I know it very occasionally happens, usually when the wife is more famous than the husband, but when did you last hear a man referred to as 'Mr Wife's Name'? eg. Tony Blair as 'Mr Cherie Booth QC' or Paul McCartney as 'Mr Nancy Shevell' or Adrian Edmondson as 'Mr Jennifer Saunders'?
Pretty much never.
So why do the Daily Mail find it necessary, in their coverage of Angelina Jolie receiving a honorary Damehood from HM The Queen for her work on rape in war zones, to inform us that she's also known as 'Mrs Brad Pitt'?
When I was at junior school in the 1970s, we were taught how to properly address a letter. We were told that officially, if writing to a married woman you would properly address her as 'Mrs Brad Pitt'. However, in these enlightened times you would address her as Mrs Angelina Pitt - once you had ascertained that she had not in fact retained her maiden name, which some very liberated ladies chose to do in those days of Jaime Summers the Bionic Woman, the Wimbledon Ladies Champion being an actual real-life lesbian and Germaine Greer talking about orgasms in public.
I don't recall Angelina Jolie having made it known since her marriage to Mr Pitt that she wanted to be known by his name from now on, what with her being a very traditional kinda girl with Victorian values and all that. I can't imagine that she is happy to be defined by who she chose to marry - not this time or the two previous times. I'm fairly sure I've never heard her referred to as 'Mrs Jonny Lee Miller' or 'Mrs Billy Bob Thornton'.
She is who she is. She is very much her own person. She is not defined by who her husband is, regardless of how famous, successful, talented or gorgeous he is.
So why, Daily Mail, in the 21st Century, are you demeaning this strong, independent, caring, intelligent woman who is being rewarded not for being an actress but for her work in the world's war zones with the most vulnerable of people? Can't you just admire her for the brilliant work she's doing?
They also made a little joke about the Queen of Britain meeting the Queen of Hollywood. Oh please!
But if you must insist on this Neanderthal form of address, dear Daily Mail, at least be consistent and use the headline 'Mrs Brad Pitt meets Mrs Duke of Edinburgh'. Let's see what HM thinks of that one.
Friday, 10 October 2014
Tuesday, 7 October 2014
Feminist Misogynist -v- Cllr Karen Danczuk's Boobs
Women should be treated as equal to men.
We are making progress in this fight, particularly in the emancipated West, but in order for our cause to have credibility we have to stop relying on our 'feminine wiles' to get ahead.
Karen Danczuk, Councillor for Rochdale in Lancashire and wife of the town's MP, Simon Danczuk, is a wife, mother, businesswoman and a town councillor. She clearly works very hard and it makes you wonder how she fits everything into her busy life - lovely family, husband away in Westminster a lot etc. And now she is a bit of a media darling.
You'd think that in the 21st century, appearing to 'have it all' would be enough to get the nation's attention. Career? tick. Family? tick. MP for a spouse? tick. Attractive? tick. Intelligent? tick. Tits out for the lads? tick..............
Oh, hang on a minute.
The one and only reason that Mrs Danczuk has come to the attention of the winder world is her penchant for posting selfies showing off her not-inconsiderable cleavage.
How to get ahead in politics. Harman's done the hypocritical bitch thing. Widdecombe did the Christian virgin thing. Currie shagged a Prime Minister. Mensch did the 'being controversial on Twitter' thing. Beckett did the 'looking like a horse' thing and good old Shirley Williams cornered the market in bag lady chic.
All there really was left for Mrs Danczuk was to get her tits out Linda Lusardi style and hope the good gentlemen of Rochdale muttered a quick "Phwoar!" Syd James style as they put an X (triple X, eh lads?) next to her name on the ballot paper.
Blair Babes aint got nothin' on this chick.
Well, Karen, you've got our attention now. If you want to be taken seriously from now on may I suggest that you keep your chest to yourself (and Mr Danczuk) and rely on the contents of your cranium rather than your bra to advance your political career. We need young, committed women in politics, particularly those who've got some experience of the 'real world' rather than career politicians with no concept of life on the outside. Please be one of them - but for the right reasons.
