Browsing Category | feminism

Body Proof Positive

This weekend I did two things that I haven’t done since I was a child.

1 - went to a fancy dress party without alcohol

2 - went out in public wearing a leotard

I love fancy dress parties. I LOVE them. I love to dress up, do different makeup, hair, be someone else for a few hours. Halloween is hands down my favourite celebration day of the year and has been since my first attempts to trick or treat aged 8 dressed as a bat in a costume made out of my gym kit, a couple of bin bags and a cat mask. Back then Halloween wasn’t really A Thing in England so most of the neighbours were rather bemused, but I insisted on having a Halloween party every year nonetheless.

In the past I’ve dressed up as, amongst other things, a Weeping Angel, Stormer from Jem and the Holograms, Dazzler, The Cheshire Cat, A Thesaurus, I will dress like a pirate at the drop of a fucking tricorn hat. I have an entire suitcase so big that I can actually get into it and zip it shut with me still inside full to bursting with fancy dress costumes, accessories, wigs and make up. You get the picture. I like to play dress up. I usually pick a character where I can make the costume as flattering to my figure as possible, because for as long as I’ve been self aware, I’ve had issues with my body. Costumes would be carefully constructed so no one would see my round belly, my wobbly arms, my thunderous thighs, and my monstrously disproportionate hips. All of these parts of me must be hidden at all costs, lest people shrink from me in horror and faint at the sight of my vast wobblyness. Where I couldn’t make the costume flattering enough, I just made sure I was so drunk I didn’t care what the hell I looked like. Of course, that often had the knock on effect that I couldn’t really remember the party.

The thing is, my body parts, while perhaps a bit wobbly, they are *not* disgusting or monstrous. Really, at a UK size 12-16 (depending on area you’re measuring) they aren’t even that big. They are the component parts of my body which comprise *me*. Why do I pick apart myself in this cruel way, in a manner I would never consider doing to anyone else? I look at everyone else around me and see their beauty - see their composite whole, their person, and their completeness. I don’t look at my friends and separate out their body parts into “perfect” and “wrong”. This is of course a rhetorical question - the answer lies all around us in the every day messages telling women that the most important thing about us is our appearance. Everything else is secondary.

I learned the hard way that, seriously, that’s complete bullshit. And even knowing that it is bullshit, it’s really REALLY hard to get out of your own head when all you can see is that your body is a collection of parts which are ‘Too XXX’. Too small. Too big. Too thin. Too wobbly. Too uneven. Too frizzy.

Too COMPARED TO WHAT? Too compared to a teeny tiny totally unrepresentative sample of women in the media who are held up as having the ‘right’ shape. And what is the ‘right’ shape? Because this shit isn’t inbuilt you know. We don’t have a hardwired image in all of our brains of the ‘perfect shape’. The ‘right’ shape is entirely socially constructed and perceptions of ‘beauty’ differ massively across cultures.

One project trying to undo some of this ‘too’ damage is Jes M Baker and Liora K‘s awe inspiring ‘Expose‘. I first saw this a couple of weeks ago and have revisited the site many times to gaze at the wonderful bodies. The experience of seeing bodies that *look like yours* presented in such a sensitive and beautiful way is potentially transformative. I’ve since been thinking a great deal about my body and how I can accept it and bring it back into being part of ‘me’ again instead of a lump of muscle and skin and fat that I walk around within, which is somehow a separate entity with which I am in constant battle.

So. When I was invited to a party with the theme of “Rubbish Wrestling Gimmicks” and my friend suggested “crazy cat ladies” and I googled “80s female wrestlers” and realised that they basically wore leotards and tights instead of going OH GOD NO I CAN’T BECAUSE MY BODY IS TOO XXX AND THE DRINKS AND EVERYTHING IS TOO XXX, I decided to go and buy a damn leotard and some leopard print leggings and wear those mofos with a pair of damn cat ears and I WILL FEEL GOOD ABOUT IT because this is MY DAMN BODY and as much as we may fall out over things like headaches and muscle pains and joint issues it is MINE and it is the only one I will ever have and LET’S JUST DO THIS THING. (I suspect I might have said some of this out loud in the shop’s changing room judging by the odd look I got from the lady working there when I left the cubicle.)

I went to the party, in my leotard and leopard print leggings and ears, me and my big thighs and my round tummy and my curvy old hips. I stuck to the soda water (ok, I fess up, I also had a can of Monster Rehab. Don’t judge me - I have to have *something*. And it has TEA in it.) and I had a brilliant time. I felt like Bettie Page. Somehow something ticked over in my brain to turn what I’d aways seen as chub and flub to soft and delicious curves. I felt sexy and beautiful and surprisingly at ease. I won’t say I felt entirely comfortable *all*night, but considering that I put on a swimming costume for the first time a month ago, I’d say feeling attractive in a leotard while totally sober is a massive step.

It helps that I’ve kept up the swimming twice weekly, that I’ve kept up the cycling to work even though the weather is getting crapper, and that I’ve kept up (mostly) with the massive sugar cull. All of that has combined to helping me to feel that much happier with what I see in the mirror and feeling more comfortable in my own skin. So it wasn’t all down to the Expose project - but it was a final step for me in realising that my body isn’t abnormal. If you think about it, all bodies are ‘abnormal’. Because what *is* normal when we’re all so different? I won’t ever be a size 10 - I am just not built that way. And thanks to the last few weeks I now know that I am comfortable with that. I don’t need to bully myself and berate myself for not fitting into an unrealistic mold. I just need to carry on learning to love my body, and remember that it’s not just my body - it’s me.

