bins and be rid of them forever. The thought of my Mum carrying some ten boxes full of magazines down endless flights of stairs to the nearest bins- cigarette in hand, undoubtedly, made me laugh the exact same, piggy laugh (apparently snorts are hereditary). I literally welled up with pride that even in her middle-aged state (sorry, Mum), Mama Keefe can still stand up for what she believes in.

I've got absolutely no idea how much trouble Mum got into for binning a load of the school's property, but I think there's a message in here for everyone. You don't need to be radical to be a feminist, but you do need to do your bit, because it all adds up to bring about change. I at least know that LSE shall no longer be supporting FHM, for sure.

Daisy