A quick edit to this post. As well as Janet Street-Porter and Jamelia on Loose Women (see link above), Karren Brady also agrees with me on this. "Women in business don't need to wear short skirts" says Baroness Brady. Too right.
We are making progress in this fight, particularly in the emancipated West, but in order for our cause to have credibility we have to stop relying on our 'feminine wiles' to get ahead.
Karen Danczuk, Councillor for Rochdale in Lancashire and wife of the town's MP, Simon Danczuk, is a wife, mother, businesswoman and a town councillor. She clearly works very hard and it makes you wonder how she fits everything into her busy life - lovely family, husband away in Westminster a lot etc. And now she is a bit of a media darling.
You'd think that in the 21st century, appearing to 'have it all' would be enough to get the nation's attention. Career? tick. Family? tick. MP for a spouse? tick. Attractive? tick. Intelligent? tick. Tits out for the lads? tick..............
Oh, hang on a minute.
The one and only reason that Mrs Danczuk has come to the attention of the winder world is her penchant for posting selfies showing off her not-inconsiderable cleavage.
How to get ahead in politics. Harman's done the hypocritical bitch thing. Widdecombe did the Christian virgin thing. Currie shagged a Prime Minister. Mensch did the 'being controversial on Twitter' thing. Beckett did the 'looking like a horse' thing and good old Shirley Williams cornered the market in bag lady chic.
All there really was left for Mrs Danczuk was to get her tits out Linda Lusardi style and hope the good gentlemen of Rochdale muttered a quick "Phwoar!" Syd James style as they put an X (triple X, eh lads?) next to her name on the ballot paper.
Blair Babes aint got nothin' on this chick.
Well, Karen, you've got our attention now. If you want to be taken seriously from now on may I suggest that you keep your chest to yourself (and Mr Danczuk) and rely on the contents of your cranium rather than your bra to advance your political career. We need young, committed women in politics, particularly those who've got some experience of the 'real world' rather than career politicians with no concept of life on the outside. Please be one of them - but for the right reasons.
A quick edit to this post. As well as Janet Street-Porter and Jamelia on Loose Women (see link above), Karren Brady also agrees with me on this. "Women in business don't need to wear short skirts" says Baroness Brady. Too right.
Tuesday, 23 September 2014
Feminist Misogynist ...... agrees with Harriet Harman!
I know, I know. Nothing for months and then two posts in as many days. You really shouldn't be surprised, it's Labour Party Conference week!
And if you thoughts two posts in two days was a shock, brace yourselves.....
I agree with Harriet Harman.
There. I said it. You can quote me. But only on this specific issue - the issue of a Mansion Tax.
I honestly can't see any problem with slapping a tax on houses with a value of £2million or more. Yes, most of the people with those houses have worked flaming hard to be able to afford them. Yes, they already contribute through hefty taxation on their income. Yes, we want to encourage people to strive for success, to create jobs, to give others someone to aspire to emulate.
But if you can afford to spend £2million on a house, then you're wealthy enough to give just a little bit more.
If it means that people who are mortgaged up to the hilt on their £2million mansion (more front than Blackpool as my mother would say) feel pushed to downsize to something less ostentatious - I can live with that. They should live within their means.
If it means that some of the poorer members of the aristocracy find that this is the final straw that forces them to sell their inherited pile that they haven't really been able to afford to keep up with for decades - I can live with that as well. It's a shame, but time marches on.
If it means that some of the empty properties that have been bought but never occupied by the super wealthy get sold - I can live with that very happily. It won't though. Ms Harman has said that it will target such property speculators, but she's wrong (see, I knew it wouldn't last).
So, yes. I am in favour of the Mansion Tax. It's just a shame that if they are elected next May and bring it in, Labour will squander every penny it raises on another Orwellian vanity project.
Apologies for the interruption caused by recessive socialism. Normal service is resumed.