As Liora K puts so beautifully:

…their bodies deserved to be seen, that what they perceive as faults are simply THEM, and are neither right nor wrong. That showing their bodies won’t innately cause them harm. That their breasts won’t cause damage to those around them, or their bellies or thighs either. That their nudity, while making them vulnerable, does not make them at fault. And that lastly, their bodies are their vehicles through life, and to treat them with kindness.

I kind of want to get “your body is your vehicle through life, treat it with kindness” tattooed somewhere on me, as a constant reminder to keep hold of my new-found body positivity, because feeling good about myself as I am feels a million times better than feeling bad because of something I’m not.

2 Comments feminism, The List, Uncategorized

The Shouter - a poem

“Nice bum” he shouts. He can’t be older than 10.

I cycle on, to ignore as usual, but then

I stop. I turn. “What did you shout at me for?”

No reply, shifting eyes, shifting feet, mumbling, looking at the floor

a group shrug. The answer comes “dunno”

Another replies, bolder than the shouter “you know

girls like it when you shout at them innit.”

“I’m a girl, and I don’t like it.”

Surprise on their faces, disbelief,

I turn to go, to their visible relief

but the exchange follows me home in my head;

the sense of shame, concern, dread.

Who taught them that a women grown

knows less of her own

mind than they? I pay my rent, have a degree,

a group of kids barely three

feet high telling me “but you like it really”

after I’ve said that I don’t very clearly.

What are we teaching the boys of our world?

That it’s ok to shout at women and girls

because “they like it” even if they say they don’t

they say no but they mean yes even if they won’t

say it aloud.

Are we proud

of this nation of youths with a twisted and bent

understanding of the meaning of ‘consent’?

I want to ask these future men -

who shout at women and then

say it’s ok we want it that way -

Who taught them this was the way things are?

who told them that women are things?

Who told him that girls say no and mean yes

that girls are different, that a short dress

says more about her than the words

that she says?

In what ways

are our kids are learning ‘facts of life’

in which women are sister, mother, wife

before they are people deserving respect

for who they are? Shouldn’t we expect

and want better?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Comment feminism

all by my selfie

Actual result of a google search 10/8/2014

I have been taking ‘selfies’ since before there was a word for it. Well, there was a word for it. Well, two. It was called a ‘self-portrait’.

 

I think my first very own camera was a 9th birthday present. It was clunky, and simple, and it took square photos. Back then ‘digital’ described watches, and the only way to know what you were photographing was to peer through a tiny viewfinder. You had to take the pictures in to a shop to have them developed, and both film and developing was expensive, so I was usually careful about what photos I took. But in every roll of film developed you could guarantee that there would be at least one of my own face - either reflected in a mirror or carefully angled to try to catch my own face. A selfie. Decades before the ‘selfie’ became the ‘new trend’ that is destroying the very fabric of our society, I was taking them.

Even if you don’t buy into the idea that a self portrait is in any way the same thing as a selfie, you can’t really argue that a ‘selfie’ - as in a photograph you took of yourself - is new. People have been taking ‘selfies’ since at least the mid 19th century. Buzz Aldrin took one whilst in space in 1966.

People take selfies for all sorts of reasons. Like Buzz Aldrin, to demonstrate they were in a particular place at a particular time when something particularly awesome was happening. Maybe because they look ridiculous after a caught-in-the-rain incident. Maybe they just want a picture of their face on that day because they feel good about themselves. Sometimes you want a picture of all of your friends, and you want all of you to be in it, and there’s no one around to take the picture. Wanting to record a moment in time is no more narcissistic now than it ever was - it’s just much more accessible, and easier to share. There’s no expensive film to carefully conserve, no processing fees. The only thing that’s ‘new’ is the ease with which we can record and share these moments. To blame all of cultural ills on the recording and sharing those moments is ludicrous to say the least.

But that’s what the media would have us believe. Selfies are causing black cat homelessness. They are ruining your mental health - or are a sign of poor mental health. They are destroying your relationships. OH DEAR GOD they are TEARING APART OUR ENTIRE SOCIETY. PLEASE won’t someone think of the children??

That last link, with the disingenuous headline “Selfies ‘can fuel’ body image worries says Childline” caught my eye particularly. If you read the article, it’s very clear that the headline doesn’t remotely reflect what Childline say. What Childline say is that there is a clear and concerning rise in young children with serious body image concerns, and that this increases in warmer weather. It doesn’t specifically mention selfies at all other than sending lots of selfies in an attempt to seek validation could be seen as a symptom of low self-esteem. This is a COMPLETELY different thing to ‘fuelling’ low self-esteem.

A quick google reveals hundreds of articles across all sorts of media linking self-esteem and selfies and accusing this ‘new craze’ of having a direct relationship with poor self-image.

