The Urban Feminist

2009-05-25T12:06:00.000-07:00

To belong to a minority is to be an unwitting ambassador for that minority.

I get this with my Jewishness quite a bit, this expectation of me to represent my minority. People sometimes get quite pissy at me about the Arab-Israeli conflict, as if I'm somehow personally responsible. On a less vile level, it produces minor annoyances. I'm often asked what I think of things, often quite politically-sensitive things, "as a Jew". Suddenly the spotlight is on me, and I must speak for my race!

I've been guilty of this myself - I remember one time at school (I was about 14 - that's my excuse and I'm sticking to it) I asked a black boy who I really didn't know that well about racism and his experiences of it. He was a nice kid and we had a great chat about it, after which I was much more enlightened (not to mention quite disgusted) but looking back on it, I cringe at my own attitude. Although I came from a standpoint of anti-racism and wanting to better understand the mechanics of racism, my expectation that he would be all-too-pleased to drop everything and educate me was pretty racist in itself, albeit in a subtle and not-too-heinous manner. As it happens, he was all-too-pleased to talk about it, but my sense of entitlement was wrong.

Similarly, I'm often asked how I feel about things "as a woman". "As a woman", how does this make you feel? "As a woman", what do you make of late-term abortions? "As a woman", do you like porn? "As a woman", are you offended by rape jokes? "As a woman", do you have a near-uncontrollable urge to twat me over the head with a large heavy object?

From what other standpoint would I answer questions? As a man? Would I adopt a male perspective to fit in with the prevailing male culture, acknowledging that the only time I'm allowed to adopt my own, female standpoint is when someone asks me what I think "as a woman"? Because although the people who ask such questions do so from a woman-friendly, receptive, usually pro-feminist standpoint, they are unconsciously underlining that the female experience is generally regarded as secondary to the male experience, and that on this occasion you're fortunate enough to have been granted permission to express an opinion. Thank you so much patriarchy, I am so grateful for that!

Also, I am just one woman, and a slightly odd woman at that. We're not all alike, you know. Whenever I answer these "as a woman" questions, I always feel the need to add a "but that's just what I think!" postscript to my answer, lest the person in question take my response as wholly representative, or dislike my answer and take it as a black mark against my entire gender. And of course, it is doubly ridiculous because women are not actually a minority at all.

I am sick of having to be a good ambassador for everything about me that isn't male and WASP. And of course, I have only those two things - many people are much less lucky, being called upon to answer privileged people's questions about queer, non-caucasian, trans, disabled and goodness knows what other issues.

What if I don't feel like being a good ambassador anyway? What if I feel like taking my clothes off and running naked down Camden High Street? Don't worry, I don't actually feel like doing that. Well, not at the moment anyway. Maybe after a few mojitos. The point is, I should be allowed to behave as badly as I like without it being a black mark against all women, and I shouldn't be called upon to speak on behalf of all women when I am just one woman.

I can only ever speak on behalf of myself.

Thought for the day

2009-05-19T23:36:00.000-07:00

"Sexual liberation" is often confused with sexual availability. What sexual liberation should mean is feeling able to:

have as much or as little sex as one wants with consenting adults

say yes or no to any individual consenting adult

say yes or no to any type of sexual activity

All of which means that a woman swinging from the rafters in Agent Provocateur handcuffs isn't necessarily sexually liberated. And a woman not having sex until marriage isn't necessarily sexually repressed.

"Sexual liberation" is often a complete joke. Women are so often encouraged to play into generic male fantasy in the name of it, with the labels of "frigid", "repressed" etc slapped onto any woman who doesn't want to play ball.

You are liberated if and only if you make the sexual choices that you make freely and without coercion, if you feel able to say the words "yes" and "no" without guilt, and if you let yours and your partner's desires and fantasies guide what you do in the bedroom.

2009-04-18T23:30:00.000-07:00

There is something that has bugged me during my many years of cramped houseshares with thin walls: why do young women make so much noise during sex?

Basically, if a heterosexual couple under the age of 30 are having sex anywhere in the vicinity, you'll know about it, because the female half of that couple will be screaming like a porn star. I'm sure that there are many young women who do genuinely feel compelled to be very vocal during sex, and I don't have a problem with that at all (as long as I don't have to listen/look them in the eye afterwards). But I can't believe I'm in the minority for not feeling the need to scream from the rafters. And there is NOTHING wrong with my sex life.

I blame porn. My theory is that a lot of young women feel pressure to make a huge amount of noise during sex, because there is this idea that women are supposed to make a lot of noise during sex, so they're way more vocal than they actually feel like being because that's just the way you show a man you're having a good time. They're putting on a show for whoever it is they're sleeping with.

Conversely, I do wonder about men making noise during sex. Men aren't supposed to make a lot of noise, are they? A bit of grunting and heavy breathing is de rigueur (yes, my house has very thin walls) but I've never heard a man making anywhere near as much noise as women tend to.

I just can't believe that the amount of noise a person actually feels like making during sex is gendered. I could definitely be wrong though - obviously men and women are pretty different sexually (take a look in your pants!). Most people believe the sexes to be very different sexually in less simplistic ways too, although it's debatable how much of that is innate and how much is due to social conditioning. Certainly women are statistically less likely to orgasm during penetrative sex, so you'd think they'd be making less noise, no? At the end of the day, nobody really knows because it's impossible to quantify. But I for one am very suspicious of the idea that women are supposed to make lots of noise during sex. I suspect that women actually vary greatly in the amount of noise they feel like making, but that out of the ones who don't feel like making a lot of noise, many do so out of a sense of duty.

I now have a mental image of a subversive porn film in which the woman is on top, riding this guy as if he's just a disembodied cock, growling and grunting a bit, and he's just lying there screaming YES! YES! OH MY GOD! YES! YES! FUCK ME! FUCK ME!

Hmmmm. Perhaps I need to get out more.

Susan Boyle

2009-04-16T04:09:00.000-07:00

I was going to write something about this, but Tanya Gold has done it for me.

Why are we so shocked when "ugly" women can do things, rather than sitting at home weeping and wishing they were somebody else? Men are allowed to be ugly and talented. Alan Sugar looks like a burst bag of flour. Gordon Ramsay has a dried-up riverbed for a face. Justin Lee Collins looks like Cousin It from The Addams Family. Graham Norton is a baboon in mascara. I could go on. But a woman has to have the bright, empty beauty of a toy - or get off the screen. We don't want to look at you. Except on the news, where you can weep because some awful personal tragedy has befallen you.

We see this all the time in popular culture. Do you ever stare at the TV and wonder where the next generation of Judi Denchs and Juliet Stevensons have gone? Have they fallen down a Rada wormhole? Yes. They're not there, because they aren't pretty enough to get airtime. This lust for homogeneity in female beauty means that when someone who doesn't resemble a diagram in a plastic surgeon's office steps up to the microphone, people fall about and treat us to despicable sub-John Gielgud gestures of amazement.

Dunno about you, but I think Juliet Stevenson is one of the most beautiful people alive.

Bitch

2009-04-10T14:07:00.000-07:00

I really think we need to reclaim the word "bitch". I'm not suggesting that we start calling ourselves bitches, wearing t-shirts that proudly proclaim our bitch status. I'm suggesting we start using the word "bitch" for men too.

Men are just as bad as women for indulging in nasty, bitchy behaviour, but there isn't a word for it. The one label that succinctly describes backstabbing, gossiping, undermining, subtle verbal abuse, manipulation and malicious social engineering is gendered female. Ridiculous.

I do think that in children, bitchy behaviour is much more common in girls than boys, because boys are encouraged to settle fights with their fists. But once you get to an age - say, 14-ish - when boys are expected to grow out of punch-ups, they become just as bad as girls.

I can think of so many times in my life when I've observed a man or boy being a bitch. I can think of a few times when I've been the target of bitchy behaviour from men or boys myself. Why the hell shouldn't I call these boys and men bitches? That's what they are.

Bitch is a fantastic word. It's completely descriptive of a poisonous brand of evil, cowardly bullying. It's one of the most vibrant, descriptive words in the English language and I certainly have no intention of stopping using it. What I don't understand is why we're not using it for men too. It's about time we did.

Happy Mothers Day

2009-03-22T02:13:00.000-07:00

To be honest, I think Mothers Day is a bit pants. It's just a Christian thing that's been turned into a Hallmark Holiday. Now, being a secular Jew, I don't celebrate Christmas or Easter unless I'm staying with Christian friends, so I don't really see why I should have to celebrate Mothers Day when I'm not even at all close to my mother.

It's just as bad as Valentine's Day, for similar reasons. On Valentine's Day, men are pressurised into buying flowers and chocolates for their girlfriends and wives, which allows them to be as crap and ungrateful as they like on the other 364 days of the year. On Mother's Day, anyone whose mother is still alive is expected to fork out for flowers, chocolates and, bizarrely, anti-wrinkle cream (since when was that "the ideal gift"?) and then they don't have to even acknowledge their mother for the rest of the year, even though she might be a complete saint. "Here Mum, happy Mother's Day, here's somthing for your "deep set wrinkles". Have you ironed my shirt?" Luckily, my boy is every bit as unenamoured of Valentine's Day as I am, so we didn't do anything. We weren't even in the same country that day. In fact, I don't even think we texted one another. I am nothing if not unromantic. My mother however has expressed no interest in opting out of Mother's Day, so I couldn't avoid that one.

The problem is, if you don't get on with your mother, hardly ever see her and are not close to her at all, acknowledging Mother's Day is rather like sending a Valentine's card to your ex-boyfriend, who you sort-of stay in touch with and don't bear any ill will, but who makes you want to slap him round the face with a large fish after five minutes in his company. And don't get me started on Father's Day. If sending a Mother's Day card to my mum is like sending a Valentine to an ex-boyfriend, then acknowledging Father's Day is like sending a Valentine to my abusive ex-husband because of whom I've had to move to another country and assume a new identity.

When I was growing up, my mother was the Bad Mother who chain smoked, swore like a sailor, had crazy hair, wore DMs and didn't come to my concerts. However, despite the fact that she's had just about the most disastrous love life of anyone I know, she did, when I was a child, come out with some really good advice about sex and relationships. You have to imagine the following lines delivered by a woman with mad hair, puffing on a Gauloise, and somehow managing not to look a day over 35 despite the fact that she is in her late fifties and has smoked like a chimney since she was a teenager:

Don't ever get married because you want to get married. Get married because you want to be married.

Don't ever rely on a man for anything. If he leaves you, you're screwed

It is not fair to rely on a man financially. You have the right to work, so work

If a man doesn't want you to contribute financially, either he's just being too chivalrous, in which case you shouldn't take advantage, or he wants to control you

Money means power, and that is never truer than in relationships

Don't ever commit to a man who only appreciates you for your looks - he'll trade you in for a younger model at the first wrinkle

Don't EVER have children (erm, thanks...)

It's okay, as long as you wash your hands afterwards (can be applied to any number of situations, but yes, she was referring to what you're thinking)

So basically: Be independent, don't get involved with dickwads, and wank yourself silly. Which is as deserving of a Mother's Day outing to one of North London's finest tea establishments as anything.

Spot the difference

2009-03-15T11:12:00.000-07:00

The bottom one has been photoshopped. The photographer used something called a "spot healing brush" (yes, really) to smooth out the chickenpox scars on my forehead, to get rid of a blemish I didn't know I had just to the right of my mouth, and to remove some errant mascara from just below my right eye. He also used some sort of clever soft-focus tool to make my skin look "better".

No, I have not turned into an oboist. I have merely had to take up the wretched instrument in order to write a series of articles about the experience of being a beginner again. I am playing Bach, Schumann and Ligeti on the cello, but honking away at Grade 5 pieces on the oboe. It is a humbling experience, not least for anybody who has to listen. This photo will shortly be appearing in Music Teacher magazine. Very rock n roll.

LOLClits...not so funny akshully

2009-03-07T01:01:00.000-08:00

I love b3ta, and sitting down with a cup of tea, or possibly something stronger, to read the weekly newsletter when I get in on a Friday night is an enjoyable ritual. This week, the chaps and chapesses at b3ta linked to LOLClits (NSFW!).

Now, at first, I thought LOLClits was pretty funny. Then I saw this. Not funny. SOOOOOO not funny. So not fucking funny that I have complained to b3ta, informed the New York Times, which is where the pictures came from, and worried about whether I ought to be giving LOLClits the publicity that this post might generate.

As well as thinking that female genital mutilation is hilarious, LOLClits also seems to indulge in childish cyberbullying tactics like linking to people who've blogged unfavourably about them, presumably hoping that they'll get flamed, whilst not advertising their own email address on the website. This is kinda like a small child firing at you with a slingshot from the safety of a treehouse. Cowardly, annoying, but not in the least bit scary. They can link to me all they like - I would consider it an honour to be regarded as a threat to anyone who allows shit like that to be published.

Privilege

2009-03-05T04:31:00.000-08:00

I really hate the way that the word "privilege" is bandied about in feminist and general lefty circles. "Privileged" is the ultimate insult. Now, I happen to think that there are much worse things you can be than white, male and middle class. You could be mean, feckless, arrogant, unkind, sadistic or willfully stupid. But no - "privileged" is the trait to avoid at all costs.

The atmosphere in lefty circles is often that of extreme hostility towards anyone who displays any hint of a "privileged" background. On the opposite side of the coin, there's the "oppression olympics", in which people try to trounce one another for whose opinion counts for more on account of their oppression ("I'm a one-armed black lesbian in a wheelchair, what do you know?")

Strangely enough, when I consider male privilege, for instance, in the vast majority of cases, I simply think, "Good for you". Most of the "privileges" that men enjoy are not things that they don't deserve themselves, but things that women should benefit from too. Things such as being able to walk alone at night without fear, not being blamed for being raped, being respected in the workplace, not being mercilessly judged on one's appearance, etc etc. If men were suddenly stripped of these "privileges" and subjected to the same shit that women have to deal with, I would NOT be happy that we had finally achieved equality.

There are good things I benefit from and bad things I don't have to deal with because I am white, middle class (well, not really, but I pass for it), able-bodied, slim, heterosexual, of above average intelligence and probably a shit load of other things I haven't even thought of. But I refuse to believe that I shouldn't have these benefits. I won't apologise for them. It's not that I shouldn't have these things, it's that they shouldn't be "privileges" in the first place.

Equally, there are bad things I have to deal with as a direct result of being female, Jewish, mentally ill, state-educated (in the field in which I work, this makes me a complete peasant) and probably a few other things, but I don't begrudge any privately-educated male WASP the benefits his background give him, nor will I use his "privileged" background as an excuse to dismiss anything he has to say.

I know that a lot of the time, this is not what individuals actually mean when they rant about "privilege", but this is how it comes across. As a homogenous entity, it seems that the people who spit "privileged" as an insult would like to see everyone dragged down to the level of the one-armed black lesbian, rather than helping the one-armed black lesbian to achieve the same rights as everybody else. I know that most of the time this is not the case, but this is how it comes across. Perhaps instead of using the word "privilege" we need to start saying "unfair advantage".

I've been waffling, but what I really want to say is, using someone's background as a stick with which to beat them and dismiss what they have to say is unacceptable. And instead of saying, "You shouldn't have this", how about instead saying, "I deserve it too".

The only major, MAJOR exception I can think of is the idea that rape isn't really rape if the woman was out after dark, drunk, wearing a short skirt, dating the man in question, etc etc. That's a privilege I'd very much like to see men stripped of.

Anorexia Porn

2009-03-01T23:56:00.000-08:00

I've always known I have it in me to write books, and that writing feminist books would not be an unrealistic goal. Something I've always thought about is writing a middlebrow self-help manual on how women can get on with their lives in a patriarchal world (because I'll admit it, I often think that people who spend a huge amount of time writing long tracts of feminist ranting need to get a life - sometimes the most rebellious and empowering thing you can do is to stick two fingers up at the patriarchy and simply get on with your life), and it's still something I might do one day, but lately I've been thinking about something else: the possibility of writing a book about something that I find sinister, creepy and disturbing in the extreme: anorexia porn.

No, not porn sites featuring anorexia sufferers (although these of course do exist). I'm talking about the grim obsession that the media seems to have with anorexia. Last fortnight's issue of Private Eye:

FAT TEENAGER WHO DIES TRAGICALLY DOESN'T GET HER PICTURE IN EVERY NEWSPAPER

There was no shock whatsoever today after a fat teenager who died suddenly this week didn't get her picture in any newspaper.

"If only this poor overweight girl had died of a slimming disease, then we'd have felt duty-bound by the scale of the tragedy to run loads of photos of her in skimpy tops to salivate over," said all newspaper editors.

- Private Eye, issue 1229, p22

Gawd, I love Private Eye. Ian and his team have brought into the open something that's bugged me for years: why this complete obsession with anorexia?

It's a rare women's magazine that doesn't carry an anorexia feature. The "I thought THIS *insert lurid picture of protruding ribs* was FAT" coverline is almost as ubiquitous as "How to please a man in bed", "How to have the best orgasms", "How to lose 10lbs" and "SHOES! We have pictures of SHOES YOU CAN'T AFFORD!"

Here are the rules for an anorexia story:

Photos. There must be photos.

There must also be statistics: height and weight at heaviest and lowest points, and preferably in between too.*

The disease (and I remind you that this is a severe mental illness with a higher death toll than any other) is presented as vanity gone too far.

The victim suffers or claims to suffer** from severe dysmorphia, believing she is fat.

The whole thing is presented as simply an extreme form of the dieting and self-hating rituals that a lot of young women go through and that these magazines actively encourage.

At some point during her recovery, the victim must get a man who will help her on the road to health and make her realise that she is beautiful and not at all fat.

Susie Orbach argues quite convincingly that compulsive eating is the opposite side of the same coin as anorexia, so why are women's magazines not lavishly illustrated with photos of women who have eaten themselves into morbid obesity? Or whose bingeing has led them to die of gastric rupture from constant vomiting? Compulsive eating and bulimia (basically the same horribly distressing and dangerous illness but for one minor detail, the presence or absence of self-induced vomiting) just aren't seen as glamorous.

Having suffered from anorexia is seen almost as a badge of honour. Watch a woman tell another woman she's suffered from anorexia in the past: 50% of the time you'll get either sympathy or a "whoah, you're mental" look, but the other 50% of the time her eyes will glaze over in barely-concealed admiration. Those are the women who devour these stories. Why do they devour them? Why the demand?

The problems as a direct result of such media coverage are as follows:

People thinking that anorexia is a diet gone too far which can be solved by telling the victim that they are not fat

Because anorexia is presented as a mere extension of "normal" body hatred, it's seen as something that affects only young women and adolescent girls. Tell that to male sufferers, older female sufferers or the parents of children struggling with the problem.

People thinking that anorexia sufferers' bodies, much like fat people's and conventionally-attractive women's, are fair game for public consumption, that it's okay to stare as much as you like and say whatever you want. Essentially, anorexics are presented as freak show acts that exist for public amusement. Hooray - now I have an excuse to link to The Boy With An Arse for a Face

People thinking that unless you look as if you're about to drop dead, you can't be anorexic. This one is particularly dangerous: most anorexics refuse treatment, and so intervention by friends and family is paramount. Experts unanimously agree that the later treatment is started, the grimmer the sufferer's chances of recovery. If the friends and family of an anorexic wait until she "looks anorexic" before dragging her to a doctor, it may be too late to avoid permanent physical and mental damage.

Essentially, it's completely voyeuristic, offering freak shows of these women whilst glossing over their actual problems.

So yes, I want to write a book on anorexia porn, exploring the phenomenon of this public obsession with the illness. It reveals so much of the creepy way that a lot of women tend to view other womens' bodies.

*Websites that help people recover from eating disorders generally have a complete ban on users posting information about their height/weight/BMI because some sufferers find it "triggering"
**FACT: If you've got an obvious problem, the quickest way of stopping people from asking awkward questions is to tell them what they want to hear

Beauty on a budget

2009-02-08T16:16:00.000-08:00

I think that one of the most empowering things that women's magazines occasionally come out with (yeah, ok, you're not likely to see the words "empowering" and "women's magazines" in the same sentence very often, but stay with me here) is those articles about how to look good on a budget. Of course, their idea of what constitutes "a budget" can often be a little odd (like, paying £50 for a handbag you blatantly don't need, as opposed to £300) but the concept is good, especially when applied to cosmetics.

There are so many OUTRAGEOUSLY expensive beauty products on the market these days, and using them is regarded as pretty ubiquitous. As a young woman with disposable income, I do get the impression that I'm in a minority for not using any really expensive products. The most expensive product I own is a tube of Clinique foundation for the odd bad skin day, which costs £17.50 and my last one lasted me for 5 years. (I don't believe this schtick about throwing out cosmetics after 6 months. If it still works and doesn't smell bad, there's nowt wrong with it!) Most of the women I know use quite a few eye-wateringly expensive products. Surely anything that encourages women not to dig quite so deep into their wallets for beauty products is positive, particularly in the current economic climate. Drawing attention to which products are cheap and offer good value for money can only be a good thing.

Of course, the classic feminist argument is that we don't need these products in the first place. In a lot of cases this is true, but in many cases the line between health and beauty is fuzzy. A good basic moisturiser, for instance, is something I see as a necessity. Obviously it's not an absolute necessity in the same league as food, water and shelter, but my skin is much healthier for it.

So, in the cause of enabling my sisters (and brothers!) to spend less on beauty products, I'm going to share the biggest, the most little-known and most importantly the cheapest health/beauty product I've ever discovered: Sudocrem. Yes, the same stuff your parents smeared on your younger siblings' backsides 20 years ago. It's nappy rash cream, so you'll find it in the baby aisle. It is however the best acne cream in the history of the world. Nothing you'll find in the skincare aisle can hold a candle to it. If you have a spot, cover it in a thick layer of Sudocrem before you go to bed. In the morning, said spot will be a shrunken shadow of its former self and you will get to stand cackling in front of the mirror sneering in your best cod-Colombian accent, "Aha, Senor Pimple, you thought you could outsmart me and my Sudocrem! Mwahahaha! Mwaahahahaa! Mwahahaahahahaaaaaa!"

Wait, is that just me?

If the skin was broken, Senor Pimple will probably have disappeared altogether. In fact, I recommend squeezing the spot before applying the Sudocrem, but apparently squeezing spots is supposed to be a big beauty no-no, so if you are a good girl or boy who doesn't squeeze their spots, don't allow me to lead you astray.*

It will cost you about £3 for a mahoosive jar that will last you for years (depending on how spotty you are). It is also good for ANY sort of skin complaint. I laugh in the face of Elizabeth Arden's hideously-overpriced, celebrity-endorsed Eight Hour Cream. If Eight Hour Cream and Sudocrem had a fight, Sudocrem would whip its ass, and still have enough money for a pint afterwards.

* Personally I've never understood people who don't squeeze their spots - how could they possibly leave them alone? Do they not understand the exquisite satisfaction of annihilating a beastly pimple in a shower of pus? I'll get my coat...

Political Lesbianism

2009-02-03T12:13:00.000-08:00

Julie Bindel has a....slightly odd piece up on Comment Is Free at the moment.

In the late 70s a group of lesbians in Leeds, known as revolutionary feminists (RFs), made a controversial move that resonated loudly for me and many other women. They began calling for all feminists to embrace lesbianism. Appealing to their heterosexual sisters to get rid of men "from your beds and your heads", they started a debate, which reached its height in 1981 with the publication of an infamous booklet, Love Your Enemy? The Debate Between Heterosexual Feminism and Political Lesbianism (LYE). In this, the RFs wrote that, "all feminists can and should be lesbians. Our definition of a political lesbian is a woman-identified woman who does not fuck men. It does not mean compulsory sexual activity with women."

"We think serious feminists have no choice but to abandon heterosexuality," it reads. "Only in the system of oppression that is male supremacy does the oppressor actually invade and colonise the interior of the body of the oppressed." It also asserted that penetration "is more than a symbol, its function and effect is the punishment and control of women".

Whoah, whoah, whoah, whoah, WHAT??? Punishment? Consensual sex as punishment?

Tina Crockett was one of the RFs who gathered in a holiday cottage in the Yorkshire Dales to write LYE. She says that while the booklet's insistence that lesbianism could be a choice was controversial, debate was equally heated around the suggestion that men were the enemy. "We were trying to challenge the excuses used by some heterosexual feminists as to why they lived with Nigel or John," she says. "They said, 'Oh, but my man is OK,' as a way of refusing to look at the fact that some men really do hate women."

You said it: SOME men really do hate women. The fact that some men really hate women doesn't mean that cohabiting with a good man who you love and respect is equivalent to fraternising with the enemy.

I also suspect that it is very difficult to spend your daily life fighting against male violence, only to share a bed with a man come the evening.

Not if you see men as individual human beings rather than just one homogenous lump of misogynistic evil.

I think it's time for feminists to re-open the debate about heterosexuality, and to embrace the idea of political lesbianism. We live in a culture in which rape is still an everyday reality, and yet women are blamed for it, as it is viewed as an inevitable feature of heterosexual sex. Domestic violence is still a chronic problem for countless women in relationships with men. Women are told we must love our oppressors, while, as feminists, we fight to end the power afforded them as a birthright. Come on sisters, you know it makes sense. Stop pretending you think lesbianism is an exclusive members' club, and join the ranks. I promise that you will not regret it.

But I only fancy men!

I choose men over women because I fancy men and not women. I accept that it's completely normal for women to fancy other women, but I am not one of these women. I've been vehemently heterosexual for as long as I can remember. Even at nursery school I was having crushes on the boys. I love sex with men. And I love penetrative sex more than any other sexual activity. In fact, I'm thinking about it right now and feeling rather horny. Gosh, I'm a bad feminist, aren't I? I'm sure I would love sex with women if I had any desire for it, but I don't, so I don't do it. I know I wouldn't enjoy it, in the same way that I know I wouldn't enjoy sex with a man who I have no desire for. Why should I do something I don't want to do? And why should I abstain from something that I do want to do, and that my partner also wants to do?

Obviously there are plenty of women who do fancy other women. In fact, I get the impression that I'm probably in a minority for never having done so. But there's still no reason why women who fancy women should be pressurised into only having sexual activity with other women. The fact that some men hate women is an extremely flimsy argument for this 'political lesbianism' and marks its champions out as more than a little sexist themselves. Since when did politics have to come into the bedroom anyway? Surely what goes on between two consenting adults is their own business?

This is so nuts I can't believe I'm even debating it. Normally I despair of the trolls on CiF, but I think that the first commenter, SatanGreavsie, has a point when he says: "You're off your chump!"

The seven signs of ageing

2009-01-18T02:26:00.000-08:00

It's happening: I'm 26, and my looks are fading. It's really rather depressing sometimes. When asked to guess my age, most people say 30.

Several years ago, I was prettier and probably more sexually attractive than I am now. I had fewer wrinkles, softer skin, a smaller nose, less body hair, etc etc and I wish I still looked like that now.

This isn't about "getting a man". I can still "get a man", and in fact, the men who show an interest in me age 26 are of considerably better quality than the men who showed an interest in me age 18, so from a purely attracting a partner point of view, I'm actually in a much better position. But beauty is about SO much more than "getting a man" and I think a lot of men don't realise this. It's much more complicated than that. It's tied up in a whole load of status issues that, for most women, date back to when they were a tiny little girl, and which are constantly reinforced by society and the media.

I would love to look as beautiful as I did at 18 forever. But over the last several years, I have done a 12m dive into a cenote in Mexico, reconnected with a dearly loved long-lost relative, gained a nephew, become a journalist, got paid for my writing so many times I've lost count (this still thrills and amazes me), climbed an active volcano, eaten termites (they taste like carrot), had the best kiss of my life, created the best banoffee pie the world has ever seen, got my black belt, waved a Union Jack at the Last Night of the Proms, worn a bikini without feeling in the least bit self-conscious, punched a rapist to the ground, seen a boa constrictor in the wild, graduated from one of the best music colleges in the world and had some very good sex.

If somebody offered to wave a magic wand and make me as gorgeous as I was at 18 in return for the experiences I've gained since then, I'd politely decline.