And if you thoughts two posts in two days was a shock, brace yourselves.....
I agree with Harriet Harman.
There. I said it. You can quote me. But only on this specific issue - the issue of a Mansion Tax.
I honestly can't see any problem with slapping a tax on houses with a value of £2million or more. Yes, most of the people with those houses have worked flaming hard to be able to afford them. Yes, they already contribute through hefty taxation on their income. Yes, we want to encourage people to strive for success, to create jobs, to give others someone to aspire to emulate.
But if you can afford to spend £2million on a house, then you're wealthy enough to give just a little bit more.
If it means that people who are mortgaged up to the hilt on their £2million mansion (more front than Blackpool as my mother would say) feel pushed to downsize to something less ostentatious - I can live with that. They should live within their means.
If it means that some of the poorer members of the aristocracy find that this is the final straw that forces them to sell their inherited pile that they haven't really been able to afford to keep up with for decades - I can live with that as well. It's a shame, but time marches on.
If it means that some of the empty properties that have been bought but never occupied by the super wealthy get sold - I can live with that very happily. It won't though. Ms Harman has said that it will target such property speculators, but she's wrong (see, I knew it wouldn't last).
So, yes. I am in favour of the Mansion Tax. It's just a shame that if they are elected next May and bring it in, Labour will squander every penny it raises on another Orwellian vanity project.
Apologies for the interruption caused by recessive socialism. Normal service is resumed.
Monday, 22 September 2014
Feminist Misogynist -v- Orwellian Equality
This week, on the same day that the Scots decided - marginally - that they'd rather play it safe and remain part of the 'United' Kingdom, another important vote was taking place North of the Border.
The members of the Royal and Ancient Golf Club of St. Andrews were voting on whether to admit women as members.
Unsurprisingly, they bowed to public pressure and voted Yes, and with a far greater majority than the Better Together campaign enjoyed in the Independence Referendum.
A quick Google tells me that out of around 3,000 Golf Clubs in Britain today, less than 30 retain an all-male membership (as does Augusta National in the USA incidentally). Female-only Golf Clubs do also exist, such as Lundin Ladies Golf Club in Scotland, however it seems that men are allowed to join both Formby and Sunningdale Ladies Golf Clubs these days. Clearly the Sisterhood is far more open-minded and egalitarian having admitted men to its clubs for some time. Or were they lead to this generous opening to the stubblier sex by financial necessity? Perish the thought.
Anyway, returning to the 30-ish men only clubs. Is this really such a terrible thing? Is it really so awful that blokes prefer to go & play a round of Golf with their friends and retire to the club-house afterward, safe in the knowledge that their wife won't be there waiting anxiously to whisk them away for an afternoon at the garden centre? Why can't men have an oasis where they are safe from the distractions of the opposite sex?
There are plenty of health spas & beauticians parlours which are female-only zones. And it's not like there aren't almost 3000 other golf clubs around the country that the ladies can play at. Just leave the men alone, let them have their boys own time, let them bore each other with tales of how they got out of the bunker or what their latest power-tool acquisition is.
But no, the Royal & Ancient is one of the BEST golf clubs in the country and therefore the ladies want to play the course. Well, fine, just don't complain if next time you go for your Ayurvedic facial at the spa, your relaxation is spoiled by the screams of a bloke next door having his back, sack & crack waxed!
This kind of follows on from All Female Short-lists for parliamentary candidates. This is one of the things that - pardon the expression - boils my piss more than anything else (except Gloria Del Piero who we'll come to in a moment). It harks back to my previous blog entry - Feminist Misogynist -v- Positive Discrimination - and so I won't repeat it too much here. But why should be have a woman foisted on us as a parliamentary candidate when there might be a bloke far better suited to the job? Whatever next? Asian Only short-lists? LBGT Only short-lists? People-with-missing-limbs Only short-lists? I jest, but would it honestly surprise you?