At the age of 9 I was into My Little Pony, Sylvainian Families and Jem and the Holograms. Makeup was something grown ups put on and sex was something animals did on nature programs and was to giggle at. I had no notion of being ‘too fat’, or unattractive, or needing particular clothes or shoes. I didn’t worry about crawling through brambles and getting twigs in my hair or mud on my shorts. Of course, back then we didn’t have the internet. And there weren’t magazines aimed at my age group full of pop heart throbs or sexy celebrities. We had Smash Hits but that was hardly a magazine aimed at the ‘pre-tween’ market (now, tween. THERE’s a word for something that didn’t exist when I was 9). I don’t recall starting to feel seriously bad about myself, my shape, my face or my weight until my teens when I started reading magazines such as Just Seventeen and More.

At the age of 29 (years before ‘selfie’ became a real word and at a time when people with LiveJournals were going ‘so what’s this ‘Facebook’ malarkey all about then?) I was working with young girls aged 7-10 as part of Girl Guiding UK. It was eye-opening how different it is to be 9 now than it was being 9 twenty years previously. One girl regularly cried and didn’t want to take part in fancy dress activities because she was ‘too fat’. Another confided to me that she was bullied because she ‘wasn’t pretty enough’. One spent an entire day on our first day at Brownie camp sulking with her hood up because we didn’t allow makeup or hair straighteners and saying she “couldn’t be seen without her makeup”. She was 8 years old. Another, a petite 9-year-old with dreams of stardom, regularly picked at her food and ate virtually nothing because “she needed to stay small to succeed in the business”. A girl guiding report carried out last year supported what I myself witnessed in my years as a Brownie leader. This report concluded that the girls were being influenced - not by selfies - but by media and advertising.

Any woman reading this will hardly be surprised to hear that girls are being affected adversely by media and advertising. To be a female human in our culture you cannot escape the messages that tell us daily that we’re too fat, too thin, our boobs are too small, our hair too short and not shiny enough, some of our hair grows naturally where hair shouldn’t be and so on. But even if you aren’t surprised, you can’t help but be shocked to hear an 8 year old asking “does this make me look fat?”

Is it any wonder that the media will seize any opportunity to deflect the blame for the increasing crisis of self-confidence that is affecting young girls and boys? The media has a vested interest in keeping our attention as far away as possible from the true cause - a powerful and relentless series of messages designed to keep us consuming. We must keep buying these products as otherwise we’ll be fat/ugly/hairy/smelly and no one will love us. And while you’re buying those, look at these celebrities in these unattractive (unphotoshopped) poses? Doesn’t it make you feel so much better that these celebrities look fat and unattractive just like you? But look at this beautiful (photoshopped) celebrity! You should totally buy the same products because then you won’t be fat/ugly/hairy/smelly any more.

Maybe we accept this status quo - these relentless messages - as something that is just there. Part of our society. As adults, we know these images are photoshopped and we know that the media rhetoric is harmful - even if we’ve internalised it and struggle with our own self-esteem we still KNOW that those photos aren’t real. Children don’t have that understanding. They tend to believe what reality they are sold. They don’t know the difference between a photoshopped picture and a real one. We do. And even knowing that the fantasies we are sold by the media aren’t true, we still beat ourselves up about not being thin/pretty/hairless/scented enough. And if even we can’t escape that, knowing that it’s not true, then how will the children?

Not only are selfies not remotely ‘new’, they are not to blame for the increasingly poor self-esteem of children. What they are is a useful scapegoat for a media complicit in the manipulation of our self-image and our self-esteem.

I for one love a good selfie. I take one when I have a good hair day. Or when I’ve done my makeup particularly well. I take them when I feel good about myself, and end up with a record of a time I felt good about myself. This doesn’t damage my self-esteem; it’s quite the opposite. What can damage my self-esteem somewhat is articles telling me that my liking for having a nice picture of myself looking nice is narcissistic and vain. Because GOD FORBID I think anything good about myself.

People that feel good about themselves aren’t going to buy products to make themselves feel better, are they?

3 Comments feminism, my opinions let me show you them

Dinosaurs for Feminism

This week my attention was drawn to a Facebook group that made me so angry I had to listen to loud music and punch a cushion to prevent all of the crockery in the flat being smashed to bits and my fist going through my laptop screen.

The Facebook group in question was Woman Against Feminism. Yes, women who are against feminism. They have all sorts of reasons for being against feminism. Continue Reading

3 Comments feminism, my opinions let me show you them

Women do not necessarily want your attention (2007)

A day late and a bit of a change this week as I am on holiday (sort of). Mother RDP is visiting from the other side of the world for the first time in 6 years and requires entertaining (which is actually fairly easy. 1 - provide Playstation game. 2 - add red wine. But she prefers cooperative games and saying “sorry, I can’t play Lego Pirates of the Caribbean any more, I have to write my blog” isn’t worth the death stare). So for this week I am providing a post from my old blog - one from 2007 before I’d self identified as a feminist.

This was the first time I really wrote about street harassment, the first time I really let rip with my opinions online and it was both freeing and terrifying. The post generated many comments - positive, negative, educational, insightful and creepy, and it was my first experience of the “not all men” derailing rollercoaster.