And according to Kate Smurthwaite, the "Seven Signs of Ageing" are:

1. Wearing cardigans
2. Knowing the theme tune to The Likely Lads
3. Inability to use predictive text
4. Thinking pasta is a fancy foreign food
5. Making a noise when you stand up
6. Listening to Kenny Rogers on cassette
7. Wanting a bread machine for Christmas

Now, I've never heard of Kenny Rogers, but I do own a couple of cardigans and would quite like a bread machine. Slightly worried here. Here's my list of the Seven Signs of Ageing:

1. Getting stuck in a rut and doing nothing about it
2. Reading the Telegraph
3. Liking Brussels sprouts
4. Taking pleasure in complaining
5. Thinking that "young people" have "no respect"
6. Having really, really godawful breath
7. Calling everyone "dear"

Goodwill to All Women

2009-01-11T11:12:00.000-08:00

The Blackheath Bugle has helpfully brought to my attention the nauseating KitKat Senses billboard that has been all over the country recently. I hadn't actually seen it as I have been in Germany for the last few weeks merrily stuffing my face with stollen and not-so-merrily going round history museums and concentration camps, but it really is totally eurgh.

This isn't exactly an original campaign - this sort of thing has been happening for years, from Flake through Galaxy to Mars Delight. Yep, us women are all slavering chocaholics.

Indulge yourself, go on, you deserve it. Mmmm, creamy and delicious, mmmmm, MMMMMMMM, indulge yourself, fellate it in a bubble bath surrounded by candles because you deserve it, you goddess, you! Go on, indulge yourself, be NAUGHTY, you know you need it because your sex life is shite and you've been eschewing carbs for God knows how long, so what you really need is a quick hit of refined carbs that will cause you to moan in ecstasy. Mmmmmmmmmmmm......

Creamy chocolate, delicious chocolate, indulgent chocolate, naughty chocolate, sinful chocolate, ONLY 165 CALORIES, yes, yes, YES, YES, YES!!!!

Take me now, big boy! You know I can't get enough of your raging hazelnuts, fill me up with your hot, throbbing rod of sugary goodness!

[The rest of this post has been censored. This is a family blog.]

The Beauty Myth

2008-12-04T04:41:00.000-08:00

Something that I've noticed quite a bit over the years, probably because I have a lot of male friends, is that a lot of boys and men are genuinely bemused by the stranglehold that the beauty industry seems to have on women. Let me try to explain:

Any given woman has, ever since she was a tiny little girl, been continually bombarded with messages, some overt and some much more subtle, that by far the most important thing for her to be is physically attractive, that if she is she will be granted privileges, and that if she isn't she will barely deserve to exist.

When she is a baby, people will comment only on how pretty she is. When she's a little girl, people will compliment her only on her appearance. Her parents might try to introduce a little more balance, but it will be a drop in the ocean.* As she gets older, she will begin to notice, either consciously or unconsciously, that she is in a pecking order with other girls based on appearance. Pretty girls will get away with worse behaviour. Bullying of ugly girls will be overlooked. Pretty girls will be invited to birthday parties and plainer girls won't, regardless of how great their personalities are. As her peers become aware of this pecking order, they will tell her she's ugly even if she's not, every time they want to make her feel bad about herself for any reason. She will realise that if she were more beautiful, she would feel much more confident and be seen as more worthy by her peers. She will begin to develop desperation to be at the top of the pecking order. By the time she reaches her teens, she will be ripe fodder.

I don't think it's too controversial to suggest that most women have complexes about their appearance. Can you blame us? Perhaps you do. Perhaps you think we should all just get over it. Pressure to get over it from people who haven't lived with this (ie men) and self-righteous feminists who have or claim to have rejected the pressure to be beautiful (ie most of the feminists I know) is really, really unhelpful. It just adds to the pressure. Not only are you under pressure to be beautiful, you're under pressure not to care about being beautiful. Pressure from both sides, and often pressure that you are unable to give in to on either side.

I definitely feel as if I'm a bad feminist for caring quite a lot about my appearance, and being just as paranoid about it as many women who don't call themselves feminists at all. I wonder how many feminists are closet beauty myth subscribers. Quite a few, I'd wager. Or at least, I hope I'm not the only one.

The way I see it, you've just got to get on with your life, and for me, the most effective way to get on with my life is to try to put myself under as little pressure as possible, whatever political position it comes from. I'll try to be as kind to myself as I can, but it's difficult when the face that looks back at me from the mirror doesn't meet my exacting standards, when I don't feel that I'm successful or talented enough to compensate for it, and I'm buggered if I'm mangling my self-esteem any further by giving myself a hard time for caring.

*In my case, I was absolutely convinced that my parents' emphasis on academic and musical achievement was because I was ugly and needed to compensate for it

Boot Camp

2008-11-21T02:32:00.000-08:00

Over the last few days I have been reading, with a growing sense of extreme sympathy, my housemate's account of having spent a few days at the New You Boot Camp.

Zara is a beauty writer, and thus she gets better freebies than I do (I'm a classical music writer). She gets free haircuts, more make up than she'll ever use, swanky spa treatments, Rapunzel-style hair extensions, and until now I've been quite envious. Not any more.

Zara has just spent a week somewhere that explicitly describes itself as a "military-style weight-loss camp" on a strictly-enforced diet, surrounded by other women who are also on a strictly-enforced diet. When I first heard that she was doing some sort of fitness camp I thought it sounded quite fun - I'm quite the fitness freak myself. But the more I've read her diary, the more horrified I've been.

Lots of exercise? Bring it on.
Healthy food? Yum.
Healthy food in very small portions? Hehe. That's funny. Where's the rest of my food?
5am starts? Eeeep...
No caffeine? WHAT???
5am starts with no caffeine? Oh HELL no!
Swimming in freezing cold water? I wanted my mummy just from reading about that.

It was the swimming in freezing cold water bit that made me realise that I was never, EVER doing ANYTHING like this, no matter how desperate I am to drop a dress size. It also made me wonder why on earth any woman would pay to have some burly guy in an army uniform yell at her and drag her out of bed at 5am to go for a dip in the North Sea in November. Was it perhaps some sort of self-punishment for not being thin? Over tea last night she told me: "I think a lot of it's to do with control. A lot of women have serious issues with food and exercise, and somewhere like this, all of the control is taken away from you. I think a lot of the women are paying for someone else to take responsibility as much as anything else."

Interesting.

Zara is now back from the camp and very much alive, although she doesn't look any thinner...but then again, she was very slim in the first place. I have gained a lot of respect for her, and also an appreciation of the fact that I get sent to concerts for work rather than boot camps.

Target Women

2008-11-19T04:15:00.000-08:00

Or "Why I love Sarah Haskins and want to have her babies"

Dealing with my Jewfro

2008-10-31T02:55:00.000-07:00

How much money do you spend on your appearance? And would some people think it excessive?

I got told off by my (male) housemate last night for the amount of money I spend on haircuts. I have a massive mop of fine, curly hair (ok, a Jewfro) that responds best to regular haircuts from someone who knows what they're doing. In London, this costs money. You cannot get a decent haircut in London for less than £35.

I don't actually think that this is an excessive amount of money at all. Considering the time and skill involved, and the overheads of running a salon in London (the extortionate rent capital of the world), £35 is a pretty good deal I reckon.

Spending £35 on a haircut every two months does not make me high maintenance. Quite the opposite. It means that my hair falls into place with minimum styling. It means that I don't have to blow dry or straighten it for it to look at least reasonably tidy. The most I'll ever do to my hair is put some mousse through it if it's looking particularly frizzy, or tong it into defined curls if I'm playing in a concert. The amount of time and effort I save by paying for good haircuts on a regular basis definitely makes it a worthwhile investment.

There is something vaguely obscene about spending £35 on a haircut when there are starving children in the world. But there's something vaguely obscene about having anything other than food, water and shelter when there are starving children in the world. At the end of the day, I'm only going to listen to anybody who tells me my haircuts are too expensive if they don't ever go to the theatre, go out drinking, own an iPod, buy clothes they don't need, eat in restaurants, miss the last tube and have to get a taxi, buy coffee from ridiculously expensive and morally dubious chains, etc etc. It's just a luxury like anything else. If I couldn't afford it, or really did have a problem with spending money, I'd do without it.

But is it really just a luxury? If I didn't have regular haircuts, my Jewfro would rapidly go completely out of control, and I would start to look as if I'd "let myself go" and was possibly slightly insane. A woman with a mop like a haystack is not going to be taken as seriously as a woman who looks as if she "takes care of herself" and that has repercussions on the way one is perceived by just about everyone. And simply shaving it off would not be an option either, because then I would be explicitly rejecting beauty standards and of course eliciting speculation about my sexuality. I don't think it's melodramatic of me to suggest that it would affect my career.

There are standards that we have to uphold for our appearance which don't just affect our sexual attractiveness. If we don't conform naturally, we are expected to spend time and money on making ourselves acceptable. I like looking pretty and don't resent the money I spend on my hair, but surely it shouldn't be a necessity.

Lose 2 stone in a month!

2008-10-30T09:05:00.000-07:00

You know how, as soon as you identify as a young woman, facebook starts bombarding you with really fucking annoying weight loss ads? Like that one with a not-the-slightest-bit-overweight girl in jeans several sizes too small that invariably give her a muffin top, lovingly captioned "DISGUSTING"? Or the one which promises weight loss of 2 stone in a month?*

Well, I've discovered a foolproof method of getting rid of them without changing your sex to "male". Simply change your status to "So-and-So is hellraising in Prague" and hey presto! All of the ads are in Czech with no pictures. I might have got back from my holiday on Monday, but on facebook I think I'll be staying in Prague for a while.

*Most effective way to lose 2 stone in a month? Have a limb amputated. That or amoebic dysentery.

Things I often hear

2008-10-22T11:46:00.000-07:00

But women have the vote and equal pay and all that! What's the point of feminism now?
Women might be legally entitled to equal pay, but they don't actually get it. There have been some extremely welcome changes to the law in the last 100 years, but changing people's attitudes and opinions still needs to happen.

But what's the point of bitching about people telling you you can't drive and harrassing you in the street when millions of women all over the world are really oppressed?
It's true, women suffer much more elsewhere than they do here. Women are held responsible for being raped, stoned for adultery whilst the men involved walk free, banned from working, dying from pregnancy-related complications in countries in which abortion is illegal under any circumstances. 100,000 little girls every year have their genitals butchered to ensure their chastity by preventing them from enjoying sex. I'm not suggesting for a moment that I don't have it pretty damn easy here in comparison. But just because I've been granted the privilege of keeping my clitoris, doesn't mean I shouldn't be able to be respected in the workplace, walk down the street without being harrassed, or be valued for anything other than my physical appearance and sexual availability.

All men are bastards
Try going out with someone nice for a change

All women are bitches
Ditto

Get your tits out
They're mine. I'll get them out if I want to. And I definitely won't get them out for you.

You're so slim, you can eat anything
You can eat anything too. There's no "Thou shalt not eat carbs if thy waist is bigger than 26 inches" in any legal or religious text that I know of.

She's waaaay too skinny
Oh, mind your own business and get a life. The "size zero debate" is about pressuring a poisonous industry to stop exploitating teenage catwalk models, not about bitching about other women who are either naturally skinny or ill, neither of which really deserve your scorn.

She should not be wearing that
Again, mind your own business and get a life.

But men and women are different
They sure are - just take a look in your pants if you don't believe me. I wouldn't be at all surprised if there were meaningful differences in brain anatomy too. But using that as an excuse for blatant discrimination? Making lazy, unsubstantiated assumptions about individuals based on some bollocks survey you read about on a very slow news day? Fuck off.

Feminists are sexist
I admit that the actual word "feminism" is a bit unfortunate. There are some women who call themselves feminists who actully hate men or are prejudiced against them, and this particularly annoys me because they reinforce this stereotype. Equally, there are some men who call themselves feminist/pro-feminist who are actually very sexist. I know a few of these and they are some of the most punchable people you will ever meet. I've heard people say things like, "I'm not a feminist - I'm a humanist" but I think it's pretty much impossible to be a humanist without also being a feminist. Feminism is just one of a set of ideologies that promote respect for one's fellow human beings. The reason that it is so needed as a separate ideology is that it is so often ignored. It's not that feminism is more important than anything else, just that it needs to shout louder to be heard.

2008-10-21T06:14:00.000-07:00

Why are women expected to have such incredibly low self-esteem? It's like, a total rule, and if you break it, everyone will think you are a conceited bitch.

For starters, we're expected to talk about ourselves all the frickin' time, but we're not allowed to talk about our good qualities, only the bad ones. Furthermore, we must drastically overestimate our bad qualities.

This is something I noticed at primary school, and it really confused me. I actually started school in a sort of Mean Girls-type scenario, having never really mixed with other kids before. I started school with a realistic sense of what I was good at (music, reading, anything academic) and a realistic sense of what I was bad at (anything requiring physical coordination or saying the right thing at the right time). I was proud of the things I was good at, and furious with myself for the things I was bad at. So perhaps I was a bit highly-strung, but I had a fairly realistic opinion of myself and my abilities.

On my first day at school, I was immediately singled out for having the "wrong" jumper by the other girls in the class, but that wasn't the only thing that confused me. The thing that really got me was that boys and girls were different species.

At home, my best friend was a boy who was only a month older than me, and we'd been close since we were babies. I'd never thought about the fact that we were the opposite sex before. We had similar interests, we played together, we talked together, we got into fights and ran crying to our mummies with bruised lips and bruised egos, but through all this it had never occurred to me that boys were Different. He was just my friend...

Now at school it was blindingly obvious. Boys were horrid, aggressive, nasty creatures who would fight and hit and pull your hair and not let you play with them because you were a girl.

Girls were just as nasty, but more dangerous because they were nasty in a way that was tolerated by the teachers. They were bitchy and smug and, in many cases, pure evil incarnate dressed up in a skirt and ribbons and Clarks shoes. You had to be just perfect to get on with the girls. You had to have the right clothes, the right toys, you had to be pretty, you had to be cool...

Neither of these groups suited me, but because I wore a skirt and had long hair, I joined the girls. It was hellish.

Obviously I didn't fit in - I was ugly, brainy and poor, and that never generates popularity even amongst five-year-olds. But one of the ways in which I didn't fit in was that I was ignorant of the self-effacement expected of me. If I wrote a great story for example, I was to claim that it was complete rubbish, that I couldn't write for shit, but "Oh but yours is wonderful!" This was news to me. I had always thought it was ok to be pleased when you'd done well, but apparently it wasn't acceptable for a girl. I was very quickly branded full of myself and in dire need of being taken down a peg or three.

The boys were different however. If the rule for the girls was, "Always put yourself down, no matter how well you've done" then the rule for the boys was, "Always big yourself up, no matter how badly you've done". The girls thought the boys were arrogant and uncouth. The boys thought the girls were pathetic. Looking back on it, I'd say they were both right.

I remember one incident from an art class in Year 2, when I was boasting about the fact that the picture I'd been given to copy was much easier than those of the other girls sitting at my table (heaven knows I needed it - to this day I can't even draw a stick man. And no, this is *not* false modesty). Anyway, all of the girls looked horrified. They explained to me that if I said things like that, the picture would just magically get harder and harder and I wouldn't be able to draw it at all. Didn't I know about this phenomenon?

Whilst the girls put themselves down constantly, the boys strutted around, entirely convinced of their superiority, owning the playground. All there was for the girls to do was to comb their hair and bitch. I think this was the first real feminist anger I ever felt. I was angry that I was pushed into a role that didn't suit me because of my sex, and angry that such a pathetically stupid role existed in the first place. I was angry about the rules that did us no favours, and even angrier that it was us that imposed them on each other. I was angry at the boys for thinking they were better than us. I was angry at the teachers for being particularly harsh on girls who weren't sufficiently quiet and passive. It was like a whole mini-patriarchy within the four walls of my classroom, and it pissed me the hell off.

I didn't start calling myself a feminist until I was 16. By this age, all my friends were (nice) boys. I just couldn't stand girl culture at all. Mainly it was just that girls generally seemed to take an instant dislike to me, and I've never really been one for hanging around with people who think I'm a loser. But as for definite things that I could put my finger on, the constant one-upmanship on who had the lowest self-esteem was what annoyed me more than anything else. For starters, girls just seemed to talk about themselves CONSTANTLY. And secondly, this self-absorption and self-consciousness took the form of putting oneself down and fishing for compliments, complimenting other girls so that they too could put themselves down and fish for compliments, etc etc etc... Sorry but I just found it much more fun to hang around with my boy friends watching South Park and shooting pigeons with air rifles.

Although few adults indulge in outright obnoxious behaviour, I really do think that men and women are different, and that the cultures surrounding men and women are different. If there's a big difference between men and women, it's not that women "can't read maps", or that men aren't "in touch with their feelings" - that's just sexist, generalist bullshit. It's that women are socialised to see the world in terms of what it thinks of them, and that men are socialised to see the world in terms of what it can do for them.

This is how a lot of women are crushed and silenced by being told that they're ugly. It's how a lot of men can manage to sleep with a prostitute without giving a stuff that she probably thinks he's a fat sweaty loser. It's how some women won't leave the house without make up, and how some men demand that women remove all of their body hair without giving a second thought to their own.

It's all really depressing because it really does have a bad effect on quality of life for women and girls. I don't know what the hell to do about it, other than to try my best not to bring up any children I might have in this way. I suggest you do the same.

Oh dear :s

2008-10-10T06:04:00.000-07:00

Not having sex is the key to longevity, according to Britain's oldest virgin.

This just really reminds me of one of my favourite Woody Allen quotes: You can live to be 100 by giving up all the things that make you want to live to be 100

Clara - do please get "drunk and silly" on your birthday. That is what birthdays are for. Get yourself a sprightly 80-year-old man and some Viagra and have a really happy birthday.

An open letter to all hairdressers

2008-09-28T07:28:00.000-07:00

Dear Hairdressers,

Owing to recent bitter personal experience, it would make me really happy if you were to take heed of the following:

* The customer is always right. Sometimes the customer will ask for something ridiculous, in which case you should explain that it's not a good idea. Other than that, your job is to deliver what they want, not to impose your own tastes upon them. If the customer tells you they want to keep the length, do not then chop off 5cm and feel smug that you've "fixed" their hitherto crappy hair and expect them to be all grateful. Suggestions are very welcome. Just going ahead and doing things without asking is NOT.

* Not everybody spends hours in front of the mirror every morning. Just because I don't, doesn't mean I'm some mad bag lady with seventeen cats who hasn't washed since 1984. There is nothing wrong with me, so don't look so fucking disgusted when I tell you that I hardly ever straighten my hair. Curls rock, and burnt hair smells like ass.

* Don't diss my curls. They are not "stubborn", they do not need to be "corrected", they are beautiful and possibly my best feature. I asked you to straighten my hair just for a change and because it takes me ages to do it myself, not because there is anything wrong with the natural state of my hair.

* Blonde highlights? On almost-black hair? You have GOT to be kidding. Quit suggesting it, it ain't gonna happen.

* Don't insult me. I know that the beauty industry works by convincing women that there's something wrong with them that needs fixing. I know that by persuading me that what I really need is a cut that only looks good straight so that I need to fork out £100 for straighteners and blonde highlights that need retouching every few weeks you will make more money out of me. But you are not seriously going to convince me that there's anything wrong with having dark glossy curls halfway down your back.* Quit trying.

* I do not want to look like everybody else. My hair is probably my most distinguishing feature. I'm not amazingly attractive or striking generally, but my hair sets me apart. I know that long curly hair is not in fashion. But I don't want to look like a fashion victim. Besides, I get more compliments on my hair than anything else, so I must be doing something right.

I hope we can get on better in future. If not, you'll have the straightest arse crack in London considering where I'll shove those GHDs of yours.

Luv n hugz!
Samara

*Well, as long as they're not sprouting OUT of your back. Even then, it would be pretty damn rude to say anything about it unless I specifically asked for some waxing

Cunt cupcakes

2008-09-22T05:29:00.000-07:00

I don't generally post recipes here for one reason: if I did, there'd be no stopping me and I'd probably never post about anything else. You might think that recipes have little to do with feminism, but for a woman to openly enjoy her food is pretty subversive and anti-patriarchy. It would be even more subversive if I wasn't thin, but being of a healthy weight I am in no way thin enough to be immune to the pressure to be obsessed about my weight. Only when you're so emaciated you can barely walk is weight obsession frowned upon. Grrrr grrrr grrrrr.

Anyway, enough of that. The reason I have decided to post this recipe is that it also touches upon another issue, namely the idea that amusing and inappropriate depictions of penises are all the rage, but vaginas much less so. There was even a recipe for a penis cake in last month's issue of Bizarre magazine. I thought it was pretty funny but none of my feminist friends seemed to agree with me, and so I promised that I would make a vagina cake at some point, you know, in the interests of equality.

Obviously one of the reasons that vagina cakes aren't all the rage is that they're a lot harder to draw/sculpt. All you need for a crudely-fashioned penis is a long thing and a couple of round things, and hey presto, laughs all round. Unless you're an exceptional artist (which I can assure you I am not) your attempts at drawing or sculpting a vagina could end up looking like anything from a blacmange to an ordnance survey map of the Lake District. But I didn't let that put me off.

Cunt Cupcakes
Ingredients

Cupcakes. If, like me, you're ambitious, make them yourself. There are lots of recipes on google. If not, buy them from the supermarket, you lazy sod.
Pink jelly beans
Red icing - best to buy it from the supermarket in one of those squeezy tubes

For the fanny batter
Icing sugar
2 egg whites
Butter

Method
1. Beat the egg whites until stiff. Stop giggling at the back!

2. Mix in icing sugar and butter to give it the right consistency and level of sweetness. I'll leave this up to your discretion. Everybody likes their fanny batter a bit different.

3. Carefully scoop out the tops of the cupcakes and cut the scooped out bits in half.

4. Place a generous dollop of fanny batter on each of the cupcakes.

5. Arrange the tops of the cupcakes upside down. These will form the labia majora.

6. Draw on some red food colouring inside the labia majora. This will be the labia minora.

7. Finally, add a jelly bean clit at the top.

8. Enjoy! I have been reliably informed that they taste even better than the real thing.

Here's some I made earlier:

The camera loves you, darling

2008-08-25T09:16:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago, I had a distinctly unsavoury experience: a photo shoot for my magazine. I have been working on a series of articles following the antics of me taking up the oboe (don't ask). To that end, my editor insisted that we really needed some shots of me wielding my ~~instrument of aural torture~~ Howarth S10 student oboe to illustrate the articles.

I am completely and utterly unphotogenic. Good photos of me do exist, but they are few and far between. Generally speaking, I reckon I look good in about 1-2% of photos, just about acceptable in 10% and utterly minging in the rest.

My photographer was a really lovely man who until quite recently I'd been dating. He's not a pro but he's very good, and so I persuaded him to come round my house and take some shots of me with my oboe, in return for drinks and the entertainment of watching me trying to look graceful in kickboxing trousers and a Wonderwoman t-shirt whilst holding an oboe and simultaneously executing a high-section side piercing kick (don't do it at home, kids). I had really thought that with a skilled photographer I might end up looking good, or at least not looking like a serial killer mugshot or the "before" picture on a weight loss commercial. I was wrong. The camera definitely doesn't love me. It hates me. It totally has it in for me. It fantasises about dismembering my hideous self and dancing on my grave, but it settles instead for making me look like a poster girl for fugly.com.

And gone are the days when bad photos could be ripped up, negatives burned and the whole sorry image long forgotten. Since the advent of facebook, bad photos of me are in the public domain for a sickening length of time before I get around to de-tagging them. I am constantly reminded of my unphotogenic-ness, and every time I log onto the sodding site I'm confronted by pics of my female friends and friends of friends looking depressingly gorgeous.

The compliments are the worst. I'll show someone a photo in which I look like an overweight crack whore (it's possible, believe me) only for them to say, "Oh but that's a lovely photo!" which of course then begs the question, "Oh my God, do I really look like that in real life? That's a *good* photo?" *fantasises about hanging self, or perhaps simply spending life savings on extensive cosmetic surgery*

I look ok when I look in the mirror. Sometimes I even look pretty. But I hardly ever look pretty or even acceptable in photos. It's confusing as hell. I'm paranoid that when I look in the mirror, I'm somehow able to lie to myself about how attractive I look, and it's only in photographs that I'm forced to confront the real me.

I hate being like this. I was beautiful for a while when I was younger, and it made me forget my appearance. (Or was I beautiful? Did I only think I was because nobody ever took photos of me? There are no photos of me between the ages of 14 and 18...) I never worried about how I looked, and consequently appeared to be one of these really cool girls who never worries about her appearance. I even believed that I was genuinely confident and unconcerned about my appearance. I now realise that the only reason I was unconcerned about it was that it was good enough at the time. Now that it's no longer good enough, I have become shallow and self-absorbed. As my looks are fading, my obsession with them is increasing. I am becoming the sort of vain girl I can't stand being around, and I'm realising that deep down I've always been like this.

The first rule at my school was to "Set yourself high standards and work hard to achieve them". I have high standards at work, and I work hard to achieve them. I have high standards for myself as a person, and I try my best to be kind, generous, compassionate, loyal and everything I want to be. But having high standards for my own appearance is no good because there's very little I can do in terms of working hard to achieve those standards. To a certain extent at least, beauty is something that you are either born with or not. The fact that I wasn't born beautiful doesn't stop me from desperately wanting to be so, and the knowledge on a logical level that aspiring so strongly to something I can't achieve will make me nothing but miserable does nothing to quell my rampant perfectionism.

My photographer the other week advised me that I should buck up a bit, because the most attractive thing about anyone is confidence, but I don't see how I can ever be confident if I'm not beautiful.

Do most women go through this? Is it normal? Or do I just need help? Or a nose job? I honestly have no idea.

English Women Don't Get Smug

2008-08-05T08:16:00.000-07:00

On Saturday, I ended up buying a copy of French Women for All Seasons, the sequel to French Women Don't Get Fat. It was £1 in the charity shop and had yummy-looking recipes in it, which is why I bought it. The recipes are indeed good, but the bits that aren't actual recipes make me want to force-feed Mireille Guiliano KFC until she explodes. A lot of it makes sense, namely the idea that if you enjoy good quality food in moderation you probably won't end up with multiple spare tyres. But a lot of it is total bollocks, and bollocks that tends to assume that all of these slim glamorous French women are white and middle class at that. I haven't spent an awful lot of time in France, but I've never seen a black woman there who wasn't cleaning a toilet. Do these particular French women have the time and money to spend a leisurely hour dipping asparagus into home-made mayonnaise? I doubt it.

Anyway, the worst thing Guiliano advocates is Magical Leek Soup.

Ingredients:
2 pounds leeks

1. Clean the leeks and rinse well to get rid of sand and soil. Cut off the ends of the dark green parts, leaving all the white parts plus a suggestion of pale green. (Reserve the extra greens for soup stock.)

2. Put the leeks in a large pot and cover with water. Bring to a boil, reduce the heat, and simmer uncovered for 20 to 30 minutes. Pour off the liquid and reserve. Place the leeks in a bowl.

The juice is to be drunk (reheated or at room temperature to taste) every 2 to 3 hours, 1 cup at a time. For meals, or whenever hungry, have some of the leeks themselves, 1/2 cup at a time.

Apparently, French women all do this "leek weekend" once every three months. What, really? And because you are basically not eating, you're not to do anything strenuous. It is a weekend for sitting around in your pyjamas (Chanel, of course) reading (Proust, of course) and relaxing. Honestly, who has time for this? And can you imagine what it would do to your digestive system? Who has time to sit around farting leeks for an entire weekend? Don't get me wrong, I love leeks as much as the next foodie. I just have no particular desire to live on pond water for two days.

The other bit that really got me was when she states that a whole banana is two servings. This is the correct, Gallic-approved method of eating a banana:

1. Peel banana.

2. Chop banana in half. Place one half in clingfilm in the fridge.

3. Put the other half on a plate and chop into little bits.

4. Eat the little bits one at a time with a fork.

Can you imagine eating a banana like that? It's ridiculous! If I saw someone eat a banana like that I'd assume she had some form of OCD or an eating disorder.

But of course, the real problem with all this is the self-righteous, punchable smugness that pervades the entire book. I'm a beautiful, slim, glamorous woman, and you too can be like me if you give up your Curly Wurly habit and drink vile leek water instead. Well I'm not giving up my Curly Wurly habit for no Frenchie, I don't care how slim she is. Instead I shall dedicate my efforts to producing a new volume, in order to help those snooty French women be more like us fabulous Brits.