And so the lovely Ms Del Piero. The Shadow Minister for Women and Equalities has said in a speech at the Labour Conference that Public Sector staff should be asked what their parents do for a living. If Labour win the next general election, starting with the public sector, the first step to increase social mobility would be to force employers to keep records on the social backgrounds of their staff to prove they were not all from privileged sections of society.
What. The. Actual. Hell?
How dare any government presume to ask me what my parents do or did for a living? It's none of their damn business! And at what point in their lives do I take my answer from? My Dad started out working as an office junior in the wages office a Denaby Main Colliery in South Yorkshire. When he retired he was a Claims Manager for a major national insurance company. My Father-in-Law was an apprentice engineer at 18 but a company director at retirement. They both started off decidedly working class and retired as what most people would certainly describe as middle class. Two perfect examples of Social Mobility if ever there were.
It seems to me that the very last thing that Labour want is to encourage Social Mobility, because as far as they are concerned it is only young people starting at the bottom today whose Social Mobility is of interest to them. How far the last couple of generations have come matters not a bit to the Labour party, because we've made our money and all they're interested in now is getting their hands on it so they can hand it out to the workless at the very bottom of the social scale. Well, in my view, it's my money, I've earned it the hard way and I want it to benefit MY family, not someone else's, especially not if that family are a bunch of bone idle wasters with a 3rd generation that have never had a job or a family of 11 migrants from Bulgaria!
If Labour are really so concerned with Social Mobility they will bring back Grammar Schools which admit pupils purely on academic ability. Every town will have 2 or 3 Grammar Schools so the 'postcode lottery' will disappear. Less academic kids will go to schools which teach them life skills which will enable them to get decent jobs, rather than teaching them the same subjects as the academically talented kids even though they have no aptitude for them. We could call them 'Secondary Moderns' (irony alert).
You can't discriminate against a person because of where they come from. This should apply as much to social background as it does to race or gender. If the kid applying for the job is a white, heterosexual male from a private school, middle class background and he is the best candidate for the job, why the hell would you employ someone less capable just to fill a quota?
Incidentally, Ms Del Piero grew up 'in a working class area of Bradford' (it was a decidedly nice upper working class suburb, but ok). Perhaps the spectre of the Grammar Schools of Halifax, just over the hill but denied to her by council boundaries haunts her still?
To Ms Del Piero and her cohorts, All Animals Are Equal - but some animals are more equal than others, and those are the animals which used to be less equal. This is the politics of envy - and they are the politics of extinction for Great Britain.
Feminist Misogynist -v- Orwellian Equality
(Again, no pictures, sorry. Most probably a tech-fail on my part but one which I frankly can't be arsed to fix)
The members of the Royal and Ancient Golf Club of St. Andrews were voting on whether to admit women as members.
Unsurprisingly, they bowed to public pressure and voted Yes, and with a far greater majority than the Better Together campaign enjoyed in the Independence Referendum.
A quick Google tells me that out of around 3,000 Golf Clubs in Britain today, less than 30 retain an all-male membership (as does Augusta National in the USA incidentally). Female-only Golf Clubs do also exist, such as Lundin Ladies Golf Club in Scotland, however it seems that men are allowed to join both Formby and Sunningdale Ladies Golf Clubs these days. Clearly the Sisterhood is far more open-minded and egalitarian having admitted men to its clubs for some time. Or were they lead to this generous opening to the stubblier sex by financial necessity? Perish the thought.
Anyway, returning to the 30-ish men only clubs. Is this really such a terrible thing? Is it really so awful that blokes prefer to go & play a round of Golf with their friends and retire to the club-house afterward, safe in the knowledge that their wife won't be there waiting anxiously to whisk them away for an afternoon at the garden centre? Why can't men have an oasis where they are safe from the distractions of the opposite sex?
There are plenty of health spas & beauticians parlours which are female-only zones. And it's not like there aren't almost 3000 other golf clubs around the country that the ladies can play at. Just leave the men alone, let them have their boys own time, let them bore each other with tales of how they got out of the bunker or what their latest power-tool acquisition is.