I look back now and it’s not perfect, it’s not quite how I’d put things now, but it’s my first real piece of “internet writing” and I present it for you here, unedited, as one from the vaults:

 

 

Dear To Men,
I know this is a subject which has been brought to your attention numerous times, by women you know, strangers in the street, documentaries, newspapers and various other forms. But you are clearly not getting it.Women, believe it or not, do not necessarily want your attention.I know this may come as a shock to you. It certainly seemed to come as a shock to the four men who - separately - approached me last night, after half 10pm, while I was unlocking my bike outside Sainsbury’s. They all seemed very surprised indeed that a young, lone, small blonde woman would be undesirous of the attentions of a lone man at night. One was so surprised, in fact, that I rebuffed his attentions, that he seemed to arrive at the conclusion that I was a ‘fucking slut’. I am rather bemused at this deduction, as I would have thought that that type of woman would, in fact, have welcomed such advances.Women also do not like being yelled at from men in cars, vans, lorries and building sites. I know this may come as a terrible shock, as I am sure from the frequency with which it occurs, men must find this a particularly successful way of getting a date. I should note that yelling at a woman who is turning right at a busy road, merely to tell her that you can see her bum, and that you approve, is not a good way to ingratiate yourself with said girl. You are far more likely to find that when you a stopped at the next junction, your tail light will be kicked in. Or it would have been, had I caught up with you.

I am aware that in the animal world, male birds strut and whistle particular tunes to attract a mate. I am sorry to inform you that this method does not work for humans. In fact, the next man that tries to attract me by adopting a pigeon chested stature, whistling at me, and calling out the mating chant of the Greater Spotted Twat, “alrite darlin” will find that his reproductive equipment experience rearranging when they meet my shoe, at speed.

If you see a woman you find attractive on the street, or in public, here is a handy guide to prevent you being murdered by a woman who is finally at the end of her temper with idiots who fail to recognise that women are people, and not things to be pulled, raped, mugged, or just shouted at in a moment of boredom.

• Don’t be an unmitigating bastard. If you are one of these, then stick to pulling desperate drunk women in bars.

• Make sure you are good looking, or at least dressed well, clean, and that you smell ok. If you are unwashed, unsanitary, sweaty, or have a third ear in the middle of your forehead, may I recommend a bath, deodorant and possibly even surgery. If you have any female friends, ask them for their advice on your appearance. Do not get cross if you do not agree with their recommendations. The best way to attract a woman, is to listen to what women think of you. If you think you know better, then you have an answer, right there, as to why you are still alone.

• Do not approach any lone women you do not already know late at night. Some men do not seem to realise, but women have an inbuilt fear of men at night, which prompts us to automatically reject a suitor who approaches in this way. WE WILL ASSUME YOU WANT TO RAPE US. Even if this is not your intention, let me assure you, WE WILL ASSUME YOU WANT TO RAPE US. Whether this is experience, genetic hard-wiring, social conditioning, or something else, I do not know - although I personally believe it’s part of that entirely necessary fight or flight instinct. Part of our brain says DANGER. RUN/FIGHT NOW. Let me assure you, that in 99% of circumstances, lone women at night who are approached by men WILL ASSUME YOU WANT TO RAPE THEM. That other 1% may assume the same thing, but they usually get payment in advance.

• If you do make the error of approaching a lone woman late at night, and you receive an angry, fearful or violent response from the woman, and you are unsure why, please refer to the point above. Women, when they are scared, often respond with anger, and thus may shout at you. If this does occur, the best course of action is to back away, apologise, and leave her alone. If you follow her, or try to continue the conversation, SHE WILL ASSUME YOU WANT TO RAPE HER. If she does get angry and shout at you, I would suggest that, owing to the point above, that this is a PERFECTLY VALID AND SANE RESPONSE.

• Many men seem to be surprised by the reaction of women such as I have described above. I have witnessed men being upset and hurt, even shocked by having their advances rebuffed. As men really do not seem to understand why a woman might reject their advances, I shall try to explain it very, very slowly.

WE. ASSUME. YOU. WANT. TO. RAPE. US.

• Just in case you are still confused, I shall clarify further.

WE DO NOT WANT TO HAVE SEX WITH YOU. IF YOU TRY TO HAVE SEX WITH US WHEN WE DO NOT WANT YOU TO THIS IS RAPE. WHEN YOU APPROACH US LATE AT NIGHT WE ASSUME YOU WANT TO HAVE SEX WITH US. THEREFORE: WHEN YOU APPROACH US LATE AT NIGHT, WE ASSUME YOU WANT TO RAPE US.

• IF you do see a woman in public you think is beautiful, and you would like to take her for a drink (and not just have sex with her) then she may actually quite like it if you ask her. However, this is dependant on your surroundings.

Appropriate places:
Anywhere with lots of people, e.g. the underground, supermarkets, libraries, coffee shops.
Places where people go to socialise, e.g. pubs, clubs

Inappropriate places:
Dark alleyways
Deserted streets
Public toilets
Night buses
Anywhere she is on her own and no one else is around
When she is unlocking her bike from an area notorious for bike theft, theft and violent crime when everything around you is closed

Good ways to start the conversation:
‘I’m sorry, I hope you don’t think this is weird, well, i mean it is, but you’re really pretty, I don’t suppose you’d let me buy you a coffee?’
‘I know this is a bit weird, and I’m a total stranger, and please tell me to fuck off if you want to, but you just looked too beautiful to let you walk past me and out of my life without me stopping to ask you your name’

Something like that. ALWAYS acknowledge your actions in approaching a stranger are weird. ALWAYS give her the option of backing off.

Bad ways to start the conversation:
‘Alrit darlin’
‘great tits luv’
‘fancy one do ya?’
‘OI OI!!!! OI!!! OI YOU!!!!’

NEVER EVER EVER get pissed off if she says ‘no’.