ENGLISH WOMEN DON'T GET SMUG

Introduction: The English are a nation of fat ugly munters and we know it

The English diet: Stodge, lard, stodge, chips, burgers and stodge. Vegetables? What are they?

Recipes: Discover just what a spotted dick actually is. And no, it's nothing to do with our chlamydia epidemic.

Chicken: How the proliferation of dodgy fried chicken establishments has made the English waistline what it is today.

Denial: How to convince yourself that if you order a Diet Coke with your doner kebab, it cancels out the calories in the kebab.

Binge drinking: If you puke it into the gutter at 3am, the calories don't count!

Desperation: The Atkins Diet, The South Beach Diet, The Hollywood Diet, The Cabbage Soup Diet, and how to celebrate breaking them all with a family-sized bar of Dairy Milk.

Self-loathing: British women have been told for ages that we are pasty, pear shaped, mousy, flabby, inelegant and generally inferior to our sisters across the Channel. And what are we good for? No 1 in Europe for teen pregnancies, GET IN!!

Reading this book is only the beginning of a wonderful life of self-loathing. If you just stick to these rules of following a lard-based diet, rich in refined carbohydrates and dodgy additives, you will never suffer from the terrible smugness that blights those slim Frenchies across the channel.

What do you reckon? Should I fire off 3 chapters and a synopsis to Guiliano's publishers?

Bechdel's Law

2008-07-29T01:39:00.000-07:00

This is brilliant.

Alison Bechdel, cartoonist and author of Dykes to Watch Out For, has an interesting observation on movies — a little test she applies to them. It's a very short checklist, viz:

1. Does it have at least two women in it,

2. Who [at some point] talk to each other,

3. About something besides a man.

I bring this up as a point of interest, because of what it says about the blind spots of popular entertainment. Most Hollywood movies fail this test; if you extend #3 only slightly, to read "About something besides men or marriage or babies", you can strike out about 50% of the small proportion of mass-entertainment movies that do otherwise seem to pass the test.

So, let's apply this to my favourite movies.

American Beauty - Fail

The Karate Kid - Fail

Life of Brian - Fail

Monty Python and the Holy Grail - Fail. Although it does have that brilliant scene with the Castle Anthrax...

Mean Girls - Technically a pass...but I suspect that "clothes", "boob jobs" and "bitching" should probably be added to the list of things that constitute a fail.

Clueless - Pass! Bet you never saw *that* coming. Clueless is officially a feminist friendly movie!

South Park - Fail

The Jungle Book - Fail

Persepolis - Definitely a pass. And by the way, everybody should see this movie. It should be compulsory.

Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory - Pass. Ok, so it's just two of the mums talking about candy for about two sentences, but it still counts!

(Yes, I have shit taste in movies)

Do men respect women who put out on the first date?

2008-07-28T08:34:00.000-07:00

A scientific approach

Well, there's a surprise

2008-07-22T09:06:00.000-07:00

-3

As a 1930s wife, I am
Very Poor (Failure)

Take the test!

Are you tired of trying to be super-skinny?

2008-07-17T06:28:00.001-07:00

The BBC is currently hosting a discussion entitled Are you tired of trying to be super-skinny? Frankly this is enough to put anyone off their lunch.

As Michelle Davey from Newton Abbott puts it, Men always prefer us real women.

Hi Michelle, if you're reading. I'm a size 6. Am I not real? Am I hideously unattractive to men who want something more substantial than a bit of arm candy? Is anybody who ever sleeps with me secretly wishing I were Vanessa Feltz?

I hate this "Real Woman" schtick, and not just because I am a poor little skinny girl who is oh so horribly discriminated against. I can take a bit of sniping from the Real Women brigade in full knowledge that generally speaking I am in a position of extreme privilege for being on the "right" side of size 12. The reason it pisses me off so much is not that I take it personally but that it entirely fails to tackle the issue. Rather than challenging the idea that one body type should be held above all others as a model of perfection, it simply replaces that particular body type with a different one.

"Real Women Have Curves, men like Real Women with Curves, if you don't have Curves then you're not a Real Woman, you're some poor excuse for a shallow fashionista who lives on lettuce and Diet Coke" is just as bad a message as, "Hey Fatass, why don't you lay off the pies or else you'll never get laid, you fat munter."

Women come in different shapes and sizes. Frickin' deal with it.

Great comment

2008-07-08T02:25:00.000-07:00

I've had a great comment:

A tramp who wanted to fuck a tramp... what a story.

You're a fucking ugly cunt, I've seen you around.

Really? Where?

I can't stand your pathetic blog, you cannot write for shit

Ok, you're entitled to your own opinion n all, but in real life I am a professional writer.

and you come off as an angry vicious cunt.

What, for not accepting patriarchal oppression like a good girl? I have a personality, I'm sorry if that offends you. Actually, no I'm not.

Any wonder the only people that want to fuck you are homeless!

Actually, lots of non-homeless people have recently expressed a desire to fuck me. Some of them were dickwads, most of them were nice guys who I didn't happen to fancy, and one of them was utterly wonderful. And much as it is nice to be considered fuckable, I don't really agree that my worth is defined by it.

Shut your fucking mouth... better yet stick a tramp's cock in it and do what you were born to do you fat slut.

Ooooh, you used the F-word, I'm scared!

You really are a piece of work there sweet tits. I wouldn't fuck you with a ten foot pole.

That's good, I'm not sure I want to be fucked with a ten foot pole.

There are far less crazy skanks out there can take cock and not complain.

Au contraire, I very much like cocks when they're attached to men who I find attractive. And if I were a lesbian, I'd have nothing to do with cocks at all, which is something you really shouldn't have a problem with.

You are absolutely fucking fucked.

Whatever you're going to label me now you slimy fish smelling cunt... remember... I have really seen you around... really... so fucking think. Really think. You cunt.

So...you're allowed to call me a "slimy fish smelling cunt" but I'm not allowed to say anything back to you because you've "seen me around"? Is that a threat? What are you going to do? Fuck me with that ten foot pole of yours? I don't think you have seen me around. Nobody I know would talk to anyone like that even on the internet, and although it's entirely conceivable that someone might find me ugly, I'm definitely not fat. And if you really are so big and clever and not scared of a little cunt like me, why don't you tell me who you are?

I don't know anything about this person. They might not even be a genuine misogynist - it could be someone who for some reason has something personal against me. All I can say about them is that they want me to feel hurt by this, and so I think it's worth examining how they have gone about it, and the material used to achieve their aims.

"You're ugly" is considered a terrible insult

"You're fat" is considered a terrible insult

"I don't want to fuck you" is considered a terrible insult

"You suck cock" is considered a terrible insult

"You can't take cock" is considered a terrible insult

These really are the classic one-size-fits-all female insults. Want to make a woman feel bad about herself? Tell her she's ugly and fat. Want to make her feel humiliated? Attack her sexuality. It's simple really. We live in a society that places a disproportionately massive amount of importance on a woman's appearance, her sexual availability and her chastity (all that virgin/whore schtick, we really can't win however we behave, so just fuck who you want, sisters) and so if you want to insult a woman, just pick on those things and you're sure to hit the target. If anyone ever says anything like this to you, it's worth bearing all this in mind. Insults like this are very unlikely to be an accurate reflection of your personal qualities.

Strangely enough, if this man doesn't want to fuck me, I'm quite happy with that. I sure as hell don't want to fuck him either.

Rejection

2008-06-26T03:44:00.001-07:00

I got asked out by a tramp yesterday! I was waiting to cross the road just outside Mornington Crescent tube station when the drunkest man I have ever seen in my life tapped me on the shoulder and slurred, "Schcushe me, love, do you wanna go for a drink wiv me?" I said, "No thank you!" and he said, "Awright then" and stumbled off.

Good to know that despite my advancing years, I am still irresistibly attractive to those with low standards. Also good to know that sometimes the most seemingly-uncouth men can gracefully handle rejection.

Sex and the City

2008-06-24T03:15:00.001-07:00

*WARNING - This post contains spoilers*

It was every bit as cheesy as I'd expected, the outfits were every bit as fabulous as I'd hoped, Mr Big was as always an utter gobshite, etc etc. But really, something about other people's reactions to it really confused me. Everybody I know who's seen it has been saying, "OMG Carrie's wedding dress! And OMG Charlotte's baby! And OMG OMG Miranda and Steve!" Etc etc etc. But for me, all of these supposed highlights were surpassed by the fact that Charlotte poos her pants. HOW in the name of all that is holy is watching Carrie mince around in a Vivienne Westwood wedding dress more entertaining than watching Charlotte poo her pants? Please, could somebody explain this?

Also, what is up with the fact that there are only three moments in the ENTIRE MOVIE when they're not all wearing massively high heels? 1 - when Charlotte is in her jogging gear, 2 - when Mr Big proposes to Carrie by putting a stiletto on her foot rather than a ring on her finger, and 3 - when Samantha is naked but for strategically-placed sushi. They wear high heels with their swimsuits. They even wear high heels with their PYJAMAS.

And Charlotte's baby was frickin' enormous!!! Honestly, it must have been about 15lbs. Her ladyparts must have looked as if they'd been through a meat grinder by the time she'd pushed that through them.

And Carrie - marring that selfish, neurotic prick? What were you thinking?

And another thing - how on earth did she ever afford all of those $500 shoes from writing one newspaper column? I work in-house on a magazine and freelance for several others, and I buy my shoes from Faith. In the sale. Perhaps I ought to quit writing about music and start writing utter drivel about sex and relationships and swanning around London in bouffy mini-skirts and eight-inch, electric blue Louboutin platforms.

Of course, I loved every moment of it anyway.

Hands up if you've experienced street harrassment

2008-06-03T03:44:00.000-07:00

The F-word recently received a record-breaking 217 comments (and counting!) for asking the question Have you ever experienced street harrassment? Some of the best responses:

Lest anyone starts the whole 'men like complimenting lovely-looking ladies' spiel, I don't dress up walking around town, haven't been wearing make-up whilst out, and my clothing could hardly have been said to be 'sexy'. Women are harassed whatever they wear, and raped whatever they wear, because they are women, nothing more nothing less. And you simply can't avoid either, because you aren't hiding the fact that you are female, and it is that fact which these harassers pick up on and react to, nothing else. and I shouldn't have to pretend I don't have a vagina to not be raped or harassed, because people with vaginas also have the right to walk the streets without fear, as have LGBTQ people and POC.
Oh, and I could have been walking around in a bikini, and it still would not mean I wanted attention. Because, believe it or not, women don't live their whole lives worring about what perfect strangers think about them. - Anne Onne

I was catcalled while walking my dog. The two teenagers (in an SUV, of course) got stuck behind a bus and I was able to walk over to where they were and chastise them from the sidewalk. They couldn't move their car, so they had to sit there and take it. I asked them if they'd ever talk to their sister or mother like that, and they'd better hope neither of those women ever find out how nasty their mouths are.
Priceless. - a.brown

I was stood by a busstop in a street full of people, group of teenage boys walked past, one grabbed my tits, one stuck his hand in between my legs from behind, and to finish off they threw a bag of dog shit at me, all the while continuing down the street. Noone said a damn thing, including myself. - Anna

There was this bloke who followed me home from work everyday for a month, alternating between spewing degrading obscenities and mock horror that I should take his gestures of friendship (!) in the wrong way. Oneday, having refused an invitation to go back to his, he reminded me that he knew where I lived (and often watched me from his flat) and threatened to pay me a visit later that night to 'teach me a thing or two' - I screamed at him in the street, but this only seemed to increase his obvious pleasure in taunting me. It was only when our paths crossed at the supermarket one Saturday, and he had his toddler-aged daughter with him that he fianlly stopped. - Bethan

Many, many times. The most memorable, however, involved a physical confrontation that could've ended much worse than it did. I was 22 and walking home with some groceries. A man approached me and kept getting in my face, telling me to 'smile, baby.' Not in th mood for it, I told him to leave me alone and go harass someone else. He persisted, I retorted again and then he started getting angry, calling me a bitch.
As I waited for the light to change so I could cross the road and get away from him, he suddenly shoved me into traffic. Thankfully the car coming managed to swerve in time but I landed on my hands and knees with my shopping rolling away. I was so angry,I grabbed a tin and whacked him over the head with it, drawing blood and knocking him backwards. He doubled up a fist and glared at me but took off running when a valet from the hotel across the road began running towards us shouting that he would call the police.
I sincerely hope that bastard never told another woman to smile. - Amity

I think this is one of the many forms of sexism that 'nice' men have a hard time seeing - they're not targets of it, and it's (in my experience) much less likely to happen when they're around, so, like the queen thinking the world smells of new paint, they don't really believe it exists. A very nice man once asked me seriously if builders 'really' whistled at women passing building sites. I tried to explain that this stereotypical scenario is the relatively (obviously not really) cheerful, seaside postcard end of a very destructive, violent spectrum, which is pervasive and unavoidable if you are a woman and you ever leave your home. - Siún

Men have often kicked, grabbed or forcefully pushed me (even at the top of stair cases) when I'm out in my wheelchair. It's scary. Sometimes it's just plain hurtful. Once or twice, I've been in a shop waiting to pay for something and the man behind me decides to wheel me out of the line. Just like that!
The first time I went out in my wheelchair my mum and I were so shocked when an aggressive man leaned over me, shook my wheelchair and quickly thrust his groin in my face as he squeezed past. There was about three feet of space in front of us he could have easily used without pressing up against me or moving my chair at all.
I was sixteen.
The second and third time a man did "the groin thing" it still bothered me. Now I just see it as something that happens but it's still upsetting to think about.
On good days I walk, and my disability is completely invisable to the rest of the world. On some "walking days" I feel incredibly vulnerable.
Three years ago, on one of these vulnerable walking days, a man cornered me in a park.
I was 18, he seemed about 40. I'm petite, fragile from my disability and slender. He had huge muscles and stood head and shoulder over me.
He leered. He gave me this grin and nodded his head over and over and over again as he looked me over. He goes, "Yeeeeah. Oh yeah," and keeps nodding and grinning.
I felt sick. My heart was pounding and I didn't know what to do. How do I get out of it? How do I make him go away?
It took me three years to go back to the park he scared me so much. I felt dirty. I felt ashamed. I even blamed myself. It was a hot day but I flung on two jumpers when I got home to cover myself up. I wanted to take a shower so I could somehow shower him away and how he looked at me, but that would involve taking off the jumpers. I couldn't do that. Didn't want to be seen, even alone in my bathroom.
I remember years ago when I'd been shopping with my mum. We were getting back into our car and a man nodded and smiled at my mum as he walked down the road. She nodded and smiled back.
His smiled widened and said loudly, "Tits out, love!" and kept walking.
Stunning. - Anon

I'm 19 now, and the first time it happened I was 12- and I wasn't a particularly early developer. When I was 13 I looked 13, and men still shouted out of cars at me and my 13 year old friends who looked 13.
And it's just unremitting; the endless primate looks and comments and stupid car horns that always make me think I've accidentally got my skirt tucked in my knickers or something embarrassing.
And that's what I can't stand. Because if it was just about girls' boobs in summer dresses, that would be crass but managable. It's the fact that more often than not these men seem like the fact it flusters me and that there's a delay timer on my response, meaning I can't make one. It's not actually about me; quite often I think I stand for something and maybe they're not even sure exactly what.
And it's being watched and watched and watched.
Because it's not friendly and it's not appreciative, and it's not even meant to be.
On my bike the other day a man at a bus stop ran in front of me and looked up up skirt (I had shorts on underneath because I was cycling- but he only learnt that because he'd looked).
Occasionally something egregious happens, like the old man who'd started talking to me on the ferry back from a family holiday who followed me on to a lower deck (when feeling uncomfortable I'd made my excuses) and intimated to his son to come over, which the son did holding a condom between his forefinger and thumb.
And sometimes it's just being stared at, by someone who wants you to know they're staring at you.
And when I can, I shout back. But you can't shout down a stare. And when I worked in the pub I couldn't say the withering things I wanted to back to the regulars. Or else, they drive you out of their like they did the 'fat barmaid'. And at least I had the luxury of making a choice to leave, at least for me it was just a temporary studenty job.
But you know, the most eloquent bit of orratory you deliver pavement side can be shot down by even the most underevolved of these men, because all they need to say is "don't flatter yourself, love" and the joke's suddenly on you. - JaneL

There was this one time that when I didn't respond the cat-caller got aggressive - it was evening and getting dark. He followed me for over 15 minutes yelling that I was a "cunt" and that he was going to "rape me." I felt so threatened, it was extremely upsetting. And basically, I think that is how all cat-calling comes across - it might be "just for a laugh" or "harmless fun" to the man cat-calling, but for the woman it could be one step away from something seriously nasty happening. You don't know that stranger. You don't know what he is thinking. He could easily be one step away from turning aggressive. - batty

This trend really reveals the attitude of many of the men who commit street harassment: woman is seen as public (male) property to be commented on, assessed, made fun of, used for sexual kicks, and if she's with another man he "owns" her and so is seen to have the monopoly on her body. A number of friends have told me stories of being harassed, only for the man to notice she is with another guy and apologise to HIM, as though he were encrouching on his territory. The trend also reveals how malicious this so-called "low level" sexism or victimisation can be - targetting lone women is way to intimidate and assert power, to show us who is in control, who the public space really belongs to, and where our role in it lies - as eye candy or tool of sexual gratification. If we can't provide either of those things, we'd best stay indoors. - Laura Woodhouse

I once got groped and fingered by some frankly, gruesome old men in a pub quite randomly. It was at the crush at the bar and I was too scared to say anything. Sad thing was, I was 17 and can remember feeling ashamed, like I'd invited it by being there, rather than angry at how they dared. - Clare

When I was fourteen or fifteen, I used to get harrassed by a man on my way to school every morning. He was a car-park attendant and I had to walk through the (usually deserted) carpark to get to school, and every time he saw me he'd wolf whistle or ask for my name or make lewd comments. My school had uniforms so he knew damn well I was just a kid; he must've been about thirty. I didn't really know how to handle it, especially when my glare-o'-death didn't put him off, so eventually I thad to get my dad to come with me one morning and tell him to knock it off. It still makes me angry to this day. - Ollybeth

i don't have a problem with being looked at, in itself. i don't mind a polite smile or glance. we are talking about people who invade personal space, or threaten to, who treat us with massive disrespect, and become physically or verbally aggressive when we do not respond approvingly. the above forms the vast majority of my experience of male "appreciation" of my appearance. when a man is polite and respectful and knows when to back off it is an entirely different matter. eg, i was once told that i looked "lovely" and then left alone, no invasion of personal space and no aggression, this i did not mind. - fenris

Sexist aggression aside, staring and public commentary is rude. Get it? It's just rude. We don't stare at black people because of the colour of their skin or at disabled people because they happen to be in a wheelchair or whatever. So why should 50% of the population 'get over themselves' and accept daily harrassment just because they are in posession of a double XX chromosome?
*sighs*
As others have said, this is not about making somebody feel good, or being complimentary - this is about POWER and intimidation.
There are woooooooorlds between a pleasant and polite compliment from somebody of either sex and boorish, aggressive leering and catcalling. Until men (including the 'nice' men) learn to tell the difference, then I'm afraid that we have a long way to go in terms of defining what are acceptable methods of normal social interaction. - Rhona

I don't think we need comments from men along the lines of "we are just chatting you up" - Please read the stories above. All of them. Then read them again.
I would ask you to consider that we are talking about things on a different scale here, it is the context in which the harassment occurs that makes male to female harassment important for us.
Consider the following:
- Have you ever changed your route to avoid harassment?
- Do you tense up when you pass a line of stationary traffic?
- Have you ever feared being raped, attacked or killed as a result of the harassment you suffered?
- Have you ever been followed along the street by a lone woman, and feared for your safety?
- Have you ever received emails telling you that you must be afraid, very afraid of walking alone and you must take precautions at every opportunity to prevent yourself becoming a victim?
- Do you cross the street to avoid passing a lone man as you walk home?
- Have you REGULARLY been shouted at by women in cars when you walk past them?
- Has this been going on regularly all your life since you were 12 or 13?
- Have lone women ever tried to intimidate you and exert their power over you by muttering "Slut" or "Bitch" to you as they pass you?
- Have you frequently experienced female strangers commenting on your physical appearance in the street?
- As a young boy, did you regularly experience street harassment aimed at you by older women?
I am not saying all women have experienced all of the above but that a lot of us have. We are not talking about one or two occassions but in many cases regularly over the course of our lives, from a young age. - Catherine Redfern

On Saturday a random man in a club grabbed my breast I turned around and said something like "that's mine, what on earth do you think you're doing?" to which I got a response something to the tune of "frigid bitch, just having a laugh". Realising I was not going to get a sensible response, I told him to grow up, get a life, and stop committing sexual assaults on people. His response? Poured his pint over my head. - Sarah

Constantly from the age of about 13, ranging from whistling, hissing and tounge clicking, through to actual groping. To the extent that I think I now filter out most of the low level stuff.
I don't have a problem with men coming and telling me politely, and unaggresively, that they like me, and I always try to be polite in return.
However I do though, have problems with unsolicited groping, and blokes shouting out comments. Particulalrly since I've found that they tend to get quite aggresive if you respond negatively. This type of behaviour is not being done because the men concerned are actually interested in me - what woman actually shouts back "thank you for that lovely comment about my breasts, yes I'd love to get in your car" - its being done because they think its funny, or get a kick out of, intimidating me. - Lou

None of the behaviour people have listed here is a way to chat up women or even meant as a compliment. It is to get pleasure from making them uncomfortable, scaring them or startling them. - Qubit

If a majority of women are saying they percieve being approached in the street as harassment, guess what? That means men shouldn't be doing it. You keep saying it's a numbers game - well, most women don't like being approached that way. The numbers argument works both ways, and frankly one person's right to feel safe trumps the other person's desire to get a date by a long shot.

I mean, I'm usually fine with people smiling at me and saying hello if it's clear that they're being genuinely friendly (and yes, we can tell), but someone actually stopping me in the street and trying to pick me? Not OK. - CassandraSays

And here's one of mine: Yesterday I was minding my own business walking to the supermarket when a big man in his late 20s/early 30s leered at me, made slurpy noises, and said in an aggressive manner, "I would LOOOOOVE to suck your pussy". I am ashamed to say that I was too intimidated to say anything back to him. He was over 6ft tall and both looked and sounded very aggressive. I had no doubt that the situation could easily get extremely nasty if I were to stick up for myself. And of course, I felt totally humiliated.

This sort of thing is NOT a compliment. Having someone smile at you, say hello, or catching them looking at you with interest in a non-aggressive manner is a compliment. Harrassment is not. It's a million miles away from anything that could be interpreted as flattering.

Having your cake and eating it

2008-05-28T01:44:00.000-07:00

I was at a press conference the other day, at which the organisers had kindly provided us with a big tray of yummy pastries. As is generally my way when there is free food around, I had pretty much parked myself next to it, but I decided to use my vantage point to conduct an experiment. I listened in on the comments of every single person who approached that tray of yummy pastries, and boy was it depressing.

Not a single woman took a pastry without commenting on how she really shouldn't be eating it.

"I'm being really naughty"
"Oooh I really shouldn't"
"Oooh I'm so fat"
"This is going to go straight to my hips"

Incidentally, not one of these women was above a size 12. Interestingly enough, I also observed that not a single woman in the room didn't eat one. Women do eat. They just feel the need to apologise for it. There's an unwritten rule that we must constantly be seen to be making an effort to keep our weight down. We can eat cake, as long as we suffer terrible guilt as a result. We can eat biscuits, as long as we visualise them sticking to our thighs and sink into self-loathing. In a strange sort of loophole, chips are okay as long as they're stolen from a man's plate.

I think there must be an awful lot of front to it - if a person really did suffer such horrendous guilt for eating cake, then they probably wouldn't eat cake. Creating the guilt is a way of proving that although you are eating cake, you are a good girl really because you feel so bad for it. You get to have your cake and eat it too. I think it's a sort of female bonding thing. We're all in this struggle together sisters, trying to control our wayward bodies in a world that contains cake!

I don't think I need to tell you that this annoys the hell out of me. I love my food. And nobody is going to persuade me that I'm only allowed to eat anything other than salad if I pay for it in guilt. We'll only stop this madness if we refuse to join in.

Alternatively, we could just find better things to bond over. Like for instance the fact that we live in a society in which women are villified for being even marginally overweight, whereas men have to be morbidly obese before suffering similar discrimination. Or the fact that women are still paid less than men. Or the fact that men usually get away with raping women. Or the fact that our right to do what we like with our reproductive systems is under scrutiny. We are locked in a common struggle, sisters, but it's not with our thighs.

Gumtree sleazeball of the week

2008-05-17T01:26:00.000-07:00

Attractive City Lawyer, Offering Free Accomadation For 'Intimacy'

Hello there

I'm an attractive city `lawyer, offering accommodation free of charge, to an attractive female in exchange for 'intimacy' ...with a view and hope that the excitement of the initial setup will evolve into something equally fulfilling but perhaps on a more conventional footing - without necessarily losing the deeply satisfying undercurrents of the unorthodox initial arrangement however...!

Nationality is unimportant.... I have a preference for women with a domineering side but this isn't essential...though I would also be interested by the prospect of meeting a female with a submissive streak....

The accommodation itself is part of a comfortable 4 bedroom house & well situated in terms of transport links in the north west suburbs of London...It is normally priced at £430pcm per room: but of course, you would not be paying that.

If this is of interest and/or you would like to know more, drop me a line…

Regards

R

NB: The site requires that a figure above the value of £0 be placed in the price area - hence the £10pw; but for that one ideal person out there, the accommodation, would of course be free.

PS you needn't send a photo to respond, although it would of course be happily received. However, if you plan on requesting to see a photo, please ensure that you send one with your request.

PPS ~No e$c0rts; past or present, please~

You heard it here first: I am a brazen hussy

2008-05-01T03:06:00.000-07:00

I had a meeting with my boss yesterday during which she told me - very nicely and tactfully I might add - that my dress sense was inappropriate.

I work in what is very much a dress down office. If you're going out to interview someone or to go to a press conference you dress smartly, but other than that, there are no rules. I have never given what I wear to work a lot of thought for this reason. I just wear what I like, and what I happen to feel like wearing on any given day.

I've never gone in for particularly revealing clothes, but nor have I ever favoured shapeless outfits. Because I have a curvy figure, anything that isn't fitted just doesn't look good on me. Basically, I am pretty happy with how I look from the neck down and tend to pick my clothes according to whether or not I like them. What I was wearing yesterday for example was a pair of skinny jeans tucked into pointy boots with a fitted t-shirt.

This is too revealing for my boss though, who told me that I reveal too much flesh, I won't be taken seriously unless I cover up and I look as if I lack respect for myself. I need to consider the fact that I am the only young woman in a highly male-dominated office, and I must start considering what people think of me. She did say that she understood that it was problematic from a feminist point of view, but that she was just concerned for me. Well, that's ok then. When I asked for a little further clarification on exactly what about my dress sense was inappropriate, she said, "Just look in the mirror". This doesn't help me because I do generally look in the mirror before I leave the house in the morning, and if I feel that what I'm wearing is inappropriate for any reason then I change into something else. She has advised me to invest in some floaty blouses, so I think that it is my breasts that are the main source of the problem. Well, I couldn't possibly expect to be taken seriously in the workplace if I have breasts...

I am pretty good friends with most of the males in my male-dominated office, and so I did ask them what they thought about this. A selection of comments:

Don't worry - we're not going to take you seriously anyway!

She's right - we are a pack of slavering weak-minded fanny-hounds

Well, I take your tits very seriously...

And on a slightly less jovial note:

Certain things will seem “revealing” on you, that won’t at all on someone else. Anything even remotely figure-hugging is just that more obvious on you. You have the absolute classic hour-glass figure, and short of wearing a hessian sack, it’s going to show up. But that’s just the way it is, you are what you are! You could say the same thing about someone that was tall, or short, or fat, or …. Whatever.

The main reason I feel angry about this is that as a woman, it's really bloody difficult not to worry about your body all the time. I was in an unusually healthy position of not feeling that I had to pick clothes according to what was "acceptable" and "unacceptable" about my figure. I was really quite unselfconscious about my body. I felt really privileged for not worrying particularly about my appearance from the neck down, and she's taken that privilege away from me. I now can't go into the office without worrying about whether I look like a brazen hussy, whether my Bad, Evil, Nasty breasts are showing, and whether I look sufficiently "respectable". I am going to have to take a long hard look at myself in the mirror every morning and think not about whether I myself like what I see, but about whether other people are going to find my appearance acceptable.