But no, the Royal & Ancient is one of the BEST golf clubs in the country and therefore the ladies want to play the course. Well, fine, just don't complain if next time you go for your Ayurvedic facial at the spa, your relaxation is spoiled by the screams of a bloke next door having his back, sack & crack waxed!
This kind of follows on from All Female Short-lists for parliamentary candidates. This is one of the things that - pardon the expression - boils my piss more than anything else (except Gloria Del Piero who we'll come to in a moment). It harks back to my previous blog entry - Feminist Misogynist -v- Positive Discrimination - and so I won't repeat it too much here. But why should be have a woman foisted on us as a parliamentary candidate when there might be a bloke far better suited to the job? Whatever next? Asian Only short-lists? LBGT Only short-lists? People-with-missing-limbs Only short-lists? I jest, but would it honestly surprise you?
And so the lovely Ms Del Piero. The Shadow Minister for Women and Equalities has said in a speech at the Labour Conference that Public Sector staff should be asked what their parents do for a living. If Labour win the next general election, starting with the public sector, the first step to increase social mobility would be to force employers to keep records on the social backgrounds of their staff to prove they were not all from privileged sections of society.
What. The. Actual. Hell?
How dare any government presume to ask me what my parents do or did for a living? It's none of their damn business! And at what point in their lives do I take my answer from? My Dad started out working as an office junior in the wages office a Denaby Main Colliery in South Yorkshire. When he retired he was a Claims Manager for a major national insurance company. My Father-in-Law was an apprentice engineer at 18 but a company director at retirement. They both started off decidedly working class and retired as what most people would certainly describe as middle class. Two perfect examples of Social Mobility if ever there were.
It seems to me that the very last thing that Labour want is to encourage Social Mobility, because as far as they are concerned it is only young people starting at the bottom today whose Social Mobility is of interest to them. How far the last couple of generations have come matters not a bit to the Labour party, because we've made our money and all they're interested in now is getting their hands on it so they can hand it out to the workless at the very bottom of the social scale. Well, in my view, it's my money, I've earned it the hard way and I want it to benefit MY family, not someone else's, especially not if that family are a bunch of bone idle wasters with a 3rd generation that have never had a job or a family of 11 migrants from Bulgaria!
If Labour are really so concerned with Social Mobility they will bring back Grammar Schools which admit pupils purely on academic ability. Every town will have 2 or 3 Grammar Schools so the 'postcode lottery' will disappear. Less academic kids will go to schools which teach them life skills which will enable them to get decent jobs, rather than teaching them the same subjects as the academically talented kids even though they have no aptitude for them. We could call them 'Secondary Moderns' (irony alert).
You can't discriminate against a person because of where they come from. This should apply as much to social background as it does to race or gender. If the kid applying for the job is a white, heterosexual male from a private school, middle class background and he is the best candidate for the job, why the hell would you employ someone less capable just to fill a quota?
Incidentally, Ms Del Piero grew up 'in a working class area of Bradford' (it was a decidedly nice upper working class suburb, but ok). Perhaps the spectre of the Grammar Schools of Halifax, just over the hill but denied to her by council boundaries haunts her still?
To Ms Del Piero and her cohorts, All Animals Are Equal - but some animals are more equal than others, and those are the animals which used to be less equal. This is the politics of envy - and they are the politics of extinction for Great Britain.
Feminist Misogynist -v- Orwellian Equality
(Again, no pictures, sorry. Most probably a tech-fail on my part but one which I frankly can't be arsed to fix)
Friday, 7 February 2014
Feminist Misogynist -v- Pink
I like Pink. Pink as in Alecia Beth Moore, the American singer with a penchant for performing whilst suspended on a trapeze 100ft above her audience. She rocks. She's great.
That's as far as liking Pink goes.
The colour pink is another matter altogether. The colour pink has been hijacked by toy manufacturers, accentuated, intensified, re-packaged in impossible-to-open plastic and spewed onto the shelves of every toy emporium on the planet. If it's a toy aimed at girls, or an item of clothing aimed at girls, it's pink. Either hallucination-inducingly vivid fuchsia, a.k.a. 'Barbie' pink or 'what's this stuck to the sole of my Manolos?' bubblegum pink.