• Sometimes, there are some very obvious signs a woman is busy, and attempting conversation may be an error. For example:

- She is reading a book
- She is listening to music
- She is on the phone

Women often do these things because they enjoy them. Some men seem to believe that women only do these things to fill up the time in between when men are talking to them. This is an erroneous assumption ,and foolish in the extreme.

If a woman is reading, and you talk to her, and she continues to hold the book/magazine/newspaper in the same position and continues to read, then she is NOT INTERESTED IN TALKING TO YOU.

• I am repeating this because it is probably the most important piece of information you will ever know about women. You must always bear this in mind when approaching any woman. We live in fear of being raped. We just do. We may not think about it all the time, but it’s there, at the back of our mind when we walk home. When we walk to the bus stop at night. When we wait to meet someone. When we’re surrounded by men we don’t know. When we are walking on unfamiliar streets. When a man we don’t know approaches us. When we feel lonely, vulnerable, far from home. This is why we do not like it when men yell at us. When they whistle. When they jeer and hoot and shout lewd things from cars. When a man on the street asks us for a cigarette. It is a constant, and occasionally all consuming fear that we will always have. And it is why we reject advances with such volume and stress. Because we are AFRAID because you are BIGGER than us, and STRONGER than us and WE DO NOT WANT TO HAVE SEX WITH YOU.

• If you do not understand any of the above, there is no hope for you.

Yours sincerely,
Me.

P.s. the next man that approaches me late at night while I’m on my own is going to find out exactly what it feels like to have an Abus maximum security D-lock repeatedly slammed into their head. Purely in the name of science, of course.

EDIT: I’m adding this in, to the guys reading this who are saying ‘hey, we’re not all like this…’

Men don’t get it, because they’re either too nice to understand why other men would behave like that, or they’re the fucktards doing it in the first place.

EDIT: A small number of women have said they don’t fear rape per se, more attack. I’m not going to change it, because I think it’s the fundamental difference between women and men walking home at night - men might fear attack/theft/mugging, but there’s something much more basic, more primal, more personal about the fear of rape than the fear of attack. And these men that say ‘allo darling’ - well - these are SEXUAL ADVANCES. And we don’t respond badly to them because we think these men are going to take our phone or our wallet. I’m not telling you ‘YOU FEAR RAPE’. I’m explaining WHY women react badly in those situations. I would go as far to say that some of you have misunderstood my point, zoned in on one part, thought ‘she says i fear rape! no i don’t!!’ and not taken into account the *context*.

If you do still take issue with the use of the word ‘rape’ - please feel free to re-read substituting the word ‘rape’ for ‘hurt’.

EDIT: ‘To Men’ - it will stand. I know there are exemptions, but it’s making people read it, and if it wasn’t controversial, who’d bother? I do accept some of you have valid reasons for taking issue with ‘To Men’, and I agree with those points, but again, it will stand, mainly because I think it’s funnier. I will also direct you to this excellent comment which is written better than I managed:

This is a really common and regular occurrence for pretty much every woman I know. As in, every week, if not every time I walk home alone in the dark. And the people who do it vary hugely; old, young, middle-aged; white, black, asian; British, foreign; tall, short, medium height; fat, thin, medium build.
The one defining characteristic they all, without exception, share, is that they are all men. When it happens on an almost daily basis, to half the people you know, and it’s always men, identifying the problem as being with (some) men is not bigotry, it’s just a fact of life.”

4 Comments feminism, From The Vaults

Objects on a t-shirt may be more offensive than they appear

Last week I mentioned, in passing, how angry I was about some t-shirts I saw in the window of a local branch of a cheap menswear chain. I’ve been angry about it all week - ever since I saw them in the window of the shop. They were all world cup themed, having several for different football teams all with one thing in common. Nearly naked women. Some sitting astride footballs. Some with footballs covering their breasts. Some with nation flags as little thongs.

It should tell you something when I have to warn you that those links may be NSFW. Yes, images which are potentially not safe for work - because they are sexual in nature and could get you fired (for A - having sexually inappropriate pictures on your work computer and B - sexual harassment) are not only available for sale but are proudly displayed in the windows of stores and are also available in children’s sizes.

I did a double take when I first saw them. I couldn’t quite believe that here we are, 2014, and somehow it is perfectly OK to sell t-shirts with practically naked sexually objectified women on them? Not just men’s t-shirts, but children’s t-shirts?? And sure, there may be a woman wearing one on the splash page of the shop in question’s website, but just because a woman is wearing it doesn’t render the shirt not sexually objectifying due to some some weird gender waveform cancelling effect.

I became more shocked and disheartened when I started to discuss these shirts with others to find that some didn’t think there was anything wrong with having practically naked women on a t-shirt. Woah now people. WOAH NOW.

There’s nothing wrong with having a nearly naked woman on a t-shirt.

How did we get here? At what point did we become a society that is so immune to sexually explicit imagery, so saturated with images of the sexualised female form, that we (men and women alike) are able to look at those t-shirts and say “where’s the harm?”