I thought that I had got to a point where my body was not an issue and that I was able to wear what I liked without anybody thinking any less of me. I guess I was very naive.

More hate mail!

2008-04-12T00:05:00.000-07:00

The F-Word is being attacked again. Yesterday I wrote a post about how the Daily Mail article on how a size 16 Miss England finalist is "dangerously overweight" and a "bad role model" was fucking ridiculous and also included some blatant lies (the "ideal" body mass index is 20, according to them, and this is after they've done loads of articles about how wonderfully "curvy" she is and what a great "role model" - *YAWN*). As a result of this, I've been called fat by someone who presumably has never seen me:

isn't it the norm for feminists to be againstbeauty contests period, why are you now pro-beauty contest just becausea fatty has been included in the line up? Youre also against BMI too.So i'm thinking maybe you're all angry just because you're over BMI 26and rather fat? just a hunch.

This comment isn't going on the site because we moderate comments to avoid flame wars like the one that this would inevitably lead to, but I thought it deserved airing. Of course I'm fat - the only reasonable explanation for me saying that it was unfair dragging someone who is marginally overweight through the mud as a poster girl for heart disease and type 2 diabetes is that I'm fat. If I wasn't fat, I'd be cheering on the Daily Mail and calling for Chloe to be forcibly removed from the competition and recycled as a bouncy castle.

Actually, The readers of the F-Word would totally have lynched me if I'd said anything that appeared either to endorse beauty contests or to comment subjectively on Chloe's appearance, so here's another point that I would have made if I'd felt able to do so: Miss England is a beauty contest, and however you feel about beauty contests, that's what contestants are being judged on, not whether they are "good role models". Few people would deny that Chloe is a beautiful girl even if you do happen to find her a little on the porky side, and thus she is eminently qualified to participate.

As I said in the original post, she is no more overweight than many of her fellow contestants are underweight, so that blows the whole "role model" issue out of the water anyway. Chloe has as much right to compete in this ~~repulsive display of young women as commodities for public consumption~~ competition as anybody else.

I do think she could have chosen a more supportive bikini top though...

I'm totally psyched about this abortion!

2008-04-10T06:58:00.001-07:00

Yet another reason why The Onion kicks ass.

To all of you pro-lifers who are trying to rain on my parade, keep it to yourself, because I don't have the time for that kind of negativity. I've got an abortion to plan, and I just know it's going to be the best non-anesthetized invasive uterine surgery ever!

I have an enemy!

2008-04-03T04:54:00.000-07:00

I am wholly and unreservedly hated by someone called Polly Styrene, thanks to that blog post I wrote about shoes.

It was something I'd cross-posted from The F-Word which is a much more public forum than this. Polly got extremely pissed off about the whole equating lesbians with ugliness thing:

"Eurgh, they've got lesbian heels." Since the heels in question were of a clumpy nature I guess she was buying into the idea that gay women wear ugly shoes and thus are ugly women. Since when did women's shoes become so ridiculously fetishised? How did it come to pass that there is a style of shoe associated with being an unattractive individual?

She hasn't stopped at commenting on the site. She has written a long ranty letter to The F-Word about how homophobic we all are (especially me), flamed me here and attacked me on her own blog.

It's kind of confusing really because I'm 25 now and I have never, ever in my life been accused of homophobia before. Homophobia, particularly against women, is an issue that has always got my goat. I've even ranted about it here before. It was one of the very first feminist issues about which I got really angry. When I was eleven years old, I was telling everyone in my class about how it was not only gay men but gay women who needed equal rights, which of course convinced everybody that I was a lesbian myself. When I was repeatedly accused all through secondary school of being a "lezzer" because I didn't go out with boys from school and preferred maths and science to art and didn't wear tiny skirts and make up, I refused to hotly deny it, because I felt that that would have been like admitting that "lesbian" was a terrible insult. Seriously. So being "outed" as a homophobe throughout feminist cyberspace isn't going down too well with me.

This is a full (I think!) explanation of where the offending paragraph is coming from, where my colleague's (note: "colleague", not "friend") comments came from, and where my interpretation of the situation came from:

1. Patriarchal society dislikes lesbians because they want nothing to do with men
2. Patriarchal society thinks it's very important for women to be heteronormatively attractive
3. Patriarchal society punishes lesbians by accusing them of not being heteronormatively attractive, relying on the assumption that being heteronormatively attractive is the most important thing for a woman to be
4. "Looking like a lesbian" "Wearing lesbian shoes" etc etc thus becomes a terrible insult for women
5. Hey presto! Lesbians = heteronormatively unattractive. Heteronormatively unattractive = lesbian. Clap clap, well done patriarchy, have a gold star

I basically feel as if Polly has chosen to ignore the heavy inference in the offending paragraph of point 2. Either that or she is entirely immune to the concepts of sarcasm and satire. Or she is feigning immunity to the concepts of sarcasm and satire so that she can have a go at me.

Frankly, a lot of the time when I write on feminist issues in public spaces, I feel as if the readers are like a pack of braying hyenas, circling, salivating, just waiting for their next meal of self-righteous offendedness. If I ever genuinely make someone angry or upset I truly am genuinely sorry. But it really seems as if some people just live to be offended.

It's not as bad as all that obviously. Firstly, most of the comments I and the other bloggers receive are either wholly positive or serve to further the debate. Those that are negative are almost always either simple disagreement or pointing out factual errors/omissions. And also, people in general are nearly always more motivated to comment in the first place when they have something negative to say - it's just the nature of the beast. So really, something like this is a tiny drop in the largely-positive ocean.

I just really really hope Polly Styrene doesn't know where I live.

Shoes

2008-04-01T05:58:00.000-07:00

A couple of years ago I was on a quick lunchtime shoe shopping binge with a colleague. She picked up a pair of high heels, turned them round, and put them back on the shelf with a distasteful, "Eurgh, they've got lesbian heels." Since the heels in question were of a clumpy nature I guess she was buying into the idea that gay women wear ugly shoes and thus are ugly women. Since when did women's shoes become so ridiculously fetishised? How did it come to pass that there is a style of shoe associated with being an unattractive individual? In a way, it's kind of liberating - you can control how attractive people think of you as being by changing your shoes. But it's also just plain weird. And it royally sucks that in order to be considered "attractive" you have to be uncomfortable.

Why must our sexual attractiveness be tied up in being uncomfortable? Why is a woman teetering in stilettos more attractive than a woman walking confidently in trainers? Why is "sexy" underwear made of scratchy lace, "chicken fillets" and what a male friend of mine charmingly refers to as "arse floss"? Why is it so difficult to find nice, pretty underwear that doesn't involve "arse floss"?

In so many cultures throughout history, a woman's attractiveness has been directly related to how uncomfortable, and in extreme cases how disabled, she is. There was foot binding, which rendered the victim unable to hobble more than a few metres, and corsets which rearranged the internal organs. There are some cultures today that feed their girls until they are morbidly obese in order to make them more attractive marriage prospects, some that butcher girls' genitals for similar reasons. These are things that parents (usually mothers) do to girls though, in order to increase their prospects in highly patriarchal societies in which the best a girl can hope for out of life is to be well married. High heels and arse floss are things that women do to themselves in a society in which they have the same legal rights as men. They choose to do it to themselves. But then again, and depending of course on what your profession is, being attractive can massively increase one's success at work. Has anybody ever seen that back page of Glamour magazine, where they take photos of random people on the street and critique their outfits? There was a horrid one a while back, in which they'd photographed a woman wearing a suit with trainers and said that this was a massive no-no. It made me spit with rage - this woman probably had to wear horribly uncomfortable shoes at work, and why the hell shouldn't she wear comfy shoes for the journey and change when she got to the office? Are we to look perfectly sexy 24 hours a day? I wonder if Glamour thinks that it's acceptable for us to take our heels off at night?

There is nothing inherently vile about high heels. I like high heels as much as the next girl. In my wardrobe you will find several stratospheric, spangly, studded creations that would make Carrie Bradshaw weep with envy (although thankfully for my bank balance, none of them are Manolos). However, on an everyday basis you're much more likely to find me in old martial arts trainers. I have worn out several pairs of jodhpur boots in my time, but I have yet to wear out a stiletto heel. Does this mean I'm a minger? Well if it does, at least I'm comfortable. And at least I have a filter for any men who are so ridiculously shallow that their opinion of a woman is coloured by her shoes not being sufficiently sexy.

I get considerably more male attention when I wear high heels than when I wear flat shoes, to quite an amazing extent. I can simply change my shoes and nothing else, and watch the number of neanderthals who try to grope me in the street skyrocket. I can't believe that they actually make me that much more attractive. I just can't believe that being a few inches taller is going to make a significant difference to my attractiveness - I honestly don't think many men are that bothered about the difference between 5ft2 and 5ft6, surely? Likewise, I don't think looking slightly thinner is going to make much of a difference either. There's also the theory that wearing high heels forces the wearer to arch their back and stick out their tits and arse, but I don't buy that either - I happen to have a lot of tits and arse and a very hollow back even without high heels, and the heels still massively affect the amount of male attention I get. I'm sure it's about more than just how you look in the shoes. Because high heels are stereotyped as "sexy", wearing them gives out a "message" that you are hot and ready and up for it. (I may well be hot and ready and up for it, but not with some creep who yells at me to get my tits out just because I am wearing "heterosexual shoes").

Most of the time this attention is just annoying, but it can be terrifying. It takes me ten minutes to walk from the tube station to my house, and last Saturday night, whilst wearing a pair of high-heeled cowboy boots with skinny jeans, I had two rape threats during that ten minutes. One of them was particularly unpleasant, involving two guys in a car cruising past me for a couple of minutes wolf whistling and shouting about how they were going to take me up the arse, and then speeding up and turning into a side street which of course made me think they were lying in wait. Of course they weren't waiting for me in that side street - they had sped away by the time I walked past. They'd just been threatening me for fun.

Because you're more likely to get harrassed when you look "sexy" and because you're more likely to look "sexy" when you're wearing something that in some way restricts your movement, the very time at which you're most likely to be threatened is the time at which you're least likely to be able to physically defend yourself. The main reason I was scared by those naughty men on Saturday night was that I knew I wouldn't be able to run as fast as them, and that a black belt in taekwondo is no good when you're wearing skinny jeans. I wonder if vulnerability = sexiness. Would I have been even more "sexy" if I'd been wearing shoes so uncomfortable I'd been struggling to walk? Is a woman who can't fight back the best kind?

I know that the official feminist party line on this is "it doesn't make a difference what you wear, women get harrassed regardless" but let's face it, women do get harrassed much more when they are dressed in a manner which the patriarchy defines as "sexy". I know damn well that if I had worn that skinny jeans and bomber jacket combo with flat boots, I would not have received anything like the same amount of harrassment, and the harrassment I had received would not have been so unpleasant. I know this because that is exactly the sort of outfit I wear on an everyday basis with little or no trouble - it's only the addition of a pair of high heels that makes men think it's okay to harrass me in such an aggressive manner. This is one of the most annoying things - you know that if you hadn't worn the heels you wouldn't be being harrassed so much, and so you feel some sense of responsibility for it. Or, if you're me, you don't feel that the disgusting behaviour of such lowlifes should affect your wardrobe choices and so you wear the heels regardless and get very angry at the patriarchy.

I was out from 6pm - midnight on Saturday night, and during that time I probably walked past hundreds of men. Only three harrassed me, so it's not as if men in general are a problem here. But those three were enough to make me feel petrified, furious, embarrassed and, as ever, astounded at the effect a pair of heels seems to have on what "sort of girl" people think I am. It's frankly weird that the shoes a woman wears are considered to be so heavily indicative of attractiveness, sexual orientation, sexual availability, so many attributes that really have sod all to do with shoes. How did all this happen? Why are we judged as ugly or "easy", gay or straight, depending on whether or not we happen to have chosen spangly stilettos or DM boots to go with our outfits on any given day? And how the hell can we stop it?

Confessions of a commitment-phobe

2008-03-21T13:59:00.000-07:00

I have never really gone in for dating in a big way. I turn down 99.9% of the men who show an interest in me. Some of those men are complete sleazeballs. Some of them I simply don't fancy and know I never will and if they're men I know personally it's horrible turning them down. Some of them might possibly have potential, and yet I still turn them down. Partly this is because I don't want to be accused of "leading them on" - there are some men who regard going on a date as a surefire precursor to sexual activity and this can lead to uncomfortable situations. But this is also because I don't necessarily want to be their girlfriend.

You'd think there wasn't really much of a danger of this to look at the stereotypes. We've heard it all before - women want commitment and men are looking for a quick shag. But therein lies the problem: people believe in these stereotypes, and they shape their expectations of the opposite sex. Women tend to assume that any man they go out with is gagging for it, and that it's their call when to have sex for the first time. Men tend to assume that any woman they go out with wants commitment as soon as possible, and so it's their call when to decide you're a couple.

I've had real problems with this in the past - I've been on one or two dates with a guy, got to know him a bit, haven't really decided if I'm even interested in sleeping with him, and then he introduces me to someone as "my girlfriend". Argh! I then find myself actually *going out* with him when all I'd actually signed up for was a couple of dates.

Frankly, I wish men would stop assuming that because I have two X chromosomes, I flick my bean over wedding magazines and wet my knickers over the Mothercare catalogue and really, really want a man, any man, preferably with good genes and a decent pay packet, to marry me.

I'm a commitment-phobe and damn proud of it. It's not that I think there's anything wrong with commitment. In fact, I want commitment. I just don't want it with any Tom, Dick* or Harry who decides he wants to be my boyfriend. Commitment to me is a massive thing that you should only do when you're sure about the person, when you know them well, when you're sure you want to be with them and nobody else, and when they feel the same way about you. If you take commitment seriously, it's natural to find it a horrifying prospect with anyone who isn't the right person.

Having said that, I think it's understandable, if unacceptable, that a man would assume that I get off on the prospect of tying him down - after all, it's what he's conditioned to think, just as I'm conditioned to think that he wants to do me in 50 positions as soon as possible but that he won't respect me in the morning. So I'm going to do something about it. I'm going to start accepting dates from those guys who I think might have potential, but I am going to tell them my stance on commitment on the first date. I expect that some of them will be horrified - after all, men tend to regard commitment from women as their inalienable right, just as women tend to regard sex from men as theirs. However, this does not bother me - if they are commitment whores I'm not interested in them anyway and I'll have saved us both a lot of trouble. It's stupid that something as simple as this has been stopping me from dating. You never know - I might find someone I want to commit to.

*ESPECIALLY not with a Dick. Any Richard who voluntarily calls himself "Dick" has issues.

Happy Steak and Blowjob Day!

2008-03-14T14:49:00.000-07:00

Sorry about the lack of blogging recently, but I have not been feeling my best after having my wisdom teeth out. Incidentally, if you want all the gory details you can find them here.

Anyway, as you will quite possibly be aware, today is Steak and Blowjob Day.

I feel as if I ought to be angry about this, but I'm really not. All it is is understandable Valentine's Day backlash. I've said it before and I'll say it again: Valentine's Day is total bollocks. It creates obligation for men (buy women stupid gifts etc) obligation for women (put out cos he bought you stupid gifts etc) and excuses men for any general crapness on the other 364 days of the year, providing they remember to buy you the goddamn roses on Valentine's Day.

Steak and Blowjob Day is pretty simple. It's not expensive, it doesn't require much effort, you don't even have to put any thought into what to do. Okay, so demanding sex acts is a pretty unpleasant thing to do really, but is anybody actually taking it that seriously? And as for men who don't like steak, or who aren't so keen on blow jobs, I'm sure suitable substitutes can be found.

I actually feel kind of left out because I really, really, really love steak, much more than I love anything I might be likely to receive on Valentine's Day (except perhaps for jewellery. Hey, a girl can dream, right?) But steak is MAN FOOD. Girls are not supposed to eat steak - it's got saturated fat y'all, it's gonna make you fat y'all. And also, is a blow job such a terrible chore? To be honest, I think I'd probably quite enjoy participating in Steak and Blowjob Day. I would however draw the line at the guy eating the steak whilst receiving the blow job.

Sorry but I don't find this particularly sexist or offensive at all. The only major problem I have with it is that if I had a boyfriend who was particularly enamoured of steak and/or blow jobs, I would like to think that I would bestow these things upon him more than once a year.

Scared? You should be...

2008-02-26T07:48:00.000-08:00

It might come as a surprise to you that I am a bit of a wimp. Although I will happily spar with someone twice my size in an open taekwondo tournament, or get on a horse and gallop across rocky terrain, there are some quite ordinary things of which I am terrified. I have a massive phobia of fish. I don't like heights. I can't stand boats. Violent scenes in movies turn me into a quivering wreck. I am petrified of talking to strangers even if it's just to say something as simple as, "Excuse me". The idea of me ever making a first move on a man is frankly laughable. It's embarrassing being such a total wuss, and I know I would enjoy life more if I could at least get over my shyness, but at least it's accepted. My friends accept and embrace my slightly neurotic disposition, they look after me when necessary and they simply accept that this desperate shyness and propensity for fear is part of who I am, even if I do know how to make a man lose bladder control with my bare hands.

I am currently in the middle of having to face one of my biggest fears: dentists. There is no earthly reason why I should fear the dentist, having never required any dental treatment before in my life, but I do. Horribly so. So discovering that I need to have all of my wisdom teeth removed didn't go down too well with me. Specifically, I was vomiting with fear, crying hysterically (normally I cry about as easily as The Terminator) and unable to eat for the first two days, which has now given way to a sort of numb acceptance brought on firstly by the fact that one of them has started to hurt quite a lot so I'd quite like it if it were no longer there, and secondly by the fact that I've been assured that if I have it done under sedation I won't remember the experience.

Throughout the last few days, everybody has been fantastically supportive. I have had countless cups of tea made for me. Nobody has been in the least bit unsympathetic or even surprised at my petrified reaction, even people who had no idea I had a problem with dentistry. But it's got me thinking: what if I were a man? Would people be quite as accomodating of a man suffering the same fears? I seriously doubt it. Fear is regarded as a normal state for a woman, but not for a man. When is it ever acceptable for a man to utter the words, "I'm scared"?

I just think this is terribly sad. It's hard enough what I'm going through at the moment. It would be much, much harder if I felt that my fear was unacceptable, or if everybody around me thought that I was just being pathetic. Perhaps they do think that I'm being pathetic, but either way, they recognise that my fear is real and distressing and that I need to be treated with kindness. If I were a man, I'd probably be being told to pull myself together. I'd be regarded as less of a man, an inadequate person.

Perhaps this is plain old-fashioned sexism against women - not expecting women to show courage because they are inferior to big, brave, strong men. And I can see that this can be a self-fulfilling prophecy - if girls are taught from childhood that it's acceptable and even desirable to be scared (I remember screaming along with all the other girls at primary school when an insect came into the vicinity, just to fit in) and if boys are taught to suppress their fears, it's not surprising if these attitudes become thoroughly ingrained. Amongst adults, women might well be genuinely more fearful creatures than men.

But male fear is an enormous taboo, almost uniquely so. I can't think of any emotion that is unacceptable to the same extent in women. I would say it's probably acceptable for a man to be scared if he has a terminal illness, or is about to do a 5000ft bungee jump, but other than that, fear and masculinity are thoroughly mutually exclusive. Women who show bravery are applauded. Men who show bravery are just being men. Women who show fear are comforted. Men who show fear are ridiculed. It might be that people expect less of women because they regard them as inferior, but it's men who really suffer because the illusion is not that women are easily scared but that men are not easily scared. Fear is a natural, human emotion not confined to women and children. It really is time we accepted that both men and women feel fear, and that both men and women can be brave and confront that fear when necessary. Personally, I'm fully expecting to come round from my grisly dental operation with an "I was brave at the dentists today" sticker plastered to my chest.

Here's someone who thoroughly enjoys going to the dentist:

The male privilege checklist

2008-02-19T09:06:00.000-08:00

Check this out. A few of my favourites:

I can be confident that my co-workers won’t think I got my job because of my sex - even though that might be true.

If I fail in my job or career, I can feel sure this won’t be seen as a black mark against my entire sex’s capabilities.

If I choose not to have children, my masculinity will not be called into question.

If I have children but do not provide primary care for them, my masculinity will not be called into question.

If I have children and provide primary care for them, I’ll be praised for extraordinary parenting if I’m even marginally competent.

If I’m careless with my financial affairs it won’t be attributed to my sex.

If I’m careless with my driving it won’t be attributed to my sex.

I can speak in public to a large group without putting my sex on trial.

I do not have to worry about the message my wardrobe sends about my sexual availability or my gender conformity.

If I’m not conventionally attractive, the disadvantages are relatively small and easy to ignore.

I have the privilege of being unaware of my male privilege.

In the interests of equality though, here's a female privilege checklist:

It is socially acceptable for me to be incredibly vain

It is socially acceptable for me to be incredibly stupid

It is acceptable for me to think that all men are idiots/bastards/emotionally stunted baboons and to blame my crappy love life on same

Sex is something that women "give up" for men. Thus I can receive a really good rodgering and have the guy think I've done him some sort of favour

If I'm sufficiently attractive in a certain conventional manner, I can be "kept"

Chocolate is a viable solution to all life's problems

It is acceptable for me to enjoy non-sexual physical contact

I can blame personality defects on my menstrual cycle

If I'm on a first date, it's expected that the man will pay for everything even if I earn the same or more than him

It is acceptable for me to display negative emotions other than anger/aggression

What I drink in the pub is not considered indicative of my sexuality

I don't get emails telling me my vagina is inadequate

When I was a child, I was probably enouraged or at least allowed to play with "masculine" as well as "feminine" toys and to participate in "boys' activities" - boys do not enjoy the same freedom

When I was a child, I was probably perceived as more well-behaved than my male peers even if I wasn't

If I'm sufficiently physically attractive, hardly anybody will think any less of me if I am an enormous bitch

Can anybody think of further additions?

I heart this cartoon

2008-02-18T13:51:00.000-08:00

Thanks to Midibu for the link!

Happy Valentine's Day!

2008-02-14T02:06:00.000-08:00

I know it's trendy to denounce holidays such as Valentine's Day as commercial arse that exists just to sell us stuff, but in most cases I disagree, or at least can see some redeeming features. Christmas for example - it's perfectly possible to have a great time without spending loads of money. And last Halloween I learned the Thriller dance routine, which was much more fun than sitting around bitching about trick-or-treaters. However, Valentine's Day is just complete unmitigated bollocks.

If you're single, Valentine's Day is an opportunity to hope that some gorgeous stranger sends you a dozen red roses, and to feel like complete arse when none arrive. If you're attached, it's an opportunity to feel obligated to spend pointless amounts of money on overpriced cheesy trappings of romance as defined by tradition and not by how you actually feel, to go out for a meal and spend five times more on it than you would on any other day of the year, and if you're a woman, to wear ridiculous lingerie. No matter how much you show your partner you care on every other day of the year, suddenly you have to "prove" it by spending shit loads of money on pointless crap.

Women are seen at this time of year as demanding creatures who will sulk if their boyfriends don't "spoil" them sufficiently. Oh yes, this is the one day a year when women demand flowers and chocolates in return for sex. Fail to deliver the goods and you'll be sleeping on the sofa!

I wonder how many couples split up over Valentines Day. A few years ago I had a new-ish boyfriend on Valentine's Day, so I wrote him a card, but didn't go to any special trouble. He bought me a massive cuddly toy gorilla, and wrote me a poem. So I was sitting there, reading this absolutely godawful poetry and wishing the ground would swallow me up because all I'd written in his card was, "I love you like a fat kid loves cake". We didn't split up over it, but it was hugely embarrassing.

I did get a really really meaningful Valentine once. It was in my last year of primary school. I was the most unpopular girl in school, victimised by my entire year group. I didn't think anybody would ever like me, and the thought of me ever getting a boyfriend was laughable. So when a boy I barely knew sent me a card which he had made himself with felt tips, it was and still is the most welcome gift I've ever received.

So it's not all bad. But the likelihood of something like this happening is slim to say the least, even if you are stunningly attractive. Valentine's Day is basically a poisonous institution that exists to convince people that their relationship will immediately be on the rocks if they don't participate, with the twist that all romantic gestures on this day are effectively meaningless because they evolve from a sense of obligation. Even if they are totally genuine, it's impossible for the recipient to know. Really, if a man wanted to send me flowers, I'd rather he did it on ANY other day, because at least I'd know he really wanted to do so. Having said that, if anybody does want to send me a dozen red roses today, I won't complain. Anybody? Hello?

On that note, here's a Valentine's Day pin-up for you:

Fight like a girl

2008-02-03T03:15:00.000-08:00

Lately I've been thinking about how great it is to be a sporty woman. I think getting seriously involved with a sport is one of the most empowering things a woman can do.

Three and a half years ago now I took up taekwondo, a Korean martial art based on karate. I'd always wanted to do martial arts, but my parents had vetoed it when I was a child on the grounds of my propensity for getting into fights at school (probably a wise decision I have to admit). At 21, I finally got round to donning some "angry white pyjamas" to learn how to kick ass. I'd acquired enough disposable income to join a gym, but it cost about the same to join a taekwondo club instead, and the rest is history. I'm now just about to take my black belt grading. I'm a much more confident person in general than I was at 21 for a variety of reasons, but taekwondo has probably been the biggest influence in terms of having more confidence in my body.

As women we are bombarded with pressure from the media, from our peers, sometimes from men, to see our bodies as wayward things that must be kept in check, that mustn't be fed too much, that exist largely if not solely for aesthetic purposes, and that life will not be worth living if we gain a few pounds. A woman's body exists to be beautiful, not athletic, and beautiful according to pretty strict guidelines at that. How we feel about our bodies, and often consequently our self-esteem, is dictated by a cruel lottery of genetics. And if we have drawn a poor or even a not-quite-perfect set of numbers in the genetics lottery, we are to spend our lives striving to improve our bodies, not allowing ourselves to be truly happy or relaxed until we achieve perfection. It is of course much more important that we are attractive than healthy or fit.

I know that people go to the gym to "keep fit", but for a lot of women, "keeping fit" is synonymous with "keeping thin", and not just because slimness is for most people a by-product of fitness. Virtually every woman I know who has a gym membership sweats it out on a treadmill specifically in order to get or stay thin, and good luck to them for not achieving that just by starving themselves, but it concerns me that women by and large are more concerned with how their body looks than with what it can do.

If you do a sport rather than just going to the gym, you are doing physical activity for a purpose other than just to look good. Being sporty gives you the same physical benefits of going to the gym, but with none of the weight obsession, wall-to-wall mirrors, lycra, posing, sleazy guys and other assorted annoyances that gyms are associated with. You will get fit, and yes, you will get thin if being thin is the state that your body is destined to adopt when it is at the peak of fitness, but you will do so by focusing on having fun and getting good at something instead of on how your body looks. Much more enjoyable and massively more empowering.

When you are training or competing in an actual sport, nobody gives a flying fuck how your body looks. When I'm beating the crap out of a focus pad, demonstrating a pattern for some beginners, kicking a 6ft man in the head, or just sitting around comparing bruises after class, it is the only time I feel that nobody, absolutely nobody, cares about how my body looks.

At my taekwondo club, it is not at all unusual to find men discussing their diets. It's a given that everybody will be watching what they eat to a certain extent, making sure that they have a healthy diet giving them the required energy and nutrients to perform at their best. Being sporty makes it acceptable for men to take an interest in healthy eating. And it makes it acceptable for women to eat proper, substantial food that gives them the energy they need.

A while ago, I can't remember when, I was getting into the shower when I caught sight of myself in the mirror and suddenly realised that I had no cellulite. Before taking up taekwondo I'd had some - not a huge amount, but quite a lot for a 20-year-old. I hadn't been massively distressed about it, but I hadn't liked it either. I'd occasionally succumbed to that masochistic practice of standing in one's underwear in front of a full-length mirror and thinking, Yuk. And now, after a couple of years of regular exercise, it had gone. But it wasn't the fact that it had disappeared that I saw as significant - it was the fact that I hadn't even noticed its disappearance. At some point, I'd stopped caring.