And it makes me angry. And nauseous.
When I was growing up back in the dark ages or the 1970s as they are more commonly known, there was no assumption that in order to appeal to girls, things must be pink. In fact the best-selling doll in the 70s was not Barbie, but Sindy, who's trademark colour was a rich warm yellow, accentuated by the 70s favourite shade of brown. She wasn't exclusively blonde either, but that's another argument entirely. Jamie Summers the $million woman had dark hair and wore a blue boiler suit. Wonder Woman was brunette and wore red, white & blue. My doll's pram was blue. My bike was red. I had a toy zoo and a toy farm, both full of realistic animals - not cute My Little Pony or Sylvanian Families facsimiles of animals. Apart from the pigs, none of them were pink. But my favourite, favourite toy of all was my Matchbox Racers race track and cars.
These days if you want to sell a race track and cars to girls, they'd better be putrid pink or little Amelia will walk straight past and head to the perfect pink My Cutie-Pie Kitchen so she can practice being a good little wife for when she grows up.
I thought that we were emancipated? I thought that the sexes were equal these days? Aren't we supposed to be sending the message to little girls that barring the obvious physiological differences, they're just the same as boys - able to do anything a boy can do, be anything a boy can be, have anything a boy can have?
Ah, but not if it's blue. Or red. Or yellow. Must be pink, or girls just won't be interested.
There's an article in the Daily Mail about a young woman who was very unhappy working as a Disney princess on a cruise ship. 'I couldn't get a tan because Belle can't have a bikini line': Former Disney Cruise actress reveals what her 'dream job' was REALLY like' screams the headline. Really? Your 'dream job' as a grown adult was to dress up as a princess and entertain over-indulged kids on a cruise ship? I despair at the depths to which our aspirations have plunged.
When I was growing up I wanted to be a teacher, a racing driver, a chemist (in a lab with test-tubes of brightly coloured chemicals), a pilot, an archaeologist, an artist, an architect. I became none of those things, ultimately, but I had dreams, aspirations, ambitions to be anything I wanted regardless of my gender.
In primary schools up and down the country, the walls are adorned with cute drawings and wonky handwriting declaring "When I grow up I want to be .....". The boys ambitions are to be firemen, scientists, explorers, train drivers, policemen, pilots, engineers, skateboard champions. The girls? Well, there's the occasional teacher, a few ballet dancers, very, very occasionally a scientist or solicitor. But mostly, what little girls in 21st Century Britain aspire to be is ...... a Princess. Their heads are stuffed so full of fluffy Disney pinkness that their only ambition is to wear lovely (pink) dresses and a crown and waft about all day being beautiful and adored. Nice work if you can get it but if we're restricting ourselves to British royalty there's only Harry available and I don't see him going for the pink wafty type if I'm honest.
It's all very well to joke about this but it's actually deadly serious. If women want to be taken seriously and treated as equal to men then we have to stop the pink princess culture that limits our daughters' ambitions so much. It's not cute, it's not innocent, it's damaging. Women, once again, are our own worst enemies. Women are the ones who go out and buy all the pink tat for their daughters. Dads wish they could buy little Amelia a football and some Hot Wheels but they know that Mum will tut and put them away, handing Amelia a Barbie doll instead.
Wake up, ladies. Stop sowing the seeds of our own destruction. Boycott pink. Do it for a year. Send a clear message to the manufacturers that their target market isn't 'girls', it's children and all children should have equal opportunities in this day and age.
Now, it has just occurred to me that most toy manufacturers will be dominated by men - aren't most boards of directors almost exclusively male? Could it be that the patriarchy are deliberately strengthening gender stereotypes to preserve the jobs for the boys and keep the girls out? Interesting thought. C'mon, let's do it. Boycott pink.