I was born at the end of the 70s - when feminism had been a truly powerful force in the previous decade and wrought powerful changes. I grew up in the 80s, where women started to reap the benefits of that success and as the 90s dawned feminism almost started to seem obsolete. I came of age in the 90s, where women sang in rock bands and wore big shit kicking boots and Kathleen Hanna sang “Rebel Girl” and we started to feel powerful and strong - there was still a fight to have but we were going to bring it…

Then what happened in the 00s I cannot say. Was a big red “reset” button pushed somewhere on the control desk of “women’s liberation”? It’s like the progress stalled, rolled to a slow stop and then started sliding backwards to the point where sexual objectification is so every day, so normal, so accepted that we see nothing wrong with selling naked objectified women on the front of a t-shirt to a child.

As Laci Green in her excellent video says:

This is some bullshit. Everyone should be PISSED that this is so normal.

Before we go further, please go back a little and watch Laci Green’s video. The whole thing. Right to the end.

Done?

She says everything in that video I could possibly say about these t-shirts. They exemplify a society which sees women as decoration. As things to be looked at, admired for certain ‘qualities’. And we are bombarded with these ideas on a daily basis. What does this do to us? And I don’t mean “us” as in women, I am talking about all of us - men and women alike - growing up and developing in a world which tells us men are people and women are bodies - a collection of parts. And not only are women a collection of parts, but in order to be acceptable as a women, those parts must be the right size, the right shape, smooth and hairless and flaw free. Even the well meaning “real women have curves” is horribly misguided. I have thin friends. They are still definitely ‘real’. I have trans friends who are also very much ‘real’.

I have struggled with my own body image my whole life. I was a short chubby child with early developing boobs, and have remained a chubby voluptuous short adult. I long to put on some clothes, any clothes, and just go out and not give a shit. It is definitely easier the older I get, but I still care desperately. I care what people think of me. When my eye allergy flares up I “can’t go out” because “I can’t go out without makeup”. I have meltdowns when I am feeling “fat”. I can’t go outside wearing shorts without leggings because I am acutely aware of my big thighs and my stretch marks and my cellulite. Mr RDP was driven to distraction on a holiday we took to a very hot climate; he couldn’t understand why I wouldn’t walk around in just a bikini top, or without leggings.

He hasn’t been subjected in the same way I have from a young age of being constantly told, subliminally and overtly, in a million tiny insidious ways and a hundred massive blatant ways, that the most important thing about me is my body, my clothes, the way I look and my hair. What I say, what I want to be or become, what I think? All of that is secondary, tertiary, inconsequential even to the way I look.

And the kicker? I KNOW that this is social conditioning. And yet I still feel like this, nearly every minute of every day of my life. The conditioning is so strong, the message so powerful, that even though I KNOW it is wrong, even though I KNOW I am labouring under a false consciousness bourne of a myriad of harmful external messages, I still cannot escape it.

These t-shirts are a kick in the face to every person who believes that men and women are equal beings deserving of equal respect. Anyone that wears one needs to take a long hard look at themselves. And possibly a kick up the arse. And to be forcibly made to watch Laci Green’s video.

This headline in the Daily Mail sums everything up for me.

George Clooney’s fiancee Amal Alamuddin looks stylish in striking red dress and heels at sexual violence summit

Someone at the Mail clearly realised at some point that this was perhaps not a wise headline - maybe after the above link had been retweeted 1.5K times - and it has since been changed but the new headline is barely an improvement. Amal Alamuddin is an intelligent human rights lawyer, very respected in her field with one hell of a CV - but the most important thing about her, according to the media, is that she’s pretty, wears nice clothes and is going to marry George Clooney. What sort of message does this send to young women? Is it any wonder, given these sorts of messages, that being a “reality TV star” or “marrying a footballer” are seen as viable career choices for young girls?

It’s the same message as those T-shirts - that women are objects, parts, bodies wearing clothes. That women are for looking at, first and foremost. Everything else is background data.

This is some bullshit. Everyone should be pissed that this is so normal.

 

 

 

Comment feminism, my opinions let me show you them

Fired up

So I went along to the “Firing Up Squad” session ran by my MP Stella Creasy that I mentioned last week, partly because I think our MP is awesome and partly so I might have something to write about. I wasn’t sure what to expect, and was quite nervous about having to speak to Unknown People.

 

I walked in to see a screen with I (HEART) FEMINISM. Good start. I do indeed (HEART) feminism, as you probably already know if you’ve been reading for a while, although lately I have been finding it increasingly more difficult to find the confidence to write about it.

Last week I wrote that I was struggling to find things to write about. I now have to admit that this isn’t strictly true. I have so many things to write about. For example:

  • About how angry I am at some of the vile sexist t-shirts on sale for the world cup that objectify women and magnify a ‘lad’ culture.
  • About how mind-boggling I find the continued misogyny denial is from all quarters in the wake of the Isla Vista tragedy.
  • About the incredible impact of the #YesAllWomen hashtag, and how the discussion is pushing feminist discussion into the forefront in an unprecidented way.
  • About how the strange twisted logic of the “MRA” movement can be seen as a closed ideology echo chamber, much like certain other hate groups, and why we seem to find it so hard to accept sexist groups as hate groups.
  • About how the longer I don’t drink the more I realise that alcohol has far too much od a grip on our society
  • About Rupual’s Drag Race and the light it throws on the concept of the ‘male gaze’…

All of these things were going around in my mind over the last few weeks but I felt unable to write about them and for one reason. I read too many comments “BTL” (below the line) on other wonderful articles about similar subjects by other writers - both male and female - and was so disheartened by those comments that it made me fear putting my voice out there. People can be really cruel, and dismissive, and downright scary in their BTL comments but that wasn’t just what put me off - it was also the sheer volume of comments from people who simply cannot grasp the issues at hand. Who use straw man arguments, whataboutery, demands for ‘evidence’ and their own personal anecdotes to disprove the writer at all costs, without really ever being able - or even willing - to consider the points made by the writer. I started to feel tired and overwhelmed at the task of writing about these things when writers more successful and more eloquent than me have failed. I’d even started to doubt myself in the face of the relentless bashing of feminist ideas on the internet.