These days, if I find myself in front of a full-length mirror, instead of appraising how my body looks, I throw a few kicks and admire my ninja skillz (fellow martial artists, don't try and tell me you've never done this). If I'd spent the last four years at the gym instead of in the dojang I would be just as fit, but I wouldn't be able to do a pretty mean 540 degree turning kick, I wouldn't have a shelf full of trophies and medals, and I'd still be examining my thighs for cellulite. If I was ever in danger of getting involved with the mad body beautiful culture that plagues young women, taekwondo saved me from it. I am no longer a slave to my body - my body is a slave to me.

Sorry to pontificate but I really think if there's one piece of advice I can offer to every woman it's to find a sport you enjoy and do it. What physical activities did you enjoy as a child? What have you always wanted to try? It's not often that women are encouraged to take up an actual sport as opposed to simply squeezing themselves into pink lycra and going to spinning classes in order to keep their lardy bits in check, and I think that this is a great shame. There is a lot of untapped female sporting talent out there, and a lot of women who are missing out on getting fit in a massively enjoyable manner. There are some who would say that running around like a mad thing and getting sweaty and dishevelled is unfeminine, but to hell with them. Taking up a sport allows you to reclaim your body and to use it to its true potential.

Why it's probably a good idea to make your own money

2008-01-30T02:24:00.000-08:00

This is totally brilliant. A few quotes:

Q: I'm a beautiful 25 year old girl. I'm articulate and classy. I'm looking to get married to a guy who makes at least half a million a year.

Are there any guys who make 500K or more on this board? Any wives? Could you send me some tips? I dated a business man who makes average around 200 - 250. But that's where I seem to hit a roadblock. 250,000 won't get me to central park west.

What do rich guys look for in a mate? Why are some of the women living lavish lifestyles on the upper east side so plain? I've seen really 'plain jane' boring types who have nothing to offer married to incredibly wealthy guys. I've seen drop dead gorgeous girls in singles bars in the east village. What's the story there? How you decide marriage vs. just a girlfriend? I am looking for MARRIAGE ONLY

I'm putting myself out there in an honest way. Most beautiful women are superficial; at least I'm being up front about it.

A: Your offer, from the prospective of a guy like me, is plain and simple a crappy business deal. Here's why. Cutting through all the B.S., what you suggest is a simple trade: you bring your looks to the party and I bring my money. Fine, simple. But here's the rub, your looks will fade and my money will likely continue into perpetuity…in fact, it is very likely that my income increases but it is an absolute certainty that you won't be getting any more beautiful!

So, in economic terms you are a depreciating asset and I am an earning asset. Not only are you a depreciating asset, your depreciation accelerates! Let me explain, you're 25 now and will likely stay pretty hot for the next 5 years, but less so each year. Then the fade begins in earnest. By 35 stick a fork in you!

There really is still a massive trend of attractive young women preferring to marry rich men than to make their own money. It totally astounds me that in this age in which a woman has the same legal rights to work and to own property as a man, so many women would rather be "kept". And so many men are willing to oblige - why? I don't object to partnerships in which one partner earns significantly more than the other at all, that's bound to happen. I just object to the idea of someone specifically looking for a person to look after them financially when they're perfectly capable of looking after themselves, or thinking that being attractive gives them the right to have expensive shoes bought for them rather than just buying the damn Jimmy Choos themselves. I object to men thinking that women can be bought, and I object to women seeing themselves as commodities in this way.

There is a massive hierarchy amongst women based on looks, with those at the upper end of the scale granted entitlements based solely on their appearance. I don't think most people even question this. If a man wants an expensive lifestyle, he must work for it. If a woman above a certain level of attractiveness wants an expensive lifestyle, she is expected to attach herself to a rich man. Working for it is an option, but it's not an option she is expected to take.

I have to admit, when I was a child, being a trophy wife massively appealed to me as a possible career choice. I was pretty ugly and just longed for the sort of looks that would enable me to be a trophy wife, not to mention the rebellion of taking my straight A grades and pro-feminist upbringing and throwing them away in a spectacular two-finger salute to everybody who thought of me as a Plain Jane with a Brain. I was sick of being clever rather than pretty, bookish rather than popular, and the way I saw it, if I could manage to do something that required an abundance of beauty and a suspension of all intelligent thought, it would mean that I'd really made it as a pretty, popular girl. It was what having a rich husband signified that appealed to me - that you were attractive enough to have "caught" him. I don't think I need to tell you that I no longer see it this way, and this is why:

I have begun to feel that I am more than just my looks

I have begun to value traits in myself that are traditionally considered unattractive in a girl, such as wit and outspokenness

Puberty was kind enough to me in the looks department that it instantly became easier not to feel as if I had something to prove – pathetic but true

I want a man with character, not the sort of guy who would be "snared" by a gold-digger

I would get pretty damn bored without a job

I don’t want to have to work at “keeping” my man by dieting and having botox and desperately staving off the inevitable ageing process

Basically, depending on what you view as harder work - making one's own money or dousing oneself in anti-wrinkle cream - I'm either too damn lazy or not lazy enough. Or maybe I just like my freedom.

But actually, what really made me bristle about that amusing webpage was the comment "most beautiful women are superficial", implying that a lack of superficiality is just for ugly women - just like feminism I guess! Superficiality is a privilege reserved for beautiful women - if you have beauty you don't "need" to have intelligence, courtesy, integrity, perseverance, self control and indomitable spirit (sorry, I'm going all taekwondo now) because all of those traits in women are just poor attempts at compensating for lack of beauty. As soon as a woman is granted the privileges bestowed upon her by being beautiful, she will take them, because secretly all women long to be "kept". It's the mark of a truly "beautiful" woman when she's so stunningly gorgeous that she doesn't "need" to be anything else. Total vacuousness is what we are aiming for girls - take note!

Who wants to hear about Paul Daniels' pants?

2008-01-22T07:17:00.000-08:00

Whoever knew that men's underpants were so important? I certainly didn't until I read this highly entertaining article in The Independent this morning.

Apparently, for the first time in ages, women aren't purchasing the majority of men's pants (hooray!) and men themselves are becoming more exacting consumers (good for them). But despite variations in the size of men's tackles, there are no plans to adopt a "cup size" scheme:

There is one delicate area of pant advancement where men are not yet ready to go – universal package sizing. Stretch fit, says Ruth Steven, marketing manager at Jockey, is currently essential because the same waist measurement must fit a great variety of crotch dimensions. "There are no actual pouch sizes, as there are with women's bra cup sizes. We have discussed it, but I don't think it will happen. Men are a bit shyer than women. Can you imagine having to ask for a double-A size?'"

Quite. Unlike breast size, with penis size bigger is nearly always regarded as better, and being on the small side is a cause for serious embarrassment. The big difference is that with breasts, everybody can see what size they are and judge you accordingly as either "frigid" or a "nasty slut" if you fall outside of average. It's a good thing that men's penises aren't on display because they'd go through hell if they were. Sorry, where was I? Oh yes, pants.

I once bought my last boyfriend a pair of Superman Y-fronts and was highly amused when he actually wore them on quite a regular basis. And where I live in North London, there is a ridiculous fashion for young men to wear baggy pants so low their entire arse is hanging out, so you can't help but see their pants (usually tartan print boxers for some reason. I mean, if you're going to have your boxers hanging out, surely Calvin Klein is the way to go? Tartan just makes it look as if your mum still buys your pants, which I'm sure isn't the look they're going for) Other than that, I've never given men's pants much thought. I certainly don't have any "aesthetic preferences" as long as they're clean. Generally, if I've got to the point where I can see a man's pants, I'm much more interested in their contents. Frankly, he could be wearing a loincloth and I wouldn't care just as long as it was coming off. This makes me wonder why women's lingerie is considered so important for impressing men. Are men really that bothered by it? If a woman is posing in lingerie I can understand a preference for it to be of the sexy kind, but surely in real life, if the average guy has a real half naked woman in his bed, he couldn't give a toss whether she's wearing a full-cup or a balconette bra.

This article also contains the revelation that according to Jockey, the average British woman will spend £20,350 on underwear in her life, compared to just £1,200 for men. That is A LOT of money. I don't really understand how the "average woman" could manage to spend so much on smalls. Assuming that she lives to the age of 80, that's £254 a year.

Be warned though, this article definitely strays into Too Much Information territory with some of the celebrity interviews. There is the hilarious revelation that Blur, instead of making crazy M&M-related celebrity demands, used to request a new pair of M&S pants every day when they were on tour, but there's also the following from Paul Daniels:

I wear whatever Debbie buys me: a vast mixture of Y-fronts and boxers, whatever's on top of the pile, and different brands. I don't have a favourite, or a lucky pair – what's inside is lucky, and that's me.

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEWWWW!!!!!!! Well, at least he didn't describe his tackle as "magic".

Spanx - or "I went over to the Dark Side and my arse is no better for it"

2008-01-21T15:23:00.000-08:00

Bless me Father for I have sinned. I bought a pair of Spanx Power Panties. I know, I know! I've bitched about these things here before, so I feel very, very, very bad. But it's not what it looks like! This is why I bought them:

I am normally a very sporty person. But I left for Central America back in November and didn't maintain my usual level of activity whilst I was out there, only got back three weeks ago and am now recovering from a broken toe. It's now been nearly two months since I last did any kind of serious exercise, and it's starting to show on my thighs. I have quite a few posh press type events to attend in the next few weeks, and I want my clothes to hang properly and not cling to my lardy bits. There is no point buying new clothes because I will almost certainly shrink back to my usual size and shape within a couple of weeks of getting back into my normal training regime. And this is how I came to be in the underwear department of John Lewis earlier today, handing over £21 for a pair of Bridget Jones pants, feeling suitably disgusted with my patriarchy-colluding self.

Unfortunately, they're CRAP. They just don't hold much in at all. I'm comfortably within the size range - indeed, the thing that pissed me off about them in the first place was that their size chart states that they cater for women of 160cm and 43kg, underweight enough to get you diagnosed with anorexia. I'm 157cm and 55kg at the moment, so the scary pants really, really ought to be holding something in. But the experience of wearing them under a skirt just reminds me of being back at primary school, when we would all wear cycling shorts under our dresses in summer so that we could run around and do handstand races without exposing our knickers. Since I seriously doubt that a handstand race is going to go down too well at the Swiss Embassy, they're not much good to me.

The big pants are incredibly comfy though, and do serve a purpose in that they eliminate VPL without the need for wearing a g-string. And they act as an extra layer over your thighs, which is no bad thing in January. But they are so, SO not worth £21, especially as I don't personally find g-strings particularly uncomfortable. Spanx Power Panties are a total waste of money. Don't do it, sisters!

'Tis the season to be hungry

2008-01-07T13:08:00.000-08:00

It's that time of year again! Christmas is over, and if you're a walking stereotype you'll have stuffed yourself silly and - horror of horrors! - gone up to a size 12.

Obviously ads for discounted gym memberships are all the rage on the Tube at the moment, and women's magazines are chock full of the latest miracle diets (personally I was always rather a fan of Bridget Jones' patented weight loss method - "Simply replace food with sex"). 'Tis the season to be hungry, not to mention squeezing yourself into a little lycra number and punishing your wayward physique on a treadmill. But that's just advertising n stuff, and there's nothing wrong with it really, especially since a lot of people really could benefit from eating better and getting more exercise.

However, the mania that women seem to get into for losing weight around this time of year seems pretty extreme. I wonder what the average Christmas weight gain actually is. It doesn't seem to justify the dieting hell.

It's pretty difficult to get away from. I work in an office full of boys, but at lunchtime today I went to visit a friend in a girl-dominated department and found that all the talk down there was about diets. They were all on diets, and my friend is determined to drop two dress sizes, a change which I personally think will leave her far too thin, not to mention grumpy from chocolate withdrawal, and I told her as much. I certainly felt rather awkward sitting in there eating two desserts (look, I couldn't decide between them, ok?) whilst everybody else in the room was presumably getting through the day on Ryvita - I don't know, I didn't see anyone eat a thing.

I actually did gain a bit of weight whilst I was on holiday - for someone accustomed to a high level of exercise it's inevitable. But I really don't believe in restricting what I eat. I don't know how girls do it. I just couldn't. When I'm hungry, my concentration goes. I can't focus on my work because I'm too busy daydreaming about sushi, or pasta, or pecan pie, or whatever scrumptious dish I am most craving. I feel light-headed and dizzy. I have to eat. And apart from the risk of passing out, I just refuse on principle to do anything to myself that stops me from functioning properly. I will be strong, alert, quick-witted and good at my job thank you very much, even if it does mean that I am a few pounds heavier.

Dieting at this time of year is almost a girl bonding ritual. You feel left out if you don't join in. You feel awkward for eating anything except salad. You start to wonder if you could stand to lose a few pounds yourself. And, if you're me, you start to feel pretty pissed off about it and say, goddammit, I reserve the right to eat bread. In fact, because I'm just so naughty I'll have butter on it too.

All I can say is, thank goodness for boys. I love my female friends but they drive me bats at this time of year.

Happy new year!

2008-01-06T01:52:00.000-08:00

The more eagle-eyed amongst you may have noticed a distinct lack of posts recently. This is not because I have seen the light and decided to abandon my feminist sensibilities for a career as a glamour model (although whether or not this is specifically an "anti-feminist" thing to do is of course debatable...) It is because I have spent the last six weeks in Central America eating termites, climbing active volcanoes, drinking “local” alcohol purchased in old Pepsi bottles from street vendors of questionable personal hygiene and other such dangerous activities after which I am probably lucky to have escaped only with a broken toe and an unexplained rash. However, before I departed on my big dangerous adventure, I did promise myself that I would return with as much feminist-type stuff to write about as possible.

I had of course had fantastic visions of securing killer interviews with downtrodden indigenous women who had undergone forced sterilisation, teenagers who didn’t know what a condom was, people whose relatives had died from back-street abortions and stuffy politicians who thought that women should all go back to the cocina and make them some gallopinto. Unfortunately, the fact that I was more inclined to climb volcanoes than to ask random women about abortion laws, and the fact that my Spanish is far from fluent, meant that I returned with nothing quite so spectacular. I do however have some (rather crude and elementary) musings about young Central American men and their attitudes to women.

The last time I travelled outside Europe was to Egypt where, as I’m sure many readers are aware, harrassment of women, and Western women in particular, is a serious problem. My friends and I endured horrendous harrassment, the men all seemed oblivious to the word "no" in any language and I managed to escape from a potential rapist who caught up with me and asked me to marry him (I quoted Clueless - "AS IF!!!") So I’m sure you can appreciate that I was a little apprehensive about travelling to Latin America, where I had heard that the men had something of a “Casanova” reputation.

I’m pleased to say that in Central America, my experiences suggest that this reputation is unjustified. I've already posted about this whilst I was out there so I won't repeat myself, but as a trend I didn’t find the amorous attentions of the men I met out there anywhere near as obnoxious as those of some of the lowlifes I have to contend with back home.

There was one thing in particular that I wasn’t madly keen on about Central American men though: they seem to think that women are incapable of doing ANYTHING without their help. And I mean anything. It doesn’t offend my feminist sensibilities in the slightest if a man helps me carry something heavy, unscrews a jar for me or fetches me something off a high shelf, but insisting on taking my hand as I climb down a flight of steps? Or helping me with the massively demanding task of walking round a corner? I used to be a gymnast for heaven’s sake! At first, I found this mildly amusing. I didn’t really mind - they were just trying to be helpful, and it seemed rude and ungrateful to scowl and say that I was perfectly capable of doing it on my own, thank you. But after a few days, it began to wear extremely thin. It wasn’t the implication of female incompetence that got to me, but the constant unwanted physical contact. The guiding arms in the small of my back, the grasping hands, the complete strangers insisting on touching me, however innocent and non-sexual it was. I don’t enjoy being touched by strangers, and it set my nerves on edge trying to sidestep all of the outstretched “helping” hands. Alas, the men also seemed much more inclined to offer such chivalry to young, attractive women than to older ones. At one point as a few of us were getting onto a boat, I was behind a sixtysomething woman who was carrying a big rucksack and who would probably have been grateful of a helping hand. But it was me whose hand was taken as I walked onto the boat, not hers. I don’t know if this guy expected me to be impressed with his act of “chivalry”, or if holding some Gringa’s hand for five seconds was the nearest he’d come to getting his rocks off all year, but either way I wasn’t impressed.

Then there were just annoying little incidents that demonstrated perceived female inferiority. At one point I went on a riding excursion and despite telling the guide that I had been riding since I was a child and could easily handle a forward-going horse, I was assigned a geriatric pony who was apt to fall asleep every five minutes whilst a less experienced male companion struggled to rein in the equine equivalent of Speedy Gonzales. Whenever it came to negotiating with taxi drivers, they were only interested in speaking to the guys. The general feeling I got was that the men out there liked women and certainly didn’t wish them any harm, but didn’t believe them as intelligent or capable as men. As a woman, I was viewed as a sort of oversized child with delusions of adult competence. However, at no point did I feel like screaming or beating anybody over the head with a hardback copy of The Second Sex, so it can’t have been that bad.

Although all of the countries I visited were more inherently patriarchal than Britain, it didn’t seem that attitudes towards women in general were any worse overall than they are at home. It would be interesting to see if I still had that view after living there for a while, rather than simply visiting. To a visitor, gender disparity doesn’t stand out as a massive problem, and yet in countries (Nicaragua and El Salvador. Oh, and Chile too, but I’ve never been there so can’t comment) where women are denied abortions for ANY reason, it’s impossible to see how this could not be the case. And the fact that I have returned home with lots to say about Central American men but nothing to say about the women is significant. I simply didn’t meet any women at all, other than the ones who were trying to sell me handicrafts in the street with five kids in tow. Perhaps the reason that patriarchy doesn’t stand out as a massive problem over there is that the people oppressed by it don’t have a voice. Or perhaps they are genuinely happy - it's impossible to tell. It’s all very interesting and I wish I had more to say about it.

2007-12-09T11:49:00.000-08:00

In case you´re wondering what´s happened to me, I haven´t disappeared - I´m writing this from a slightly dodgy internet cafe in Honduras in between witnessing chicken sacrifices, doing 12m dives into underground cenotes, climbing active volcanoes and sharing my bus seats with various farmyard animals. I won´t be returning until the end of December, by which time I may have interesting feminist-type things to write about. Until then, I have only this:

Contrary to what you may have been led to believe, Central American men by and large are perfect gentlemen. Sure I get chatted up much more here than I do back home, but at hardly any moment have I felt intimidated by any of the men. Most of the time, it consists of an exchange like this:

Central American Guy: Hola, como te llamas?
Me: Samara
CAG: De donde eres?
Me: Inglaterra
CAG: Quieres tomar algo conmigo esta noche?
Me: No gracias
CAG: Vale, hasta luego

Slightly annoying but completely harmless. The rate at which men are showing an interest in me here is probably about ten times as much as they do back home. But back home, that interest consists of following me home, telling me they´d like to do me in various orifices, staring at me in an aggressive manner, and of course there are always those lovely rape threats to contend with.

I know which type of man I prefer. Bring on the Latino hunks.

Are you "curvy" or just plain curvy?

2007-11-20T07:14:00.000-08:00

I've had a great comment from Cynthia C:

It is quite pssible to be size zero and curvy. A woman with a 23 inch waist and 33 hips would have a waist-to-hip ratio of approximately 0.7. That's considered "ideal" for childbearing and women portrayed in works of art tend to have this WHR.

She has also linked to a debate on her own blog. Thank you Cynthia for pointing out the completely bloody obvious. Curvy is rapidly becoming one of the most bastardised words in the English language. Curvy refers to proportion, not size. Curvy means possessing curves. It means going in at the waist and out at the hips and bust. It is possible to be fat and curvy. And as Cynthia points out, it is also possible to be thin and curvy. In fact, women who carry excess weight around their middles will lose their curves if they gain weight. Whilst it's true that a seriously underweight woman will never be curvy, that's as far as the correlation between fatness and curviness goes. In my opinion, height seems to have a greater impact on waist:hip ratio than body mass index does - shorter women tend to be curvier than taller ones.

However, it hasn't stopped magazine editors adopting it as the patronising-euphemism-for-fat-du-jour, and women in general adopting it as a patronising way of backhandedly insulting anyone above a size 12. And pity the poor men who still think it's a compliment because they're not in on this world in which instead of meaning "possessed of an attractively-proportioned figure" it actually means "in need of a gastric bypass".

My own meansurements are not far off the ones that Cynthia used as an example - I have a 23 inch waist and 36 inch hips, which gives me an imperfect waist:hip ratio of 0.64. Whoops, guess I need that gastric bypass then!

It's rude to stare

2007-11-08T13:19:00.000-08:00

It's pretty well accepted that however a woman dresses and wherever she walks, sexual assault is wrong. Most people would agree that shouting lewd things also is wrong. But I go one further: I think staring is wrong. I'm not talking about just looking at an attractive woman, noticing her, appreciating her beauty, eyeing her up in a covert manner or entertaining lustful thoughts. There's clearly nothing wrong with that. What I'm talking about is the lascivious, aggressive stare of a man who wants you to know that he's staring at you. He wants you to know that it's his God-given right to look you up and down like that and there's nothing you can do about it. It's as much a display of dominance as telling a woman to get her tits out. It can make you feel just as violated as being groped.

It's also an unbelievably cowardly thing to do. If you grope a woman, you risk her hitting back. If you tell her what a nice arse she has, you risk her saying something cutting that could - shock horror! - undermine your masculinity. If you just stare, there's nothing she can do because you haven't technically done anything wrong.

When I was a little girl and my mother caught me staring at someone, because they were fat or thin or ugly or beautiful or disabled or disfigured, she told me it was rude to stare. When I was old enough to know better, she scolded me for it. Everybody knows it's rude to stare. It's not just quaint British etiquette, it's a deep-rooted anthropological phenomenon - even primates use it as a display of aggression. In some cultures it is considered rude to make eye contact at all. Even a non-aggressive stare can make the victim feel extremely uncomfortable. This is basic manners. Why do manners go out of the window when a sleazy man is faced with an attractive woman? Why is it considered acceptable to stare blatantly at her?

A lot of people seem to think that this is the inevitable consequence of being a red-blooded testosterone-driven heterosexual male. I say this is bollocks. Noticing, appreciating and lusting after attractive women is the inevitable consequence of being a red-blooded testosterone-driven heterosexual male. Staring at them aggressively is NOT. If I see an attractive man, I will look at him, but if he catches me looking I will look away quickly, possibly with a friendly smile, firstly because I don't want the embarrassment of him knowing I was eyeing him up, but secondly because I don't want to make him feel uncomfortable. I see men doing this too. No man is incapable of manners, however rabidly heterosexual he is.

"But they're neanderthals!" I hear you cry. "They surely are incapable of not expressing their desire to stick their dick in every piece of skirt that walks past!" Poppycock. I have irrefutable evidence that these red-blooded testosterone-driven heterosexual males can behave when it suits them. I know for a fact that these neanderthals are perfectly capable of curbing their natural instincts. I know this because I have never, ever, EVER been so much as looked at by one of them when I'm in male company. There's a sort of code of honour amongst these sorts of men, that you don't harass another man's bird. How courteous of them.

I don't think it's even to do with physical dominance, from what I've observed. Last summer I had the experience of walking down the street to meet a male friend and receiving six cases of unwanted harrassment within ten minutes (oh yes, I counted). But when we met up and went for a long walk together, nobody even looked at me the whole time. Now, my best friend has lots of wonderful qualities, but brawn most definitely is not one of them. I on the other hand have biceps that could give an East-European weightlifter a run for their money. There's no way any of the men who chose not to harass me when I was with him made that decision because they thought he might defend his lady's honour by beating them to a bloody pulp. They left me alone because they thought that we were a couple, that I was his property, and that you don't steal another man's girl. If you're with a man you are immune to harassment. The man's assumed desire for you not to be sleazed on is automatically respected, but any protests you make when you're alone, whether in the form of fighting back or ignoring them and staring at the floor, fall on deaf ears. Doesn't that say so much about the inherent misogyny in this?

The way I see it, if they can leave me alone when I'm with a man, then they can bloody well leave me alone when I don't have "protection". The next time one of them blatantly eyes me up, I'm just going to say, "Didn't your mother ever teach you it's rude to stare?" I suggest you do the same.

Pro-life, pro-choice or just pro-sanity?

2007-10-29T14:17:00.000-07:00

A week or two ago, I wrote a blog post for The F-Word in which I suggested that abortion wasn't necessarily a "black and white" moral issue and that it was possible to dislike abortion oneself and yet still be pro-choice. I was expecting an absolute barrage of vitriolic hate mail from readers, but in the end, all I got was the following polite and intelligent comment:

Once you start to make moral judgments about abortion (and therefore inescapably about the women who have abortions) it is a slippery slope towards disallowing certain women from accessing abortions, or making laws which only allow abortions in certain "morally acceptable" circumstances. It is a very easy trap to fall into, to believe that 'the only moral abortion is my own', and this area of weakness within the pro-choice movement is used by the anti-choice movement very effectively. To be able to point out that even some pro-choicers dislike abortion, and have ethical problems with it, greatly strengthens their case that abortion is disgusting, murderous etc etc. Like most medical procedures, abortion is not a pretty spectacle. I am not arguing that, but as Irina Lester so brilliantly puts it, "the fact that a fully-formed adult can be pitted against a foetus demonstrates how little value and respect this society has for a woman", this is what is disgusting, immoral and reprehensible within our society, and as pro-choicers, it is this which we must focus on, rather than being swayed by anti-choice propaganda depicting the unattractive results of the procedure itself.

I completely agree with this, ESPECIALLY the bit about pro-lifers showing photographs and footage of abortions as propaganda. She is also absolutely right about the fact that pointing out that it's possible that some pro-choicers dislike abortion personally can weaken the pro-choice movement in the face of such arsemongering from the pro-life camp. However, I am, for better or worse, interested more in highlighting what's right and accurate than in giving out the message that will be the most helpful to the cause. Abortion is an incredibly emotive subject and not everybody, even those who absolutely believe in an individual woman's right to choose what happens to her body, is crazy about the idea.

I dislike any ideology that tells me what to think. All feminism should tell me to think is that men and women should be equal. But feminism often tells me to think that a foetus is nothing more than a bunch of cells that can and should be destroyed at will. I'm not saying that I agree or disagree with this, but I hate the fact that it's shoved down my throat as an axiom.

The fact that a woman might choose not to have an abortion on moral grounds, or because she believes that the thing growing inside her is more than an unwanted parasite, is seen as anti-feminist. That, to me, is anti-choice. Pro-choice often just means pro-abortion. I'm furious that the one movement that should allow me to do what I like with my uterus is often almost as indoctrinative as the pro-life movement itself. It's pro-choice only as long as you make the right choice, i.e. to abort any pregnancy that you hadn't planned on.

My personal stance on abortion is that I'm more disturbed by it the later on in pregnancy that it happens, not because I think it's wrong but simply because I'm squeamish about the actual procedure. There's a whole world of difference between being administered with drugs to induce a miscarriage in the first few weeks and having your cervix dilated and the contents of your uterus dismembered and sucked out if you leave it until later. Not that childbirth would be any less traumatic for one's girly bits, but still...ouch. This is the main reason why I think that the current legislation of needing two doctors' signatures in order to obtain an abortion is ridiculous - it delays the procedure, making it much more invasive and traumatic when it actually happens, not to mention the fact that the woman's own decision should be given rather more value than it appears to be granted if two doctors are required to give their consent. If faced with the reality of an unwanted pregnancy, I wouldn't be surprised if my squeamishness about dismembering a 24-week-old foetus was rapidly cured. To me, it's obvious that unless you are strongly religious, the sin of bringing an unwanted child into an already overpopulated world must be greater than the "sin" of having a late abortion. I'm pretty sure I'd grit my teeth and get on with it, but I wouldn't do so cheerfully.

I really think that pro-choice should be exactly what it says on the tin, and that it should include the choice to be anti-abortion. Being anti-abortion does not necessarily mean being anti-choice. Of course abortion is a feminist issue because it's not only something that affects women, but something that changes the course of a woman's life. But if feminism seeks to promote abortion and to deride anybody who feels that it's wrong, this is a major problem. Something that really, constantly pisses me off about feminism in general is that it's so often presented as an exclusive club for socialist atheists. What about Muslims and Catholics? Are they not allowed to be feminists? Must they choose between their faith and believing in social and political equality? There's a world of difference between calling for an outright ban on abortion and recognising that it's a personal choice whilst taking your own personal choice to dislike it.