Just imagine the potential if we stopped holding girls back. Look what we've achieved in a society that still discriminates against us, still makes assumptions about what we're capable of, what is suitable for us. Take away the pink restrictions and find out what girl power can really do.
Boycott pink.
*There are no images in this Blog because that would mean searching for - and having to look at - pink princesses. Or it could be because Blogger is being a pain and won't upload photos from URLs. Or the pink thing.... You choose.
That's as far as liking Pink goes.
The colour pink is another matter altogether. The colour pink has been hijacked by toy manufacturers, accentuated, intensified, re-packaged in impossible-to-open plastic and spewed onto the shelves of every toy emporium on the planet. If it's a toy aimed at girls, or an item of clothing aimed at girls, it's pink. Either hallucination-inducingly vivid fuchsia, a.k.a. 'Barbie' pink or 'what's this stuck to the sole of my Manolos?' bubblegum pink.
And it makes me angry. And nauseous.
When I was growing up back in the dark ages or the 1970s as they are more commonly known, there was no assumption that in order to appeal to girls, things must be pink. In fact the best-selling doll in the 70s was not Barbie, but Sindy, who's trademark colour was a rich warm yellow, accentuated by the 70s favourite shade of brown. She wasn't exclusively blonde either, but that's another argument entirely. Jamie Summers the $million woman had dark hair and wore a blue boiler suit. Wonder Woman was brunette and wore red, white & blue. My doll's pram was blue. My bike was red. I had a toy zoo and a toy farm, both full of realistic animals - not cute My Little Pony or Sylvanian Families facsimiles of animals. Apart from the pigs, none of them were pink. But my favourite, favourite toy of all was my Matchbox Racers race track and cars.
These days if you want to sell a race track and cars to girls, they'd better be putrid pink or little Amelia will walk straight past and head to the perfect pink My Cutie-Pie Kitchen so she can practice being a good little wife for when she grows up.
I thought that we were emancipated? I thought that the sexes were equal these days? Aren't we supposed to be sending the message to little girls that barring the obvious physiological differences, they're just the same as boys - able to do anything a boy can do, be anything a boy can be, have anything a boy can have?
Ah, but not if it's blue. Or red. Or yellow. Must be pink, or girls just won't be interested.
There's an article in the Daily Mail about a young woman who was very unhappy working as a Disney princess on a cruise ship. 'I couldn't get a tan because Belle can't have a bikini line': Former Disney Cruise actress reveals what her 'dream job' was REALLY like' screams the headline. Really? Your 'dream job' as a grown adult was to dress up as a princess and entertain over-indulged kids on a cruise ship? I despair at the depths to which our aspirations have plunged.
When I was growing up I wanted to be a teacher, a racing driver, a chemist (in a lab with test-tubes of brightly coloured chemicals), a pilot, an archaeologist, an artist, an architect. I became none of those things, ultimately, but I had dreams, aspirations, ambitions to be anything I wanted regardless of my gender.
In primary schools up and down the country, the walls are adorned with cute drawings and wonky handwriting declaring "When I grow up I want to be .....". The boys ambitions are to be firemen, scientists, explorers, train drivers, policemen, pilots, engineers, skateboard champions. The girls? Well, there's the occasional teacher, a few ballet dancers, very, very occasionally a scientist or solicitor. But mostly, what little girls in 21st Century Britain aspire to be is ...... a Princess. Their heads are stuffed so full of fluffy Disney pinkness that their only ambition is to wear lovely (pink) dresses and a crown and waft about all day being beautiful and adored. Nice work if you can get it but if we're restricting ourselves to British royalty there's only Harry available and I don't see him going for the pink wafty type if I'm honest.
It's all very well to joke about this but it's actually deadly serious. If women want to be taken seriously and treated as equal to men then we have to stop the pink princess culture that limits our daughters' ambitions so much. It's not cute, it's not innocent, it's damaging. Women, once again, are our own worst enemies. Women are the ones who go out and buy all the pink tat for their daughters. Dads wish they could buy little Amelia a football and some Hot Wheels but they know that Mum will tut and put them away, handing Amelia a Barbie doll instead.