In the first few minutes of her introduction Stella Creasy blew away my unspoken fears and doubts. “Let’s get one thing straight” she said. “You are discriminated against.” CVs are more likely to be considered highly if they have a male name on. Orchestras are increasingly holding blind auditions to eliminate gender bias. Women bosses are judged more harshly and are paid less than their male equivalents. You want evidence? There’s plenty. Stella also discussed how women are not brought up to be ambitious, or celebrate our successes, or put ourselves first when it comes to making big changes in our lives. Her point was proved when she introduced one woman as a “hero” and the woman shook her head and rejected the accolade. And yet, when she delivered a short but passionate talk about her experience of FGM and her ambition to raise awareness of it within the the UK, it was clear she *was* a hero, she just wasn’t able to comfortably hear that.

So far, so inspiring. And to have been inspired to get writing about things I feel strongly about is a pretty big boost. But that’s not all I got out of the evening.

There were a number of exercises designed to get us thinking about our dreams, our achievements and our plans in a real and confident way. I really struggled at first. It was clear that many of the other women at the event were high achieving, driven, ambitious and skilled. I almost felt like an imposter. I felt that I had no real achievements to speak of, and no real ambitions. I was actually pretty content with my life. I have a job I like which pays enough, somewhere to live and some hobbies that I enjoy. It started to occur to me as the evening went on that being “content” with things wasn’t quite true. It dawned on me as the other women spoke, and as we went through the exercises, that the reason I’ve no big ambitions or plans, or that I am not driving myself on, is because I am *scared*. I am scared of failure, and I am scared of being ill again. I have struggled a great deal with my mental health in the past and realised that I am living with being ‘ok’ because being ‘ok’ is safe. In an exercise about our recent achievements I discussed how I’d had my appraisal at work and got “exceeds” in all areas, and how I’d discussed with my manager how to get more experience in my role so I could perhaps in a year or so apply for a job like one I’d found on the internet I liked the look of, but didn’t think I was quite ready for. I saw this as an ambition to aim for.

My half-hearted ambition that I wrote for the excercise was the inexcusably vague “be more brave about making little changes that could make a big difference”.

It was when one woman said that she felt that it was easier for men to be ambitious because they were less afraid of rejection that I had a revelation. For one, I disagree. I don’t think all men fear rejection less. I agree that society is geared towards instilling a confidence in boys in this regard that it doesn’t in girls; but it doesn’t follow that it is ‘natural’ that men will fear rejection less. I definitely handle rejection better than Mr RDP, I thought. Mr RDP recently got a new job. It’s a great job, a step up from where he is, and he deserves is. But he nearly didn’t go for the interview, as he didn’t think he was ready. He didn’t think he was experienced enough. I told him he should go for it - it didn’t matter if he didn’t get it because it was great experience. That if he didn’t get it he could ask for feedback and work out what he needed to work on to get a similar job next time. It was clearly brilliant advice, I’d been proud of giving it and secretly took a little credit for him getting the job on the basis of my awesome advice.

As I was thinking this through, organising my thoughts to make my point about this out loud, it hit me. Why on earth was I giving such excellent advice, but not following it? Why I am rejecting a job opportunity because I am not ready when if it was anyone else I would be encouraging them to go for it anyway, because the experience is always valuable even if it’s ultimately a ‘no’. Why would I bully Mr RDP (because that’s pretty much what I did) into applying for a job when I am not prepared to take the same steps for myself?

My partner in the earlier exercise about challenging our ambitions and making them clearer and more focussed obviously saw that something was going on in my head. It must have shown on my face as she leant over with a knowing smile. “Are you ready to talk about it?” She whispered. I grabbed a pen and wrote on the blank piece of paper in capital letters:

TO DO LIST

  • Get back into children’s theatre volunteer work
  • Do my BSL exam and apply for the level 2 course
  • Keep writing about feminism - don’t give in!
  • Get singing again

I stared at the page in shock. I’d been so proud this year of giving up alcohol and sugar and starting a BSL course it hadn’t even occurred to me that there were all these things I wanted to do. But there they were, on the page - things I wanted to get involved in but was too sacred of shaking up the status quo. “You’ve missed one.” said my exercise partner with a meaningful look. I added to the bottom of the list:

  • APPLY FOR THE DAMN JOB

And I have to, because we have to catch up with our partner in a month and tell them how we’re getting on with our plan.

Going into the event I’d had little idea of what to expect. It was astounding to leave having felt like I’d had the biggest, kindest, most loving and supportive kick up the bum you could ever imagine.

And my old List is getting a little longer.

 

 

2 Comments feminism, Me Me Me, my opinions let me show you them, The List

Allysaurus

If you’ve been following this blog for a little while you may already have picked up that I am both a cyclist and a feminist. Looking back, I became a cyclist about a year before I became a feminist. My very first really angry street harassment rant that precipitated my discovery that I was a feminist was back in 2007 on my LiveJournal, and was prompted by being street harassed 5 times in one day while out on my bike.