Gender equality is theoretically possible in all areas except in reproduction. Mother nature is inherently sexist. It's only women who get pregnant, it's only women who have to put their bodies through the strain of pregnancy and childbirth, it's only women who are physically needed by their babies, it's only women who have a physical and emotional bond to their children that makes it incredibly difficult to abandon them until they are fully grown. It's possible for a man, if he's a total scuzzball, to impregnate a woman and to abandon her and her child. It's not possible for the woman to abandon the situation in such a way. Even if she has an abortion or puts her baby up for adoption as soon as it's born, her body still suffers the effects of pregnancy. However involved a father is in his children, it will nearly always be the mother's life that is most changed and affected by having children, and until our society evolves into some sort of godawful post-apocalyptic matriarchy in which all men are fitted with artificial uteruses, that's the way it's always going to be. We mustn't attempt to fight against something so unchangeable, but work with it. And personally, I think that even in the face of crazy propaganda, admitting that pro-choice is a flexible ideology that can include everybody except those anti-choice nutjobs is a good start.

Emasculation?

2007-10-25T05:53:00.000-07:00

Feminism gets a pretty bad rap in general. There is this hideous stereotype of the mad, hairy, bra-burning lesbian for starters. But something else feminists get accused of is man-hating and "emasculation".

The man-hating thing is partly a myth constructed in order to foster distaste for feminism and to introduce the idea that feminism is actually inherently sexist. It's also partly the fault of women who go around saying things like, "All men are bastards," which frankly is usually because they only go out with bastards. It has extremely little if anything to do with feminists themselves.

Emasculation however does have a lot to do with feminism. Masculinity and femininity are cultural concepts that have little to do with gender. They have been constructed by a patriarchal society to exaggerate massively the small differences between men and women (men are generally more aggressive and women are generally more nurturing, and that's about it - and we can blame our hormones for those trends, not our brains) and to perpetuate a culture in which men rule the roost whilst women make the tea. The pressure to fit into these stereotypes and the male dominance inherent in them is something that feminists generally are not too happy about.

However, I don't think men should be emasculated any more than I think women should be de-feminised. Everybody should have the right to be who they want to be, within reason. I feel more feminine when I wear make up and pretty clothes and remove my body hair. This might be because I have been indoctrinated by the patriarchy to define my femininity in such a trite manner, but it's harmless and it makes me feel good about myself. Likewise, I don't begrudge a man anything that makes him feel more masculine, just as long as it doesn't involve him being a complete shit.

If a man's definition of masculinity involves raping, beating or lacking respect for women, seeing women as second class citizens, feeling superior to someone because he has a penis and they don't, refusing to do housework or valuing women solely for their fuckability, then I am only too happy to emasculate him. This "you're just trying to emasculate men" attitude is often used as an excuse for the perpetuation of misogyny by equating masculinity with scurrilous behaviour and attitudes. All feminism seeks to break down is misogyny, and therefore the only way a person could believe that feminists hate men is if their definition of masculinity is entirely tied up in the idea of all men being total gobshites.

Feminists hate misogyny
Masculinity = misogyny
Feminism = emasculation
Feminists hate men
QED

If a man feels that his God-given right as a male is to earn more than female colleagues, get away with rape, visit dodgy brothels and value women only according to their sexual availability, then of course feminism is going to make him feel emasculated. Much as I try to avoid making sweeping statements about feminists in general, I think it's fair to say that none of us want to chop anyone's balls off. If you feel castrated by the thought of equality, you need to reassess your definition of masculinity.

I think that masculinity should be about self-identifying as male. Beyond that, there's not much to say. In terms of relations between the sexes, it should be about using one's greater size and strength for protection rather than dominance. It should be about being confident enough to be glad that women aren't stuck in the kitchen. It should be about valuing women as human beings even if you don't want to pork them.

Basically, be nice and we won't emasculate you :)

You've been hit by a smooth criminal

2007-10-23T14:42:00.000-07:00

Last night, I went back to Pineapple Studios. As you may remember, my first foray into the world of dance wasn't entirely successful. Last night was much better as I faced up to my lack of graceful delicateness and shunned ballet in favour of Anthony King's "Michael Jackson Style" class.

Learning a Michael Jackson routine is the most fun you can have with your clothes on, even if it is a bit complicated. Last night we were learning some pretty complex choreography to just 16 bars of Smooth Criminal.Anthony breaks everything down into small steps so that even the slowest and most uncoordinated dancers can learn it properly. At one point I was slightly taken aback to have him yell at me, "Open your legs!" Apparently my legs weren't far enough apart... But we all managed to learn it and at the end of the class, everybody performed the routine in small groups to raucous cheering by the rest of the class. And I wasn't even the most uncoordinated one there! I really felt that I'd achieved something by the time I left the studio last night, and I even broke out some funky moves to entertain my colleagues in the office earlier today.

Something strange and a bit creepy is the discrepancy between Anthony's appearance in real life and in his publicity shots. In real life, he is black. But all of his publicity material has been airbrushed to make his skin appear much lighter. In the photo on the cover of his book, his complexion is pastier than some of the white people I know. Truly emulating the King of Pop then.

I'll definitely be going back to this class, quite possibly as a regular member. I think I have finally found my dancing niche. The only thing that really distresses me is that according to the timetable on Anthony's blog, I have already missed out on learning the Thriller routine. Noooooo!

I've had the time of my life

2007-10-22T07:13:00.000-07:00

Last night, I lost my Dirty Dancing virginity. Yes that's right, I am a girl who has managed to get to almost-25 without ever having seen Dirty Dancing. I ought to be ashamed of myself.

I found it surprisingly enjoyable. It's basically all about class war, with a good bit of teenage sex thrown in for good measure. It shows its age (it's set in 1963) in a lot of ways, not least in the attitude towards sex. There's all this talk of boys getting girls "into trouble" as if the girl plays a completely passive part in proceedings. Then the girl who has been gotten "into trouble" ends up having a back street abortion, because hey, this is 1963. Something that confused me was that the famous line, "Nobody puts Baby in a corner" didn't make much sense to me at all. Nobody put her in the corner, she was just sitting there of her own accord - what's that all about? Anyway, I enjoyed it firstly because despite being essentially a fairly trashy film it has serious undertones, and secondly because, so sue me, I am a sucker for trashy films. But I think basically the reason why it's such a cult film amongst women is that it features a semi-naked Patrick Swayze in just about every scene.

Unfortunately, semi-naked Patrick Swayze did nothing for me. I think I miss out on enjoying a lot of steamy scenes in films and TV shows for not fancying conventionally attractive men. I've never fancied hunks. Even in primary school, it was the skinny, geeky boys I was chasing after on the playground. Not much has changed since - I can't remember the last time I lusted after anyone whose IQ was less than their weight in pounds. I just can't tell you the extent to which I do not find beefcakes sexually attractive. Or even aesthetically attractive to be perfectly honest, even though I know that sounds a bit mean. I can absolutely see how much a lot of women would get off on watching Johnny Castle cavort topless around the dance floor, I can see how hot it is, but it doesn't do anything for me because he is just so Not My Type. I guess it's the same for men who don't fancy very slim women - there just isn't anything titillating in mainstream entertainment that doesn't play to very narrow notions of beauty.

There is a 'standard' of beauty which everybody is expected to consider attractive. Everything is standardised. All models look pretty much the same - for women it's 5'6" - 5'10" and a size 6-10, with large breasts if they are glamour models and small breasts if not; for men it's 5'10 - 6'3" with rippling six packs and bulging biceps. There is a little more variation allowed amongst actors, but no actor who isn't conventionally attractive will be allowed to play a role in which they are in any way sexualised, at least not in a mainstream movie or TV show. Obviously these 'standards' are not everybody's cup of tea. But are they even most people's cup of tea? It's impossible to tell - if there were variation amongst celebrity bodies with no variation in the manner in which the owners of said bodies were portrayed, we would be able to see what was most popular. As it is, the message the media gives out is that only thin women and hunky men are sexy.

Personally, I think there's a gap in the market for pro-feminist geek porn.

There be changes afoot

2007-10-17T13:19:00.000-07:00

There are going to be a few changes here. I've changed my settings so that you can no longer post comments anonymously. This is simply because I have a lot of people who are posting anonymously, and I'd like to be able to keep track of who's who. I don't like not knowing if the Anonymous replying to one post is the same Anonymous replying to another... So in order to post comments, you'll have to sign up for a blogger account, which is dead easy and they don't spam you or anything, honest! As ever, comments will not be moderated, unless you say something so inutterably offensive I decide to change my mind on that, which I think is unlikely.

And in return for you relinquishing your anonymity, here's a bit about me:

My name's Samara and I'm an almost-25-year-old ex-professional musician now working as an editorial assistant/tea maker/dirty rotten journalist. I'm not fat, I don't hate men and I remove most of my body hair, not that I should feel I have to, but that's another debate entirely. I also write for The F Word.

A few random things that I like: Curly Wurlys, cowboy boots, sunshine, 20th century piano music, thunderstorms, rollercoasters, tea, sushi, martial arts, sparkly make up, vintage MGs, kebabs, mojitos, books, Private Eye, University Challenge.

A few random things that I dislike: Queues, rush hour, unkindness, six packs, peas, frankfurters, spitting, charity muggers, tabloid journalism, boys who think it's cool to wear their jeans so low that their entire arse is hanging out, gangsta rap, big pants, James Blunt.

And against my better judgement, this is what I look like:

Only thin candidates need apply

2007-10-17T06:14:00.000-07:00

The lovely Lynne Miles of The F-Word has been blogging recently about the true cost of being fat. Our Lynne is an occasional member of Weight Watchers, and receives emails from them. She was horrified when the following popped into her inbox:

"The worst thing was when I went for a job interview, knowing full well I had all the skills needed. But I never got the job."

Susan believed she was turned down for the job on the basis that she was overweight. Proof of this came six months later when she applied for the same job again - this time much slimmer - and got the job.

"It was embarrassing," she says. "I had the same skills, did the tests in the same way and got the same results. The only difference was I was 3st lighter."

Although the idea of losing weight if one is unhealthily overweight isn't a bad idea, this story is being used as a motivational tool to help fatties lose weight, rather than as a demonstration of how employers discriminate against people who don't look the part. It's pretty fucked up that anybody could read the above and not be outraged.

Lynne thinks that this sort of discrimination affects women more than it affects men and I sort-of agree. I do think that men are almost certainly discriminated against for being fat. However, I suspect that the level of obesity men have to achieve before receiving the same level of discrimination is probably significantly higher.

If an interviewer saw a candidate of either gender who was morbidly obese, I can absolutely understand them being put off by that. Somebody who is so hugely fat they don't walk so much as waddle and get out of breath climbing a flight of stairs is unlikely to be a healthy employee. It's pretty much impossible to be that fat without having either physiological or psychological problems and whilst it's unfair, it's understandable that employers might not be keen for that reason.

Beyond that, it's just mindless discrimination. And as Lynne points out, as physical appearance is considered more important for women than for men, women are bound to be more affected by it. Employing someone who's a size 6 instead of someone who's a size 26 is kind of understandable. Employing someone who's a size 6 over someone who's a size 16 is outrageous. No man who was heavily built and/or slightly overweight would suffer such discrimination unless he was going for a job as a Speedo model, but women live with it constantly. If you don't believe me, take a walk around the City and see if you can spot a female suit who's above a size 12. How "too fat" is defined for women is considerably more exclusive than how it is defined for men, and thus a far greater number of women suffer discrimination. Not that I would think it were any more acceptable if it happened to men too, but if it happened to men too people would probably make a fuss about it.

I actually got chatting about this with someone a while back who told me that he had once employed an enormously fat woman precisely because of her size. She had many great qualities but what really clinched the job for her was that he felt that any woman who could achieve the impressive CV that she had and to go through life in such an image-obsessed society as a functional, confident human being whilst being that fat, had proved herself to be a very strong and determined individual.

I agree. Although the human capacity to endure is far greater than anybody ever imagines until they're actually going through something, I can't envisage going through life as a very fat woman without ending up with rock bottom self esteem. However much you believe that being physically attractive isn't that important and that other people's opinions don't matter, how one is perceived by others is important and does affect one's self image. Even Lynne, who is a bit fat but in no way unattractive, tells me that she receives random abuse from people in the street on average about once a week. I don't even understand why anyone would do that. Why yell abuse at someone who's done nothing wrong other than to be a few pounds heavier than you think they should be? People suck.

Perhaps one of the reasons that "fattism" isn't treated with the outrage it so richly deserves is that the women who suffer from it are too ashamed to speak out. We are taught that fat women are barely deserving of existence. Of course there are notable exceptions in the form of high profile fatties such as Jo Brand and Dawn French, but as a whole, fat women are not exactly flavour of the month. I've said it before and I'll say it again: physical appearance is considered by far the most important trait for a woman, and so if a woman doesn't conform to a certain standard, her worth as a human being is massively diminished. It takes an incredibly self-assured fatty to make a fuss about discrimination, rather than simply to shuffle away and tuck into a low fat yoghurt. Susie Orbach springs to mind.

Most women don't appreciate the extent to which attractiveness-based discrimination happens because most women go through life at pretty much the same level of attractiveness all the time. Susan knows what it's like to be both fat and thin, she knows how much more accepted she is with her slimmer physique, and yet she is using her experience not to speak out about how appalling the treatment of fat people is but to speak out about how you too can be a size 10 to please all of those unmitigated arsewipes who won't employ you if you're carrying a few extra pounds. If you manage to lose weight and keep it off, good for you. But you shouldn't have to do so in order to be valued as a human being. You shouldn't have to do so in order to get a job. Fattism should not be accepted.

Part of the problem is that people think that losing weight is easy and that anybody who's a bit porky just needs to lay off the pies a bit and get some exercise. Usually the people you hear saying that are the sort of people who stay slim no matter how many pies they eat. If it really were that simple, do you think anybody would be overweight? Nobody chooses to be overweight. Hell, if it were easy to control one's size, few women would be above a size 8. It's illegal to discriminate against people on the grounds of race for example, but not on the grounds of fat. If it were possible for black people to bleach their skin white, would people consider it acceptable to shout racial slurs at them in the street because "they could change if they wanted to" or to discriminate against them in the workplace because they "obviously lack self-respect"?

In my not-so-humble opinion, it's time people accepted a few things:

Some people find it easier to stay slim than others

Being slightly overweight isn't likely to affect one's health significantly

Being fat doesn't make a person sub-human

Women don't exist just to look pretty

Being fuckable isn't an important criterion for a job interview candidate

You can't discriminate against discrimination. It all sucks, whether it's to do with a person's gender, sexuality, the colour of their skin or their waist measurement

Math is hard!

2007-10-15T01:34:00.000-07:00

I pity anybody who missed Beautiful Young Minds last night. This documentary by Morgan Matthews following several phenomenally gifted young mathematicians as they battled it out for the chance to represent Great Britain in the International Mathematical Olympiad was one of the best films I've seen in ages.

It touched on many of the issues that such teenagers face, such as social isolation, the pressure to succeed and the high rate of autistic spectrum disorders in the mathematically gifted. There was Jos, an Aspergers sufferer whose confrontational attitude was incredibly grating by the end of the film and whose single-mindedness was a real problem both for him and for others around him; Saul, who seemed pretty normal despite his giftedness and yet confessed to being depressed "all the time"; Jonathan, bullied at school but a medal winner at just 15; Daniel, another Aspergers sufferer, charming but so excruciatingly shy he couldn't go on stage to receive his silver medal.

Although the students in the IMO team were all very different characters, they had one thing in common: they were all male. Of the 21 teenagers who made it to the initial training camp at Trinity College Cambridge, only two were female. No girls made the final team. One of the professors made a vague remark about girls "showing their intelligence in different ways" but that was the closest the film got to investigating this. I'm not criticising this at all - it would have been inappropriate to have focused too much on the absence of girls when this wasn't what the film was about, and the boys were all such fascinating subjects I was all too happy to forego a gender debate in favour of finding out more about them. However, it is something I picked up on and wondered about.

I've already banged on about how my classmates thought I was a lesbian at school, in part for being good at maths and science rather than humanities (and also because I didn't go out with any of the boys at school - they were all idiots). But this is the extent to which it was considered strange for a girl to be more interested in differential equations than Shakespeare - the only possible explanation was that she must like to eat carpet.

Being called a "lezzer" as if it's a terrible insult is one thing, but at a deeper and less juvenile level, being good at maths doesn't always sit well with being female. There is a real culture of arrogance and competitiveness amongst student mathematicians even at sixth form level, which provides significant role conflict with the self-effacement expected of a girl. Students get up in front of the class to demonstrate their proofs and they are derided for making mistakes, or even for pausing too long to think about something. As soon as exams are over, everybody drawls that it was easy and that they finished in half the allotted time. Girls are taught modesty from a very young age, they are taught to be quiet and self-effacing, they are most certainly not taught to compete overtly with their fellow students or to boast of their own intellect. It's definitely time this trend changed, at least to some degree. Self confidence should not be considered a sign of arrogance just because the person has a vagina.

Many people don't just think that a girl doing maths is a bit odd and possibly homosexual, they refuse to believe that she could be any good at it. There is this stereotype of "female brains" not being capable of thinking logically.* I found this very difficult when I was at school. Being the only girl in the class I had to prove myself much more than the others. On occasions when I made mistakes, I was patronised and belittled. On occasions when I came up with an elegant solution, people reacted with surprise. Even the teacher would be astounded whenever I did well at something.

Clarissa, one of the girls in serious contention for the IMO team, says that she doesn't feel that she is particularly good at maths despite being one of the top 21 students in the country. Amongst boys who are mostly either boasting of their superior abilities or just getting on with it without having overt crises of confidence, Clarissa's neurotic disposition doesn't stand a chance. Perhaps she didn't make the team simply because she wasn't good enough at maths in the first place, but it's possible that the difficulty she had with such an "anti-feminine" environment affected her focus and performance under pressure and prevented her from fulfilling her potential.

It wouldn't surprise me if mathematics is the most male-dominated area of academia. No woman has ever been awarded the Fields Medal.** At the very highest level there is no disputing the fact that men massively outnumber women, and that it's unlikely that this is entirely due to nurture rather than nature. However, does this matter? On average, black people seem to be more athletic than white people, but that doesn't mean that we make life difficult for white people who excel at sport. The fact that at the highest echelons of mathematical genius men seem significantly to outnumber women doesn't mean that girls should be made to feel like brainless Barbie dolls when faced with an integral symbol.

Math is hard. But so is any subject in which one wishes to excel. Mathematics is not beyond female comprehension and a girl who has an interest in it, whether merely as a GCSE student or as a potential IMO team member, should be as able as a boy to pursue that interest.

Anyway, I so enjoyed watching the documentary and if any of the young mathematicians involved happen to be reading this, I would like to extend my congratulations and best wishes for what must surely be a very bright future.

*Never mind the fact that you're in just as much trouble if you can't think logically whilst writing an essay.
**I got this snippet of information from a slightly dodgy-looking source. PLEASE correct me if I'm wrong!

Good role model?

2007-10-12T02:37:00.000-07:00

Whilst doing my customary skim-read of the Times website this morning, I saw a standfirst that really annoyed me:

We caught up with Lily Allen at Chanel’s Paris salon. Here she talks about Lagerfeld, her weight and being a role model.

It seems that there are two massive issues for any young women with a prominent position in the media - her weight and being a role model - and that the two are inextricably linked.

Be too thin, and you will be continually derided for being a poor role model, as if young girls have nobody to look up to but vacuous pop princesses whose every coke-snorting escapade is lovingly splashed across the latest issue of Heat, as if you are directly responsible for the existence of anorexia.

Be a healthy size 8-12 though (no fatter than that, because of course that would be, like, gross!) and you will be lauded as a great role model for young girls and your 'gorgeous curves' will be lovingly praised in patronising drivel that implys that until the reader saw your 'rubenesque' figure in a bikini they were locked in a cycle of hating their figures so much that their only solace was an entire box of Krispy Kremes consumed alone in front of America's Next Top Model.

This immediate assumption that being a role model is part of a celebrity's job generally only applies to female celebrities. You don't see the media going potty every time a male celebrity goes on a drinking binge or loses a few pounds. And yet, this is the same media that goes nuts over single mums, lack of male teachers in primary schools, the fact that not having any men in their lives can be damaging to boys. Whether it's actully hugely damaging or not (I haven't a clue and suspect it depends largely on the individual) the fact is that boys are statistically less likely than girls to have lots of role models in real life. If anybody needs celebrity role models, it's boys not girls.

And then, there's the vacuous nature of the manner in which this role model business manifests itself. It's almost completely to do with weight. It helps if you don't drink or smoke, but basically, in order to be regarded as a 'good role model', it's all about the curves and very little else. The trashy end of the media (which, let's face it, is most of it) will print photographs of a talented actress or musician, but all they will discuss is her weight fluctuations, with finger-wagging accusations of eating disorders, labels of 'poor role model'. Is not being anorexic all girls are to aspire to? It's the media that's creating the idea that no matter how talented and successful she is, a woman is nothing but a body, whether skinny or fat. And that, my friends, is a poor example indeed.

It's a 'bouncing' baby boy

2007-10-10T07:13:00.000-07:00

I have recently become an aunt. Now, before you throw up your hands in horror at the thought of me influencing the upbringing of some poor little mite I'll tell you that the little mite in question is in Tasmania, so there's no need to worry about that. However, I am rather proud, and as soon as he was born I took to the shops in quest of a suitably fantastic present to send to his parents.

I discovered that it is damn near impossible to buy anything baby-related that is not gender-specific. Not that I think there's anything inherently wrong with that, but it's worth mentioning. I suppose that this is because boys and girls look exactly the same at that age, and so dressing them in pink and blue or otherwise indicating their gender is the only way that you can tell them apart. Obviously, being able to tell a person's gender is hugely important even when that person is just a few days old. But still, you're not allowed simply to celebrate the fact that you have a baby - you celebrate the fact that it's a girl or a boy. It's kind of creepy the way everything is so segregated.

If you're buying ordinary baby clothes, it's easy to find lovely things for both genders. But since this was a special present I wanted to find something with a cute or funny slogan on it. There are lots of lovely harmless things for girls, mostly along "little princess" lines. But the filth that they are putting on baby boys' t-shirts these days is beyond belief. Like, for instance, I'm with the MILF.* There was also one that said "I love boobies" and came in adult size as well, for baby and Dad. I opted for one that said "If you think I'm cute you should see my mum" but it took an inordinate length of time to find one that didn't say something stupid or offensive. I'm not suggesting that buying an "I love boobies" t-shirt for your baby is actually going to encourage him to grow up to be a raving misogynist. I'm just slightly pissed off by the fact that crudeness and misogyny is considered cute for a baby boy.

New baby cards. Now that was a minefield. For starters, it's extremely difficult to find anything that isn't utterly vomitous. The many references to precious little bundles of joy had me reaching for a sick bag. But something else I noticed was the manner in which girl and boy babies are described. It's always a "beautiful baby girl" or a "bouncing baby boy". Bouncing? When was the last time you saw a baby bounce? I don't doubt that a baby might bounce if you were to chuck it out of a third storey window, but that's not an experiment I'm willing to conduct. In the end I managed to find a card that simply said "Congratulations".

My mother actually conducted her own Baby X experiment with me when I was a toddler.** She used to take me to the local playgroup sometimes dressed in pink and sometimes in blue. The difference in the way I was treated by the other parents was astounding. In pink, I was praised for quiet, passive behaviour and reprimanded for loud, boisterous behaviour. In blue, it was the opposite. There was even one day when, dressed in blue, I took away the toy truck that another child was playing with and, when said child understandably made a fuss, clobbered him over the head with it. My mother was furious to observe that whilst she was trying to give me the bollocking of my life, all the other mothers praised me, cooing, "Oooh, he's a proper boy, isn't he!" In pink, I wasn't even encouraged to run around. But in blue, I was praised for aggressive behaviour.

It's easy to see why it's so important to people to be able to tell the gender of a baby. It tells people how to treat them. It tells them whether to chuck them in the air or to hold them quietly and sing to them. Whether to encourage them to sit quietly and passively or to run around and twat other kids over the head with toy trains. Whether to tell their parents that they're a beautiful little girl or a strapping young boy. The reason that it's important to dress babies in pink or blue is that unless you're looking between their legs, there's sod all difference between a girl baby and a boy baby, and so the difference that people want to see needs to be created.

*Actually, this one comes in pink too. The version I found was just for boys.

**She didn't really set out to do this, it's just that my parents were so poor when I was little they had to accept any available cast-offs from friends or relatives even if they were in the "wrong" colour. Observing the differences in the way I was treated when wearing blue was just an interesting side-effect.

The "double standard"

2007-10-09T09:21:00.000-07:00

This "double standard" you'll hear feminist types ranting about quite a lot refers to the phenomenon of men being applauded for promiscuity whilst women are derided for the same behaviour. However, I've never really been that convinced of just how prevalent this is these days. I've often been derided for *not* being promiscuous - both men and women have accused me of being "frigid" for not being interested in shagging random strangers in nightclub toilets. It has always seemed to me that the expectations of people with regards to sexual behaviour have evened out, that now both men and women are expected to shag everything that moves.

I'd like to say at this point that I have absolutely no moral stance on sex whatsoever - the reason I don't do casual sex is just that I'm too shy and that it takes me a while to feel physically comfortable enough with someone to actually enjoy it. I have to know someone for a little while before I can seriously lust after them. And I'm buggered if I'm doing anything I don't feel comfortable with just because Cosmo tells me I've got "issues with sex" if I'm not shagging someone by our fourth date.

We all know of course that sleeping with someone on the first date is a big no-no. He won't respect you in the morning! And yet, if you hold off until the third or fourth date, he will be a lovely romantic creature who will provide gargantuan quantities of respect, adoration, jewellery and cunnilingus. Fuck that - I'd suggest that if he's the type of guy who won't respect you in the morning, then he's a misogynistic arsewipe and definitely not relationship material, so it doesnt matter whether you sleep with him or not.

I was chatting to a fellow feminist at a party a few weeks ago, who told me that she always sleeps with people on the first date, because she's not sure if she'll get a second date. Although the girl in question immediately became my personal hero, she was at pains to tell me that people often reacted very badly to her shagging antics. Many men really did lose respect for her. Obviously I was very wrong in my theory that both men and women are supposed to be racking up as many notches on their bedposts as possible.

But what is a girl to do? I've got a bit of a controversial take on this: I think all of this double standard and virgin/whore arsemongering is actually very liberating. Women can't do anything right. There is no ideal. However you behave sexually you will be judged, called names, whatever. You can't get it right, so don't even try. Just do exactly what you want to do in the happy knowledge that however you conducted your sex life, somebody would be pissed off about it. And here's a hint - if you feel like sleeping with someone, do it. He might not respect you in the morning, but at least that way you get laid.

'Studies have shown' precisely sod all

2007-10-09T07:06:00.000-07:00

Deborah Cameron has written a book entitled The Myth of Mars and Venus, published last week by Oxford University Press. As she explains in an interview in The Times today, men and women are all from Earth, but perhaps John Gray is from Uranus.

Extracts from this book appear in The Guardian. I was going to provide lots of choice quotes, but it's all so fascinating, insightful and comprehensive that I felt like quoting all of it, so you'll just have to read it for yourself. The basic premise is, women don't talk more than men - just more than the patriarchy would like them to. This is what I've always suspected and it's great to see it in print.

This table presents a realistic picture of what scientific research has actually discovered about the differences between men and women, where 'd' is the value of overall gender difference: minus values indicate that women are ahead of men and plus values indicate that men are ahead of women. As Cameron points out, the only reputable studies that have revealed significant differences between the sexes have measured athletic prowess and aggressiveness, at which men outperformed women. In other words, this is what you would expect from differences in muscle mass and testosterone levels, with little or nothing to do with the manner in which male and female brains are 'wired up'.