I discussed in my previous post how I ended up posting less and less about street harassment and feminism, despite it being a subject about which I was very passionate, simply because I couldn’t deal very well with the sheer numbers of comments along the lines of

“Not ALL men are like this…”

“I’ve never seen anyone do that…”

“I got groped in a club once so women do it too…”

“It was probably a compliment…”

“Maybe you shouldn’t wear low cut tops…”

“My girlfriend says this happens to her a lot but it never happens when she’s out with me…”

Trust me. I have heard ALL of these before. REPEATEDLY. None of them are good arguments. All of them are deeply frustrating; particularly as they are usually said by guys who I generally think of as pretty nice blokes. Good sorts, who are on ‘my side’ when it comes to thinking women are just as good at life as men and therefore deserve a fair shot at it. But what comments like these do is, at best, derail the point I’m trying to make by niggling over semantics or, at worst, completely deny my lived experience. I struggled to argue and debate the points raised and after a while grew so very tired of having the same discussion over and over AND OVER again. When you are shaking with anger because for the 5th time in a week a random man has said “smile darling” you are really not in the mood for calmly educating someone for the 30th time why this isn’t ok. So over time I just stopped posting.

This week I posted link to an interesting article about cyclists cycling in the middle of the road. It prompted a number of comments from acquaintances who drive using my post as a platform to inform me that they hated cyclists because they go through red lights, and ride on the pavements, and hold them up. Several quoted various clauses from the highway code to counter the idea that cyclists might possibly have an equal right to be on the road as them (this argument boiled down to ‘we’re faster so you have to let us pass’). I dealt with this very badly. I got upset, frustrated and had to back right out of the thread before I told them exactly where they could shove their dipsticks.

Being an overthinking sort of person, I had a long ponder (after I’d had a cup of tea and some chocolate and a bit of a stamp around the house saying AND ANOTHER THING but to the cat rather than the people on the internet and therefore calmed down a bit) about why it was I had reacted with such frustration, anger and irritation. I realised that the overall tone had made me feel exactly the same way I felt when I posted about street harassment. The comments were the same ones I always hear when I post about a near miss on my bike, or when I witness some truly dreadful dangerous driving; cyclists somehow ‘deserve it’ because of the behaviour of ‘those other cyclists”.

“I’ve never run a red light…”

“I always give cyclists room…”

“I saw a cyclist yesterday going through a red light…”

“You were probably in his way…”

“Maybe you should wear a helmet…”

I’d heard them all before, and debated them all before, and countered them all before, and PEOPLE WERE STILL GOING ON ABOUT IT. So I got cross and disengaged.

What interested me, once I’d calmed down and re-read the comments, is that these commenters had inadvertently pushed the anger and frustration back onto the cyclist, in the same way that the negative comments on an article about street harassment can push back against women’s experiences. The writer feels unheard and frustrated, the commenters feel misunderstood and attacked.

When I am cut up on my bike by a dangerous driver, I don’t assume that all drivers are dangerous. But perhaps when I discuss this I I make drivers feel as though I am attacking them. They react with their frustrations about ‘bloody cyclists’ and that they are not one of ‘those drivers’ and so I then feel like they are attacking me - after all I am a cyclist - so I take great pains to point out I am not one of ‘those cyclists’ and thus we end up back in our infinite loop of mutual frustration.

The common enemy here, for us ‘not those cyclists’ and those ‘not those drivers’ is of course ‘those ones’. The bad road users that made the rest of us look bad. I shouldn’t pick fights or have long debates over semantics with a driver who uses the road well and is respectful to cyclists and that driver shouldn’t squabble with me; we actually all agree that bad road users suck. The same rings true for those men making defensive comments on articles about feminism. The ‘enemy’ here is not the woman raising the problems she faces on a daily basis. The ‘enemy’ are ‘those men’ which are giving the majority of men (who would never even consider going ‘smile darling’ or ‘show us your tits’ to a woman on street) a bad name.

Looking back to my last post about cycling I’d made the point (in my typically rather longwinded way) that just SOME road users being shit is not an argument against improving the infrastructure for ALL road users. We ALL agree that shitty behaviour is shit behaviour. So perhaps instead of having these repetitive and cyclical arguments amongst ourselves we need to recognise the real enemy and join forces against that; be it a poor road infrastructure and road use culture that encourages bad driving and dangerous cycling or be it a patriarchal society that tells men they must be tough and never cry and tells women that ‘oi nice tits’ is a compliment.

If you are a member of (x majority group) and you find yourself angered by something someone from (x marginalised group) raises, before you respond ask yourself this: Are you really angry/hurt by the words or actions of (x marginalised person) or are you angered by the actions of the (x majority person) that has reflected badly on yourself? If the answer is the latter, consider being an ally, rather than an adversary.

It’s very easy to debate and belittle the experiences of a minority or marginalised group; and it’s easy to shut down that debate by saying “well I am (x marginalised group) and you are (x majority group) so you wouldn’t understand”. It’s much harder to step outside of those well travelled debates and realise the common interest to become allies, but perhaps it’s the best way to effect real change in an unequal society.

1 Comment Cycling, feminism, my opinions let me show you them