Of course, the stereotype of the grunting, knuckle-dragging buffoon is pretty insulting to men:

The literature of Mars and Venus, in both the self-help and popular science genres, is remarkably patronising towards men. They come off as bullies, petulant toddlers; or Neanderthals sulking in their caves. One (male) contributor to this catalogue of stereotypes goes so far as to call his book If Men Could Talk. A book called If Women Could Think would be instantly denounced; why do men put up with books that put them on a par with Lassie or Skippy the Bush Kangaroo ("Hey, wait a minute - I think he's trying to tell us something!")?

From The Guardian

An unfortunate side-effect of these patronising gender stereotypes however is that they can excuse loutish, petulant behaviour in men. As Cameron explains, this can have serious consequences:

Cameron cites one rape trial in Canada in the 1990s where the female complainant is asked: “Did it occur to you through the persistent behaviour that maybe your signals were not coming across loud and clear”, while the male complainant states simply: “She said that she was tired but she never said like ‘no’, ‘stop’, ‘don’t’.”

Cameron argues that both men and women are perfectly capable of understanding what a woman saying ‘I’m tired’ and feigning unconsciousness means, but no one thinks to ask why the defendant is being so obtuse. The complainant, on the other hand, is roasted for not being direct enough. The myth of Mars and Venus bolsters a great escape route for the defendant: miscommunication.

From The Times

So, big up to the Deborah Cameron massive. But the one major beef I have with all of this is that nobody seems to be tackling the commonly-held belief, often backed up in the same manner by dodgy sensationalist 'studies', that women can't read maps and have poor sense of direction and spatial awareness. If Cameron manages to debunk the myth that men are useless neanderthals who can't communicate but people continue to believe that women can't navigate their arse from their elbow, we could end up in a nasty situation whereby we swap rigid, equal-but-different gender stereotypes for perceived male superiority. Perhaps there's another book in the pipeline. I hope so.

There's plenty of evidence to suggest that all of these differences between the sexes are minute, with far more variation between people regardless of gender than between the genders themselves. But as Cameron explains, "A book called Men and Women Understand Each Other Pretty Well Most of the Time isn’t going to sell too many copies, is it?”

Alas, Deborah, you've hit the nail on the head. Newspapers, magazines, books and documentaries don't tell you the truth. They tell you what you want to hear. And people want to hear that women can't read maps and men need to be more 'in touch with their feelings', whatever that means. I work in the media. I know how this works. You go for the most exciting stories, which doesn't necessarily correlate with the most accurate representation of what's actually going on. And if someone's produced a bollocks study, for example, deciding that the female love of pink is genetically hardwired by asking 208 people what their favourite colours are, this is the sort of thing that readers will salivate over. The media ignores the thousands of other, more reputable studies that prove that there's not much difference between the sexes because it's not what the readers want. That's not what sells papers or improves viewing figures. Nobody wants to read that women are capable of parallel parking or that men are capable of picking up their own dirty socks. Actual news is a different matter, but when it comes to features and fluff pieces, most people want to read nice, comforting drivel that confirms their own opinions, which of course were formed by such drivel in the first place.

And then people actually start living it. Who has ever been in a room full of women actually boasting about how bad their maths skills are, presumably because it somehow asserts their femininity? Likewise with men claiming not to understand anything but the clearest of entirely verbal cues. Most people who don't happen to be completely useless in the areas in which the patriarchy tells them they're supposed to be completely useless suppress their strengths. I was the only girl out of 25 in my A level maths class, and everybody at school thought I was a lesbian. Not because I displayed any 'dykeish' behaviour but because the only possible explanation for my greater aptitude for maths and science than humanities was that I was a raving carpet-muncher. Apparently heterosexual girls just didn't do maths.

Even when people genuinely want to be good at things that don't correlate with their gender roles, it's difficult. Society has been shaping their self-image since they were tiny children. Most women really do think that they can't read maps. Most men really do think that they're insensitive slobs. In some cases this is true and that's fine. But it's not fine that millions of people find it difficult to fulfil their potential because we all feel the need to pigeonhole each other.

Ali G does feminism

2007-10-06T14:58:00.000-07:00

Very old, but very funny.

Love the skin you're in

2007-10-04T12:34:00.000-07:00

Dove have produced a new short film in conjunction with the Campaign for Real Beauty:

This is a great film and promotes a really important issue - that the cosmetics industry negatively affects young girls as well as grown women. However, these campaigns that try to persuade us to love our bodies, warts and all, really bug me sometimes. Basically, cosmetics companies seem to be using two types of women in their advertisements these days: Models, and Real Women.

The models, those leggy, perma-tanned, airbrushed gazelle-like creatures, have been around for a while. But the Real Woman is a relatively recent phenomenon. The Real Woman is voluptuous, relatively small-breasted and uses few cosmetics. She loves her body and she revels in her cycles and curves. She holds her head up high despite the fact that she is positively gargantuan by Hollywood standards, because she knows that she is beautiful and she loves her body. Well, I'm a size 6, I have E-cup breasts and I own so many sparkly eyeshadows I wouldn't be surprised if I am single-handedly keeping Barry M in business. Am I less "real" than the women in the Dove adverts? It's just another representation of female beauty to which few of us conform, even if the "message" behind it is rather more positive than that of traditional advertisements despite being just a sugar coating for selling us stuff.

There seems to be this assumption that women hate their bodies because of the constant bombardment of unrealistic images thrust at us by Hollywood and the cosmetics industry, and so we all need to learn to love our bodies in order to compensate for it. Fine. But why should I love my body? It's just a body. Men aren't expected to love their bodies. Loving your body makes as little sense as hating it. What we really need, in my opinion, is just to quit being so obsessed with our bodies in the first place.

The reason that loving your body is considered so important is that women's bodies are considered so disproportionately crucial to their worth as human beings. From childhood, women are taught that their self esteem should be tied up in their looks. There's this idea that you can't walk down the street with your head held high if you don't adore every inch of your body. This is bullshit. You don't have to love your body in order to be confident, because you are much more than just your body. I may have the shortest legs in the known universe, but I also have sharp wit, an optimistic disposition, kindness and intelligence. I may have big jugs, but I am also uptight, pedantic and socially inept. I am more than my physical appearance and I refuse to let my self image revolve solely around it.

There's also the uncomfortable truth that it's much easier for some people to love their bodies than others, whether from genuine attractiveness or the extent to which they fit some sort of media 'ideal'. If I do love my body, it's probably because it happens to be relatively close to the 'ideal' plastered all over billboards rather than because I actually have sky-high self esteem. And I realise that in an image-obsessed society in which women are regarded primarily as decoration with their worth measured by how fuckable they are, this makes me extremely lucky.

This pressure to love your body is just that: more pressure, on top of the pressure that women already feel with regards to the way they look. Loving your lardy arse is just as self-absorbed as punishing it with cellulite cream. You are only truly free of the beauty industry and the airbrushed standards it promotes if your lardy arse is not an issue in the first place.

The Campaign for Real Beauty, whilst coming up with some great films, totally skirts the issue. Although 'Love Your Body' is a big step up from 'You Need Cellulite Cream' the issue that would really be helpful for them to push is, 'Your Body Isn't Actually That Important'. But then, that won't help them sell any body lotion.

Ballet

2007-09-27T01:58:00.000-07:00

One time when I was about fifteen, I mentioned to my piano teacher that I had done a disastrous year of ballet as a child and he exclaimed, "Ah, so you've done the three things that every good middle class girl does! Piano lessons, horse riding and ballet!" He had a point. Of course, I came to all three of these activities in a distinctly un-middle class manner. The piano lessons were as a result of obvious talent and keenness rather than pushy parents, the riding took place not at a smart establishment but at a ramshackle stables where I would sit on a podgy Thelwell pony getting barked at by a menopausal harridan in return for eight hours of shovelling shit, and the ballet lessons...well...let's just say I wasn't really cut out for it.

I did gymnastics as a child, which a combination of a naturally athletic build and recklessness bordering on stupidity made me rather good at. Ballet had never really appealed to me. I knew that a lot of girls did it, that they wore pink wrapover cardigans and pink tights and pretty, dainty little pink shoes, but much as I liked the outfits it just seemed dull to me. Why pirouette when you could backflip? The culture surrounding it seemed much less appealing than gymnastics too - why sit around looking pretty in your little wrapover cardigan and talking about school when you could be tearing around in a tracksuit, having handstand competitions and cheering on the boys in the skate park next to the gym? Another thing that I didn't like was that ballet seemed to be only for girls. I liked boys and my experience was that any activity that didn't involve them at all tended to be a bit pants.

I should say at this point that my eldest cousin used to be a principal in the Vienna State Ballet. Although I only met him a few times what with him living in Austria, my grandmother had hundreds of photographs of him doing fantastically athletic things in tights right from when he was a little boy to a strapping young man. She even had photos of him taking the title role in Petrushka, which is about as impressive as it gets. However, despite having this massive example of a boy doing ballet, I just didn't associate my cousin's dramatic make up and bulging thigh muscles with the pink, insipid Grade 1 ballet syllabus that my classmates minced through after school.

So, I did gymnastics, not ballet, and everything was just fine and dandy until one day when I was eight years old, one of my coaches suggested that I had some ballet lessons on the side. You see, I'm not particularly graceful. In fact, anyone who knows me will tell you that that's putting it mildly. I am the clumsiest person you will ever meet, and whilst the other girls in my squad managed to look quite elegant strutting up and down a beam or skipping through a floor routine, I most certainly did not. It was time to get myself kitted out with a pink leotard and take to the barre.

At the time, I thought that I was the only one going through what happened next. But Marya Hornbacher describes it perfectly in Wasted:

I was four, maybe five years old in dance class. The studio, up above Main Street was lined with mirrors that reflected Saturday morning sun, a hoard of dainty little girls in baby blue leotards, and me. I had on a brand new blue leotard, not baby blue, but bright blue. I stuck out like an electric blue thumb, my ballet bun always coming undone. I was standing at the barre, looking at my body repeated and repeated ad repeated, me in my blue leotard, standing there, suddenly horrified, trapped in the many-mirrored room.

I am not a waif. Not now, not then. I'm solid. Athletic. A mesomorph: little fat, lot of muscle. I can kick a ball pretty casually from one end of a soccer field to the other, or bloody a guy's nose without really trying, and if you hit me real hard in the stomach you'd probably break your hand. In other words, I am built for boxing, not ballet. I came that way - even baby pictures show my solid diapered self tromping through the roses, tilted forward, headed for the gate. But at four I stood, a tiny Eve, choked with mortification at my body, the curve and plane of belly and thigh. At four I realized that I simply would not do. My body, being solid, was too much.

I FEEL YOUR PAIN, SISTER!

In ballet class, it was the lithe, leggy, small-bottomed girls who were praised all the time. A short-legged little beefcake such as myself had to be twice as competent as one of them to be regarded as half as good.

My teacher constantly told me to tuck my bottom in, often striding over to the barre to try to shove it in herself. I'm still seething with humiliation thinking about this now - to have a teacher grab my arse uninvited in front of the whole class has never been my idea of fun. No matter how straight my back was, my bottom still stuck out. I went from not being particularly concerned about my appearance to being totally paranoid about the size of my posterior, to the extent to which I would do anything to avoid anybody standing behind me. One of my most cringeworthy moments at that age was when a boy I fancied at school walked behind me on the way to lunch one day and I just couldn't stop thinking that he must have been staring at how big my bum was and that he must have been totally disgusted with me for being such a fatty fatty boom boom when actually he was probably just thinking about his lunch and I was one of the skinniest kids in the year anyway.

I'm not saying that I lay all the blame for my unhappiness firmly at the satin-slippered feet of my ballet teacher. I was a particularly neurotic child. It also didn't help that my mother used to go on and on at me for having chunky thighs and rave about how good all the other girls in the class were. There were a lot of factors, but ballet was the catalyst for them.

I finally persuaded my mum to let me quit ballet a year later after suffering the indignity of only getting a merit for my Grade 1 exam. But the sense of failure and ugliness stayed. Gymnastics too was no fun any more now that I was so self-conscious about prancing around in a leotard. I stopped winning competitions because my mental edge and ability to concentrate on anything other than my own backside had evaporated. It wasn't long before I quit that too.

It would be terrible enough for a grown woman to feel that way about her body, but it's utterly appalling for an eight-year-old. And I'm not alone. Having spoken to many of my acquaintances about their ballet experiences, I've met very few who didn't suffer from poor body image as a direct result of it. Without exception, every girl I've spoken to has told me that in their childhood ballet classes they were told to tuck their bottoms in, to suck their tummies in, even to lose weight. For most of them, the first time they can remember being unhappy with their bodies was directly related to ballet.

Ballet is regarded as this sweet, innocent thing that pretty little girls do. Sure, in the world of professional ballet eating disorders are rife, but not in that cute candyfloss world of little satin ballet shoes and pink leotards. Dream on. There might not be many little girls starving themselves or throwing up, but there are loads suddenly aware of the shortcomings of their own bodies for the first time, wishing that they had this girl's legs or that girl's bum.

Telling a child to tuck their bottom in encourages a very adult sense of self-consciousness. I don't think there's anything wrong with little girls wanting to be pretty, but there's a world of difference between trying on your mum's make up and obsessing over the size of your thighs. There's a massive difference between wanting to look prettier and wanting to look less ugly. No child should be worrying about the size of their bottom, particularly if that bottom is not in the slightest bit fat.

Jess McCabe of the F-Word writes fondly of her childhood ballet experiences. I think she's extremely lucky. Anyway, I enjoyed reading about her pas-de-chat back into the world of ballet classes and, surprisingly perhaps, I've decided to do the same.

Thanks to my backflipping antics, I now have an extremely hollow back and a very dodgy ankle. And it occurs to me that a few ballet classes would probably really help to straighten my back out and strengthen my ankles. When you add to this the fact that the Pineapple Studios are a mere two minutes' walk from my office and that classes are much cheaper than I had expected, it's a no-brainer.

These days, I spend my free time doing taekwondo, a martial art so dangerous that if you're a black belt your fists are legally classed as offensive weapons. I'm still unbelievably clumsy. I still have all the coordination of a stroke victim after a night on the tiles. And despite the fact that I am considerably slimmer than average, I am still paranoid that the class will be populated by snooty, leggy types who think I need a gastric bypass.

Well, predictably perhaps, Pineapple is a rather friendlier place than I'd feared. The changing rooms are a scary, open-plan communal affair though, and I seriously regret having worn a g-string. I'm also slightly disconcerted at the number of people who are changing into tights and leotards - I thought I'd be in the majority in sweatpants, but apparently not. Predictably, nobody sneers at my not-quite-perfect physique, possibly because they are grown women and not bitchy eight-year-olds.

The class itself is run by a guy called Keith Hodiak. Now, think of a ballet teacher. Get a good mental image of what a ballet teacher might be like. My stereotypical image of a ballet teacher is either an arrogant sinewy twentysomething queen, or a pinch-faced septugenarian bitch. It's certainly not a slightly overweight middle aged man with dreadlocks, but that is what Keith is, and a very good teacher he is too. He's thorough, explains things well, challenges the more advanced members of the class without ignoring everyone else and is an all-round nice bloke.

We spend most of the lesson at the barre, which is great as my strength and flexibility mean that I don't struggle with it at all. I'm in my element doing plies and arabesques and starting to feel as if I'm not too bad at this ballet malarky after all. There is one ghastly moment when we're all on demi-pointe with one leg in the air and I overbalance, grabbing the barre with a hearty, "Oh, bollocks!" and earning quite a few withering looks, but generally I'm doing quite well. It's when we move away from the barre and start actually dancing that my real problems surface.

I am still laughably awful at anything involving grace or coordination. Cringe-makingly so. As Keith takes us through a really simple 32-bar routine, I catch sight of myself in the massive mirrors, arms flailing crazily, turning in the wrong direction, bashing into people and generally looking rather "special" as the rest of the class moves in perfect grace and synchronicity. I am not popular with anyone within a several-metre radius.

At the end of the class I don't feel fat, but I do feel rather traumatised by being so bad at it. It's nothing I wasn't expecting, but I do so loathe being bad at things. I've always particularly hated being bad at dancing, partly because it looks so much fun (I wouldn't know - on the rare occasions when I don't screw up I'm too busy concentrating on not screwing up to enjoy it) and partly because being so ungainly feels, well, unfeminine. Dancing is such a graceful, feminine thing and it's immensely frustrating to be bad at it. At times, I'll watch friends in clubs having fun twirling around on the dance floor and feel a failure as a girl.

It occurs to me that the sense of wrongness I encountered as a child for being good at football and terrible at ballet is probably nothing to the confusion that my cousin must have gone through for being better at ballet than football. When I started ballet lessons my mother was keen for my brother to join the class too, seeing as it runs in the family. But even at four years old he refused on the grounds that ballet was for girls. It makes little sense because the strength and dynamicism that a male dancer can achieve is quite astounding and not in any way "girly". And it just doesn't seem fair that it's socially acceptable for girls to do "boys' activities" but not vice versa. It also doesn't seem fair that "girls' activities" are so derided by men and that any sport or activity associated largely or exclusively with being female is generally dismissed. Perhaps that's just because "girls' activities" commonly are a load of crap though. I can't see synchronised swimming ever catching on in quite the same way as football.

I'll definitely go back to Pineapple, but I have to admit, the "Michael Jackson style" class holds more appeal than ballet and I will definitely be trying that one out in the near future. They also do cheerleading, which I've always thought looks like tremedous fun and might even give me the opportunity to break out some of those gymnastics moves if I can still do them. However, I suspect that cheerleading and moonwalking might require even more coordination than the ballet did. Back to the barre it is, then...

Lysol

2007-09-26T03:37:00.000-07:00

Ever since I came across that Lysol ad I've been thinking about it. The premise of the ad was bad enough on many levels, but it got me wondering: Just what was this Lysol stuff? What was in it? What did it actually do? And does it still exist?

Lysol as a company does still exist, and thank goodness they now limit themselves to manufacturing household disinfectants. The Museum of Menstruation and Women's Health, an absolute gem of a site that I'd never discovered before, has an enormous amount of information about the history of the product, as well as lots more lovely adverts. It's even worse than I could have imagined.

The Museum of Menstrution and Women's Health are lucky enough to have had a reader send them a scan of a 1936 paper by Rachel Lynn Farmer and Sarah K Greenberg M.D. entitled Facts and Frauds in Women's Hygiene. It makes for horrifying reading.

[Lysol] consists essentially of cresol, a distillate of wood and coal, which has been made soluble in water by treating it with soap. Cresol was discovered through the attempts of scientists to find a substance which would not be so poisonous as carbolic acid and yet as effective in killing germs. It is now recognized to be almost, if not equally as dangerous as carbolic acid itself; swallowing Lysol has come to be a common - but exremely painful - method of committing suicide.

Does this sound like something you want anywhere near the most sensitive part of your anatomy?

The United States Dispentatory reports the death of a woman from using Lysol in a vaginal douche. As long ago as 1911 Witthus and Becker stated in Medical Jurisprudence, Forensic Medicaton and Toxicology that they had collected the reports of eleven poisonings from uterine irrigations with Lysol. Five of the poisoned women died.

This stuff could kill you. They were selling this corrosive substance to women on the basis that their vaginas needed disinfecting, that if there was anything wrong with their sex lives or their marriages in general it was the fault of their stinky undercarriages, that it was their duty to remain "fresh and youthful" for their husbands and that Lysol was a medical necessity for healthy genitalia. It was anything but.

The paper goes on to question the fact that all of the doctors who recommended the product in the Lysol advertisements were obscure foreign gynaecologists whose quotes were all spookily similar. Could it possibly be that these doctors never existed at all? Farmer and Greenberg thought so. Misogyny, dangerous products AND deliberately misleading advertising campaigns. "Your husband will be disgusted by your festering cunt unless you burn it with our vile chemicals, recommended by this imaginary Estonian gynaecologist." Charming.

Believe it or not, until the 60s, rinsing oneself out with Lysol was the most popular form of contraception in the United States. I don't doubt that such a nasty substance would probably have killed off a fair few sperm, but it wasn't a particularly effective contraceptive.

For anyone not in the know, "douching" is never a good idea. It can lead to irritation, yeast infections, pelvic inflammatory disease and bacterial vaginosis which, by the way, is what causes that much-maligned "fishy" smell in the first place. If you have nasty discharge, you need to see a doctor. And if you don't, there's nothing wrong with you.

Although we've a long way to go before the humble vagina is given the same degree of respect and reverence as the penis, looking at advertisements such as these give a pretty clear idea of just how far we've come. We, our cunts, and our partners who benefit from having a happy and responsive partner, have much to be thankful for.

Here's some tits - now buy our product

2007-09-20T05:22:00.000-07:00

Londoners (and possibly those further afield - I'm not sure how far this campaign has spread) can't fail to have noticed that The Sun is now 20p. The reason they can't fail to have noticed is because of the advertisements emblazoned across the side of buses, featuring a topless woman whose tits are covered by two giant 10ps.

People have understandably been up in arms about the vile objectification inherent in this, but I don't think I've ever heard anybody mention, with regards to this or to similar such campaigns, what really pisses me off about it: the assumption that the consumer is a heterosexual male.

To be honest, I'm not that bothered about the assumption that I don't read The Sun. But sexualised images of women's bodies are used to sell so many products and services that have little or no male bias. I was living in Reading a couple of years ago and once saw a billboard at the train station that made me shriek with rage (actually shriek, on a train platform...nobody took any notice though - there are a lot of nutters around these days). It was an advertisement for a local printing company, featuring a woman whose modesty was concealed by strategically placed bits of paper, with the suggestion that she might remove them if you were to use this company for your printing needs.

Uptight types might have been appalled by the idea of any flesh on show at all, liberal types might have been appalled by the idea that impressionable people such as teenage boys are subjected to such blatant objectification, but what I found so unbelievably offensive was the idea that this company was only marketing itself to heterosexual men. The implication was that a woman (or indeed a gay man) couldn't possibly have responsibility for deciding what printing company to use, because women just file things and answer the phone. Or indeed pose as bait for men, who are of course ruled entirely by their dicks.

I hope the company went out of business - they certainly deserved to. Even if they provided a good printing service, I'll bet that even men who appreciated the aesthetic qualities of the advertisement and weren't bothered by its sexism would have been turned off by the idea that they made no mention of how great their products or services were, instead using the cheap shot of a naked woman.

I actually fail to see how a campaign such as this could possibly be effective. Heterosexual males comprise less than 50% of the population. Unless you are actually just selling porn (and even The Sun doesn't fall into this category) it's utterly, incomprehensibly stupid just to target this one group. What are they thinking? WHY does this sort of thing continue?

Vintage advertising

2007-09-17T09:19:00.001-07:00

Charming!

Barbie execution

2007-09-14T08:34:00.000-07:00

Okay, so it's not exactly politically correct. But this is rather amusing.

Climb aboard Harry Potter's broomstick!

2007-09-12T03:21:00.001-07:00

I can't believe I've not heard of this before!

Mattel got themselves into a bit of a pickle a while ago over some controversial Harry Potter merchandise. Parents were horrified to discover that the vibrating replica of Harry's Nimbus 2000 had, um, alternative uses, bombarding the company with complaints about their innocent little girls spending too long "riding" it.

Shortly after Mattel releases its Nimbus 2000 broom as part of its line of Harry Potter toys, the vibrating device begins getting the wrong sort of customer raves. "I'm 32 and enjoy riding the broom as much as my 7-year-old," says one enthusiastic mother on Amazon. "My only complaint is, I wish the batteries didn't run out quite so quickly." Mattel stops making the toy, but denies that the unintended value-add is the reason. Says a spokesperson: "It's just not a continued product in our line."

Although masturbation is thankfully considered normal for adults of both sexes, it's a real shame that it's considered an inevitability for boys but a disgusting, shameful perversion for girls. I say good on those kids who found alternative uses for their Nimbus 2000s. Bring on the Firebolt!

You're beautiful

2007-09-11T06:42:00.000-07:00

Not the ghastly, whiny, James Blunt song that drove me to random acts of violence against defenceless radios during the summer of 2005, but the over-used and consequently meaningless compliment.

The number of random men in bars and clubs and even on the street who declare me the most beautiful girl they've ever seen suggests that I really ought to be jacking in the fledgling journalistic career in order to become the world's first short supermodel. This declaration could only imply one of two possibilities: 1 - I actually am the most beautiful girl they've ever seen; or 2 - They think that this is the most effective way of flattering me into opening my legs. Not to put myself down or anything, but I favour the second theory.

It works the opposite way too. There are a plethora of junkies who shoot up in the phone boxes outside my office and then pass out on the doorstep so that you have to step over them to get into the building in the morning. One of my colleagues fell foul of one of them a while back. As she walked past him he asked her for money and when she politely refused, he called her a "fat bitch". This girl is about a size 10. As I told her when she got back in the office, he did not say that because he actually thought she was fat. He said it because he was pissed off with her and thought that this was the most hurtful thing he could say.

I honestly have absolutely no idea how attractive I am in the eyes of others, because 99% of the comments I've ever received about my appearance are at best exaggerated and at worst a direct and manipulative attempt to influence my sense of self-worth. I've been told I'm beautiful. I've been told I'm ugly. If someone wants to make a woman feel good about herself, they tell her she's beautiful. If someone wants to make a woman feel bad about herself, they tell her she's ugly.*

Quoth the patriarchy:

Here's what we're going to do: we're going to create a culture in which women are viewed primarily as decoration, with attractive women airbrushed to within an inch of their lives and plastered all over billboards and unattractive women being regarded as second class citizens. Then, when we've got you all nicely obsessed with your own appearance, fearing wrinkles and cellulite more than cancer, when your entire sense of self-worth is tied up in your looks, people will be able to manipulate your self-esteem by commenting, truthfully or otherwise, on your appearance. Muhahaha! Muhahahaha! MUHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAA!

I'm sure that this will attract a plethora of, "but those men are just trying to be nice, you man-hater!" comments, but that's precisely the point. They (and the women who compliment one another's appearance too) are just trying to be nice. They are trying to make you feel good about yourself. And telling you that you're pretty is the standard method of achieving this.

I actually think it's a pity that female appearance is such an issue that compliments can't be taken at face value. I think it would be great to be able to compliment a woman's appearance as meaningfully as it is possible to compliment her work or her intelligence. An unfortunate side-effect of this constant stream of affirmation and defamation women receive about their looks is that genuine comments get buried.

I'm not saying I don't accept compliments about my appearance. My friends (particularly male friends, I'll be honest here) know that I'll dissolve into a gooey mush of blushing giggliness if they tell me I'm beautiful, because I respect their opinions, I know that they wouldn't say anything if they didn't mean it, and because they say this in the context of knowing me as a person, which I really think does affect one's perception of a person's appearance. By the same token, a friend of mine once commented that I was not as pretty as Nicole Kidman about six years ago and I have never got over it, defacing photographs of Miss Kidman whenever possible. Yes, I will admit, comments about my appearance affect me. But only when they come from trustworthy sources.

Of course, if we lived in a society in which a woman's appearance wasn't considered her most important trait, this wouldn't be an issue at all, because comments about a woman's appearance wouldn't have the power to delight or horrify their subjects to anything like the same extent. We would be free to compliment one another's prettiness without it being an emotionally-loaded issue massively affecting our self-esteem. Just saying.

*The male equivalent is of course speculation of penis size - proof that people will simply pick on what they think is likely to get the biggest reaction and that these sorts of comments are rarely if ever based on actual evidence.

Viva forever!

2007-09-09T14:01:00.000-07:00

Luciano Pavarotti passed away last week, following a drawn-out battle with pancreatic cancer. As obituaries pay tribute to his iconic status, diva tendencies and bizarre dressing room requirements, I feel that it's important to remember that the corpulent Italian songster was never above illustrious collaborations with post-feminist icons...

Three cheers for the nanny state!

2007-09-09T13:15:00.000-07:00

The government will unveil plans this week to grant a cash payment to pregnant women in order to help them improve their diets.

Yeah, ok, so this is't the sort of thing I normally write about here, but I just wrote a great post for The F-Word about it before discovering that another of my fellow bloggers had got there first. So anyway, where was I?

Women will receive a one-off payment of £120 when they are seven months pregnant, which will be linked to a scheme of advice regarding maintaining a healthy diet and lifestyle. As it is non-means-tested, this will effectively be an addition to child benefit allowance.

As The Guardian has pointed out, this scheme is likely to be controversial.

The pregnancy measure, to be introduced in 2009, is likely to prove highly controversial as women will be free to spend the money on drink or cigarettes. Sources told The Observer that the government accepts that some of the 630,000 women who become pregnant each year may choose not to spend the money on healthy food. There is also little published research to show that a financial incentive, combined with nutritional advice, is sufficient to persuade mothers from the most deprived areas to change their lifestyle.

Those pesky council estate mothers, spending their child benefit allowance on booze and fags! But as Tam Fry, director of the Child Growth Foundation points out, these are the mothers who will benefit the most:

'We know that women who are well educated and with disposable income take their diet seriously during pregnancy and eat well, but for those lower on the social scale, without the education or the money or the help, it's tough. It's a sensitive issue to address, but it matters because the weight of a baby at birth can have a profound effect on their health further down the line.

In his speech on Thursday, [Alan] Johnson will lay out his vision for an NHS where preventative measures play a far greater role. He will point out that just under one in 12 children in England and Wales is born underweight - less than 5.5lbs. They are not only at greater risk of dying in infancy, but face long-term difficulties such as heart disease, diabetes, lung conditions and impaired cognitive development because their growth has been retarded in the womb by a lack of essential nutrients.

This all sounds a bit Brave New World, but the fact is that poor nutrition does have a detrimental effect on foetal development and on the health of the mother. Whether or not the government faces criticism over this venture, it's good to see that they are recognising two important factors: 1 - Good nutrition is extremely important in pregnancy; and 2 - It's more expensive to eat healthily than unhealthily. The government is going some way to making sure that all pregnant women have access to a healthy diet and consequently that their babies have an equal start in life.

Men like women with curves

2007-09-04T07:11:00.000-07:00

I cringe every time I hear this. It usually assaults me from the pages of some trashy publication, the latest being the news pages of Cosmopolitan, which advised me that, since nine out of ten men would rather shag a size 10 glamour model than a size 0 supermodel, it was now okay to eat doughnuts.* Thanks for letting me know - I will now allow myself several of those yummy custardy ones with a side order of deep-fried mars bars without feeling guilty. Goodness knows why I still read women's magazines - perhaps I just enjoy defacing them with my red pen. But what really annoys me is when this statement comes from men themselves. Nice, thoughtful men who think they're being really helpful.

"Men like women with curves, so why should you diet to achieve a size zero? Hey, don't worry, eat that chip butty if you want it, because I don't mind if you have a lardy arse. Men like something to grab hold of."

This isn't exactly breaking news, much as it is treated as such every time some dodgy survey corroborates it. We all know that most men have a preference for women with rather more flesh on them than the average Hollywood actress. If women were motivated by wanting to please men, nobody below a size 12 would ever think about dieting. But they do. And it pains me to hear well-meaning men try to solve the problem by telling their female friends that hey, a few extra pounds don't matter to the average bloke.

By suggesting that women should have curves, you are not making an enlightened pro-feminist statement - you are simply perpetuating the idea that women have an ideal to which to conform in order to please men, whatever the nature of that ideal may be. Women's bodies do not exist for male gratification. Women do not shun cake in favour of low-fat low-carb no-taste diet food in order to impress men with their jutting collarbones. The female obsession with weight loss will not be solved by men giving us permission to eat. It's such an arrogant attitude and it really, really annoys me.

An unnaturally (for most women) slim figure is associated with wealth, status, social mobility, stylishness, femininity... There are even crazier factors than that at play - like the fact that skinniness is a trump card for female competitiveness, and that moaning about the size of one's hips facilitates female bonding:

- My hips are so huge!
- Noooo, they're tiny! Mine are enormous!
- Noooo, you're so skinny! I have a jelly belly!
- No you don't! You're tiny! Look at my muffin top!
- Pssshh - if you've got a muffin top I've got an entire wedding cake!

This is repeated ad nauseam, with the slimmer party becoming gradually more and more smug, and the porkier party becoming more and more distressed. But crucially, it gives them something to talk about. There are of course two clear-cut rules: 1 - One must not admit to being happy with any part of one's anatomy; and 2 - One must violently disagree with anything the other party says. Then there's the fact that, since breasts are supposed to be at least medium-sized, any woman who does have a skinny physique can moan about her lack of boobage. See - nobody's left out. It's rather clever really. Of course, there's always the chance that the slimmer woman will attack her peer by saying, "But you've got such a lovely figure! So curvy!" which is as backhanded as compliments get.

Believe me, the body image issue is a frickin' minefield. And if you go in armed only with, "But men like women with curves," don't expect to get out of there alive.

*By the way, this was BLATANTLY an advertorial for Krispy Kremes

More people we don't like

2007-09-02T11:53:00.000-07:00

Spanx. This mob make "shaping", "slimming" and "smoothing" underwear - horribly uncomfortable-looking 21st century nylon corset contraptions that make Bridget Jones' infamous big pants look positively skimpy. I'm not going to complain about that in itself. It is of course an inevitable symptom of women feeling that they must conform to the magic 0.8 waist:hip ratio. A few thoughts though: Where does the fat go? Does it just bulge over the top or what? Surely that's less attractive than a slightly lardy arse?
And what if you pull? Of course, Bridget herself dealt admirably with that problem.

Anyway, what I AM going to complain about is that, according to their size chart, these "slimming" products are recommended to women with a body mass index of just 16.8. As you are probably aware, 18.5 is the lowest BMI considered even vaguely healthy. What's also worth bearing in mind is that a BMI below 17.5 is a diagnostic criterion for anorexia.

Prostitution on YouTube

2007-08-26T10:11:00.000-07:00

A Bournemouth prostitute discusses her trade. Notice how the camera pans over her body as she speaks.

A few of the comments:

u.g.l.y... it has fake tits, a bung head & crooked toes.

It...?

Don't know why this is a problem for some people: this woman is perfectly honest about what she does, how she does it and what she enjoys - a very healthy attitude I think.

all crackers should be hanged

Quite a few viewers seemed offended by the fact that she has blonde hair and blue eyes. I don't really understand this. Perhaps you have to be American to get it.

That interview would have been better had the camera stayed focused on her tits. lol

man english girls are so fucking ugly ew they are gross

Thanks!

this is a whore who should be gutted and hung...

Do we owe ALL women respect,regardless of their work? This woman has a history.

A history. This woman has had a lot of anonymous sex and so we don't owe her any respect.

Yvonne, an Oklahoma City prostitute discusses living with HIV. This is pretty unpleasant and harrowing. You have been warned!

Most of the comments for this one are, thank goodness, of a sympathetic nature. But not all of them.

There is NO excuse for prostitution. Especially not to start at age 12. If she really wanted to change, she could. I went through drug addiction and homlessnness myself... no excuse...

thats pretty fucked up atleast she owned up to it and didnt say it was her parents fault

She was TWELVE. It bloody is her parents' fault. And the guy who thinks that she was too young to start at that age makes it sound like she'd just started smoking or something.

Men think (and some women) that prostitution is a victimless crime. Take one look at this woman...tell me she is not a victim?! This woman has been used and abused and treated like a sex object since age 12. Prostitution hurts everyone. It's sick.

Why should anyone care? I mean, look at her. Shes butt ugly...

I've no idea if this is actually a serious comment, but either way, it's a demonstration of the phenomenon of women being valued solely for their looks.

And for all the people complaining that she ought simply to sort herself out:

Dude its not like she has ne other job skills , last time i checked... burger king dont give hand jobs

So basically, when a prostitute is portrayed as happy and healthy, she's a fugly bitch slag ho cracker who you'd probably fuck anyway. Only when she is portrayed as a downtrodden victim is she deserving of sympathy. And even then, quite a lot of that sympathy will be of a patronising and/or religious nature.

The classic misogynistic attitude towards prostitutes is just revolting: men should have the right to pay for sex, but the women who are willing to provide this service are sub human. Although this has been commented on at great length, something I've always wondered about but not heard discussed is the willingness of these men to sleep with women for whom they have such contempt. If you sleep with someone who you don't respect, you obviously have little respect for yourself. Don't these men ever think about that? It's such a complex issue I don't even know where to start.

For anyone who thinks that prostitutes, porn stars, lapdancers and strippers are empowered, consider this: would any empowered woman, in the knowledge of how female sex workers are treated, do any of these jobs? It's not empowerment. It's abuse, misogyny and objectifcation. Sure, in the few minutes before her "client" blows his load he might be putty in her hands, but for the rest of the time, she'll be regarded as a cheap whore. Are those few minutes really all she is worth as a human being? Is that empowerment?

Football crazy

2007-08-23T09:16:00.000-07:00

My journey home from work yesterday wasn't altogether pleasant. There were so many police officers at Baker Street station that I wondered if there'd been a bomb scare. It turns out that this extraordinary police presence was due to the impending football match at Wembley, and the entire North London tube network was chock-a-block with football fans.

I think it's great that we have such a strong following of our national sport. It's not so great that our national sport is exclusively male. This is reflected in the demographic of the fans themselves - there were very few female fans on the tube yesterday. This wouldn't be quite so bad were the male fans not so bloody obnoxious.

It seems that football is a medium for male bonding. Groups of male football fans basically revel in the most stereotypically masculine behaviour possible, in a manner that deliberately excludes women. For starters, they chug cans of lager, which is seen as a traditionally masculine drink. Then there's the singing. Singing obviously is an important part of football culture but something that's always struck me is the particular style of singing that male football fans adopt. It's not so much singing as neanderthal hollering. A female voice is just not physically capable of making that kind of noise. The singing is for men only. They sit in packs, old t-shirts straining over their beer bellies, leaning back with their legs apart displaying the traditional body language of male dominance.

I wish I could say they were just noisy and intimidating, but they can be hugely offensive too. In my carriage yesterday a group of five of them were racially abusing everyone in the carriage asking them, "Did your grandparents fight in the war?" and telling them to "fuck off home". They sexually and racially harrassed a Black woman of about my age who was the only person sitting in the same section of the carriage as them at the time, and she didn't move. If it had been me, I'd have got up and changed carriages. But she just sat there and glared contemptuously at them. Good for her.

Basically, when packs of men indulge in this sort of aggressive male bonding, they turn into utter gobshites. I'm not saying women are any better though. I once had the extreme misfortune to be stuck on a 3 hour flight from Barcelona next to a hen party. We first came across these ungodly creatures in the duty free shop - they were buying huge bottles of vodka and yelling at the checkout staff. The bride to be was one of the most hideous creatures I have ever seen. She basically looked as if she didn't eat, but smoked and drank instead. She was skeletally thin with peroxide hair, grey bags under her eyes and yellow teeth. She was sporting a large badge featuring a cock and balls which jutted out grotesquely from her chest, and which she periodically sucked suggestively, amidst much mirth from her companions, who were all wearing personalised vest tops with such hilariously alliterative names as "Cock-Sucking Carly". A man on the plane was obviously rather taken with them as he proceeded to flirt with all of them in the most disgusting manner imaginable, suggesting that he would quite like to do various things to them, the mental images of which are burned into my retinas to this very day. The bride to be had an absolutely repulsive laugh, which she let rip at full volume each time he propositioned her. During this interchange we also discovered that she had shagged several men, presumably none of whom were her fiance, whilst on the trip. The whole thing was just unbelievable - not in the most depraved underbelly of my imagination could I have envisaged the carnage. That'll teach me to fly Ryanair.

We seem to have this idea that in order to "bond" with same-sex friends, we must do gender-specific things and act in a gender-specific manner in order to assert our masculinity or femininity and exclude the opposite sex. But male and female stereotypes are both just so utterly revolting - on the one hand you've got lager, loutishness and misogyny; on the other you've got lambrini, hysterical shrieking and that nasty little gesture women do with their little fingers when they get together in packs to talk about their sex lives. Eurgh.

Did "Girl Power" change your life?

2007-08-23T05:43:00.000-07:00

It's been ten years since the Spice Girls first burst onto the scene and the Metro has celebrated this by commissioning an article all about the profound effect they had on womankind.

Hmmmmm.

The lovely people at Dollymix have responded with a few opinions of their own.

I was thirteen when the Spice Girls first appeared, so pretty much the perfect target age. I thought it was great that finally there was a proper girl band. They were fun and girly, their music was shit but I liked them anyway. It was a source of real girl bonding, dressing up as them and doing cheesy dance routines in one another's bedrooms.

Whilst the Spice Girls made my adolescence a bit more fun until I grew out of them, I can't say they influenced me in any way other than to inspire me to lean out of a classroom window, leer at some builders outside and shriek, "COME AND 'AVE A GO IF YOU THINK YOU'RE 'ARD ENOUGH!" Yes, I really did this. It was in the autumn of Year 9 and I thought I was so cool. Therein lies one of the problems: Girl Power didn't tackle the harrassment of women by refusing to stand for it. It tackled it by harrassing men. Their ridiculously skimpy outfits, probably chosen by their management, encouraged objectification (not to mention hypothermia). Their loutish behaviour, idiotic comments and ghastly music did nothing to encourage girls to become more confident, just more cocky - which is how I ended up harrassing those builders. And their vocal admiration of Margaret Thatcher solely on the basis of her being female was a little grating.

I wouldn't have said that Scary, Sporty, Posh, Baby and Ginger ever had much of an effect on my way of thinking. They haven't inspired me to have greater self-esteem and they definitely haven't influenced my wardrobe.

Barbie through the ages

2007-08-21T05:58:00.000-07:00

First ever Barbie commercial - 1959
Bleargh!

Barbie Meets Ken - 1961
Barbie manages two years without a boyfriend. Ken seems to have changed quite a lot in appearance since 1961 - he looks positively ancient in comparison to the blond Prince Charming figure that I grew up with.

Color N Curl Barbie 1965

Superstar Barbie 1976
Whatever that girl's on, I want some.

Super Hair Barbie - 1980s
"Glamorous" jumpsuit? I beg to differ!

Great Shape Barbie - 1983
This is absolutely revolting. Really, really worrying. Is it any wonder that the girls who were in the target age group in 1983 are now paying extortionate gym memberships and devouring creepy women's magazines instead of carbs? You're looking good, Barbie!

Olympic Skater Barbie
The first advert I've come across on YouTube for a Barbie who does anything not directly related to improving her appearance.

Dance Club Barbie

Glitte Hair Barbie - 1994

Teacher Barbie - 1995
A Barbie that does something non-gender specific. Hooray!

Splash & Color Barbie - 1996

Olympic Gymnast Barbie - 1996
1996 was the year that the US gymnastics team won the Atlanta Olympics. Here, Barbie embodies the American Dream...

Barbie Hair Highlights - 2006

Top Model Barbie - 2007

And finally, the whole Barbie theme is subverted in this 90s advertisement for Cool Shaving Ken. Look how ridiculous it seems when the Ken doll is subjected to his own beauty regime...

Something that really strikes me is that in advertisements featuring children playing with the dolls, the children themselves seem to have got older and older. In 1965, they look about six - around the same age as the target audience. In that 2007 commercial they look about fourteen. I wonder what's happening here - if Mattel are trying to expand the age range of their customer base, or if they're going for an even more aspirational theme.

I was never allowed to have Barbies as a child, but boy did I want them. It wasn't just about peer pressure - I wanted a Sega Megadrive and a BMX bike because of peer pressure, but neither of them had quite the same delinquent appeal. I think a lot of the time, particularly with the children of parents who disapprove of this sort of thing, part of the appeal of Barbie is that girls know that there's something a bit naughty about liking something that's just about being pretty. Mattel know damn well that what little girls want is not Nuclear Physicist Barbie, or UN Diplomat Barbie, or Human Rights Lawyer Barbie. What they want is Pop Idol Barbie, Glamour Model Barbie and Botox Barbie. Barbie has always been presented as a vacuous model with an IQ inferior to her waist measurement because that's what consumers want from her.

I think if I have daughters I'll be inclined to let them have Barbie dolls if they want them. I see no real harm in them in the context of a relatively gender-neutral upbringing and besides, banning things just draws attention to them. I think once a child wants a toy, any damage associated with it has already been done. Banning after school television makes much more sense than banning the toys advertised on it.

Seeing that Great Shape Barbie commercial really brings home for me how far we've come in the last twenty years. I really don't think that a commercial such as this would be tolerated now. I'd like to live in a world in which six-year-old girls aren't encouraged to be obsessed with dresses and make up, but I'm glad that I no longer live in a world in which six-year-old girls are encouraged to be obsessed with the circumference of their thighs.

Relax girls, JLo has cellulite

2007-08-18T01:38:00.000-07:00

When I was on the tube on Thursday morning, I saw something that almost made me scream out loud.

To be fair, the London Underground is enough to make anybody scream at the best of times, but the source of my distress was The Metro, a free tabloid newspaper owned by the Daily Mail Media Group, which is distributed every weekday on the Underground.

Apparently, women can now breathe a sigh of relief because JLo has cellulite.

The version of this piece that appeared on page 7 of the paper was even worse. A close-up of JLo's arse, sporting hardly any cellulite whatsoever, appeared above the following:

It is seen as a perfect example of its kind and is one of the most talked-about body parts in the world. However, the bottom belonging to Jennifer Lopez finally seems to have a chink in it. Pictured on a beach in Puerto Rico, the posterior of the 38-year-old star appeared to show signs of the dreaded cellulite. At last, women the world over can breathe a sigh of relief.

This is so hideous on so many levels I'm not even sure where to begin. For starters, I think she looks fantastic. Check out those "controversial" snaps here. If I were 18, let alone 38, I'd be happy to have a backside like that.

The dreaded cellulite implies that developing "orange peel" is the worst thing that can happen to a woman, the affliction that we most dread, the terrible disfigurement that will make us wish we were dead. I don't dread cellulite. I'll tell you what I dread: cancer, infertility, going blind or deaf, losing a loved one, losing my job, failing to make something of my life, never geting laid or turning into my mother. And anyone who knows my mother will tell you that that's a fate much worse than cottage cheese thighs.

The bit that really made me seethe though was that last comment - women can now breathe a sigh of relief. According to the Metro, women spend their lives in a state of perpetual anxiety because celebrities' arses are less dimpled than theirs. Only when they come to the rescue by printing a photo of a less-than-peachy celebrity rump can women cast off their sarongs and allow themselves to relax.

I'm not even going to start on the fact that it's publications like this that first elevated Jennifer's behind to the pedestal it now seems to have fallen from.

Fuck off, Metro. I'll exhale whenever I want.

The Daily Mail can't spell "misogynist"

2007-08-16T14:57:00.000-07:00

It's not that surprising really, but still highly entertaining. Witness three different spellings of the same word, only one of them correct.

Perhaps I should send them here.
(NSFW, extremely sweary and hugely offensive to disabled people...but very funny)

Who wants a Sugar Daddy?

2007-08-16T04:48:00.000-07:00

When I was a child, I wanted to be a trophy wife when I grew up. There were two reasons for this. Firstly, shutting up and looking pretty seemed much more challenging than becoming a lawyer or a doctor, and secondly, I knew it would make my mother go absolutely ape shit.

You'll be pleased to know that my career choice has become slightly more enlightened since then. I have a challenging job and love earning my own money. I consider myself extremely fortunate to have been born into an era when, in theory, a woman is party to the same opportunities as a man and able to earn the same as him too. It surprises me however that for many of my female peers, earning one's own money holds little appeal. There is a general trend amongst many young women I know of not taking responsibility for one's own finances - waiting for Prince Charming to come along rather than going out and getting that highly-paid job; valuing men according to the contents of their wallets; dismissing dates who didn't insist on paying for dinner. It seems that for today's twentysomethings, the ideal situation for a woman to be in is to be dependent on a rich man to keep her in Jimmy Choo stilettos.

Thanks to the feminist movement, women now have the option of being independent, but many are choosing not to take it. Modern gold-digging is not a new concept, but this doesn't mean that I didn't feel that classic grim mixture mixture of horror and fascination upon encountering sugardaddie.com.

For those that live a better than average lifestyle, and those they want to share it with

Start Interacting With The Most Desirable, Attractive and Wealthy People In Online Dating!

Millionaires, CEO's, Doctors, Lawyers, Benefactors, Models, Beauty Queens, Centerfold Models, Glamour Models, Fitness Models

I'm quite tempted simply to write an angry rant about why this site exists, but it would be wrong of me to do so without gaining first hand experience. I'm going to have to sign up for it. I'm not sure what I'm expecting really. Having sunk to the depths of internet dating before, I've discovered that broadly speaking, each message one receives through one of these sites is likely to fall within one of several categories:

The Guilt Trip
I'm an ugly bastard. If you don't message me back, that means you're shallow. In fact, you should go out with me because if you don't, that means you're a bitch who judges by appearances. So go on. Prove that you're not like other girls. Make an ugly bloke's day. If you message me back, I'll love you forever. If you don't, I'll rape your auntie.

The Cyber
ur well fit u wana chat?

The Sensitive Type
I'm a sensitive guy, not like the others. I cry when I watch Forrest Gump. I cry when I watch Tom and Jerry. In fact, I cry pretty much constantly since I'm such a sensitive type. In my spare time I enjoy saving abandoned orphans and writing poetry.

The Gold-Digger-Digger
I'm very rich and you're obviously a special lady. So special in fact that this message is just for you. Of course I haven't cut and pasted it and sent it to every 18-24 year old in London. No. You're special. I've got a Porsche.

It doesn't take a genius to work out that sugardaddie.com is likely to be largely populated by Gold-Digger-Diggers. I have to admit, I find rich blokes who think they own the world and have the right to do whatever (and indeed whoever) the hell they want every bit as objectionable as attractive women who think that it's okay to stomp on you in stilettos during the Harvey Nicks sale just because they look like a model and you don't. Before I have even picked a username, my imagination is running wild constructing scenarios in which lamborghiniboy69 offers to buy me a £3000 Balenciaga bag in return for sex, I ask him why he doesn't just hire a high-class hooker, he snorts, "High class? Don't flatter yourself, love!" and I knock him unconscious in a spectacular Bruce Lee-style fight sequence in the middle of Selfridges' bag department, taking out a few vapid, chihuahua-toting Z-list celebrities along the way.

Coming out of my reverie, I observe that I'm being asked to define myself as a Sugar Daddy or a Sugar Babe. Men and women don't exist here! The profile process begins with tickboxes to indicate my age, ethnicity, smoking habits and suchlike. I'm immediately faced with a considerable dilemma in that I have to describe my "body type" as slim, average, athletic, curvy or overweight. Crumbs! Since I have a tiny waist and not insubstantial breasts and bottom, "curvy" would seem to be the most apt description, but we all know that in these sorts of contexts "curvy" is a polite euphemism for "fat", and since I'm a size eight on a fat day this doesn't seem appropriate. I'm also very sporty, so "athletic" would also seem an obvious choice, but this conjures up images of beefy East-European weightlifters and besides, I seriously doubt that many Sugar Daddies will be including "athletic" in their search fields. I'm down to "slim" or "average". Most people would regard me as slim, but I've got a feeling that standards are probably higher in the Sugar Daddy world and so I tick the "average" box.

On the next page, I'm presented with an empty box in which to type my "personal description". Hang on - I thought this site was all about being a vacuous lingerie model, and now I have to have a personality too? As it so happens, I do have a personality, and were I filling out a profile on a normal dating website I'd give it free rein. Unfortunately, I don't think that my ballsy persona and interests in classical music, martial arts and feminism will impress the Sugar Daddies. I suspect that the ideal Sugar Babe personality is probably dull and submissive but I just can't work out how to encapsulate the sheer level of vapidness I'm trying to achieve here in mere words. I give up and describe myself as "witty, caring and successful".

On to the really scary part: the photograph. This is of course of vital importance, and in fact, probably the only section of my profile that will actually get looked at. If I want lots of attention, I could upload a photograph of me looking ravishing in a ballgown or virtually naked in a bikini, but I've decided that I want to see how the Sugar Daddies react to the normal, everyday me. In the end, I pick a photograph that my then-boyfriend took of me at my graduation ceremony. I look pretty, but in a brainy, girl-next-door kind of way, and of course I'm not revealing any flesh. I don't expect a lot of attention.

Within four hours of completing my profile, I have messages from various Sugar Daddies, including a fifty-seven-year-old divorcee whose subject line is "Your Stunning". Eurgh. I decide immediately that due to this unprecedented wave of adoration, with which I couldn't possibly keep up were I not to employ some sort of filter system, anybody who can't spell or punctuate will immediately be ignored...but not before I have a good look at their profile and laugh at what a prat they are. "Seeking a nice lady for some nice company mutualy beneficial fun time." Oh dear.

Suggardom is "a wealthy individual who would like to meet pretty girl who already has a submissive streak." Perhaps I should have mentioned my martial arts training in my profile after all.

I also have a message from someone who calls himself Ferrariguy. Ferrariguy's photo is of his Ferrari, with him posing alongside it. I wonder if it's really his car, or if he's just had his photo taken with someone else's Ferrari on the street. Perhaps he should take another photo of himself sitting inside the Ferrari, just to quell suspicion.

Of course I'm curious to find out what sort of women are on this site too. Most of them look like models, with intimidatingly professional-looking photographs. VickyB is sporting pink fluffy underwear and stratospheric heels. Her profile reads, "IM A BLONDE, BUBBLY GIRL WHO EVIDENTLY HAS A BRIAN." There's not one girl who isn't stunningly beautiful, at least by conventional standards. I wonder why on earth anyone has messaged me after looking at my geeky graduation photo.

I'm beginning to feel like a piece of meat. Specifically, I'm beginning to feel like a tough, gristly bit of mutton amongst a plethora of organic rump steaks. I can't compete with these alpha females because despite the fact that I have so many other attractive qualities, only my superficial physical appearance matters.

All I said in my profile was that I was a witty, caring and successful person working in central London and that I wasn't sure if I really wanted a relationship, all of which is true of course, but that is all I felt I could say about myself on a site that values women only for their appearance and their ability to shut up and let the man take charge. Male profiles are equally brief, presumably because all they are valued for is their platinum credit cards.

Sugardaddie.com strips the dating and mating game down to its fundamentals. Women are valued largely for their physical attractiveness, whereas men are valued largely for their wealth. It may seem like a crass premise for a dating service, but this is what happens in the real world every day. In a way, this website is admirable in its blatancy. It doesn't pretend to be anything it's not. When a Sugar Daddy and a Sugar Babe go out on a date, their roles are clearly defined. The Sugar Daddy is to pay for everything, and the Sugar Babe is to do exactly as he says.

But why does this annoy me so much? What's wrong with it? Surely it's just a business deal, the woman offering her presence on the man's arm in public and her various orifices in the bedroom in return for the man buying her another pair of Manolos? Perhaps it's just because I'm bitter. I'm really not Sugar Babe material. For starters I'm not good looking enough, but more importantly, it's just not in my nature simply to sit around and look pretty. It's not in my nature to fake five orgasms (one for every gear change) as Ferrariguy rides me like his beloved car. In thirty years' time, the Sugar Babes will all be hitched to extremely rich men, carrying extremely expensive handbags and sporting enough botox in their foreheads to poison the entire populus of a small country. I'll probably be a mad old spinster wearing purple.

Success is defined in our culture by wealth, and for a woman the easiest way to become rich is to associate with rich men. For a man, one of the trappings of wealth is the fabulously beautiful model hanging off his arm, like the male version of a designer handbag. Women don't necessarily attach themselves to rich men in order to subjugate themselves, but rather because it's easier to charm their way into a man's wallet than to start their own business, and because the acquisition of wealth by means other than simply marrying into it requires intelligence, drive and aggressiveness - not traditionally "feminine" traits.

I resent the fact that I'm expected to conform to this ideal in relationships, to relinquish power to the alpha male by letting him pay for everything, to be reduced to a mere accessory. I'm supposed to enjoy submitting to a man's massive bank balance. I'm supposed to be grateful to him for absolving me of financial responsibility. Unfortuantely, the idea of being taken out for dinner knowing that I'm expected to "put out" in return does not fill me with joy. In an age where a woman has the same legal right to work and to own property, I would rather pay my own way. A man is so much more than his bank balance. A woman is so much more than her pretty face. Whatever happened to actual relationships between two people who genuinely liked each other, or at the very least enjoyed having sex? The world's oldest profession is very much alive both on the internet and in real life.

I don't dislike rich men; I dislike rich men who think they can buy me. I don't dislike attractive women, but I have a major problem with attractive women who think that their appearance is a meal ticket for life, not realising that they're sacrificing their freedom - or even worse, not caring that they're sacrificing their freedom. Perhaps the Sugar Daddies and the Sugar Babes deserve each other.