Wake up, ladies. Stop sowing the seeds of our own destruction. Boycott pink. Do it for a year. Send a clear message to the manufacturers that their target market isn't 'girls', it's children and all children should have equal opportunities in this day and age.
Now, it has just occurred to me that most toy manufacturers will be dominated by men - aren't most boards of directors almost exclusively male? Could it be that the patriarchy are deliberately strengthening gender stereotypes to preserve the jobs for the boys and keep the girls out? Interesting thought. C'mon, let's do it. Boycott pink.
Just imagine the potential if we stopped holding girls back. Look what we've achieved in a society that still discriminates against us, still makes assumptions about what we're capable of, what is suitable for us. Take away the pink restrictions and find out what girl power can really do.
Boycott pink.
*There are no images in this Blog because that would mean searching for - and having to look at - pink princesses. Or it could be because Blogger is being a pain and won't upload photos from URLs. Or the pink thing.... You choose.
Tuesday, 14 January 2014
Feminist Misogynist -v- Having It All
Which complete and utter moron said that women could 'have it all'? I've tried Googling to find out but can't be bothered wading through all the trite media articles about why women should have it all, do have it all, can't have it all and why French women apparently don't need to have it all.
The problem with telling women that they 'can have it all' is that far too many then expect 'it all' to just fall in their laps with no effort required. Over the last 40-or so years the education system has been tailored to suit the way the girls learn and dumbing-down or grade inflation have conspired with feminist teaching methods to help girls leave high school with a folder 3" thick & full of worthless pieces of paper telling prospective employers or universities how bloody marvellous said girl is. My husband has interviewed a young woman with said folder who actually only had 5 GCSEs, one of which was in P.E. but who had lovely official looking certificates for entering an art competition (not winning, just entering) and being able to cross the road safely (earned at the tender age of just 15, so precocious).
Young woman then rocks up at university and graduates 3 years later with a 2.2 in Media Studies or Sports Journalism or some other almost worthless degree, the work for which wouldn't have earned you a grade 3 CSE back in 1985, and expects a 'graduate position' in a FTSE 100 company with commensurate salary.
Do some photocopying? I have a degree you know. Put the kettle on? I didn't work my well toned ass off for 3 years to make tea for my colleagues. Earn less than £50k per annum? THEY TOLD ME I COULD HAVE IT ALL! *sob*
So, career disappointment bubbling perilously close to the surface, young woman drowns her sorrows in a tragically fashionable bar on Friday night after work and after a Mojito too many falls for a lower management type. Our girls is a career girl, so her contraceptive implant prevents anything so inconvenient as a child interrupting her carefully planned life. 12 months or so later, on Valentine's Day naturellement, Mr Just Promoted to Middle Management proposes with the help of a restaurant he can't really afford and a carefully orchestrated flashmob singing that awful Bruno Mars song.
The diamond is just about big enough so our young woman, tears in her eyes, accepts and spends the next 18 months planning her wedding. Not 'their' wedding - 'HER' wedding. All he has to do is not argue about the cost, turn up on the day wearing what she tells him to and read out the vows which she has written for him. Incidentally, during this 18 month planning period, young woman will have been promoted at work due to the 'positive discrimination' policy which is trying to push more women towards the board-room in spite of the fact that of her 35 hour working week she's been spending 30 hours on choosing which exact shade of pink the roses in her bouquet will be and 5 or less actually doing any work.
So the Big Day passes and everything goes off flawlessly. Within six months, however, the strain is starting to show as Mr Middle-Management still insists on playing 5-aside football after work on Tuesdays and going to the pub with his mates afterwards. He still has his season ticket for Arsenal and he leaves his X-Box controller on the coffee table instead of putting it away in the drawer. His mother clearly never taught him how to use a washing machine or an iron, his culinary skills extend as far as Spaghetti Hoops on Toast and he leaves stray pubic hairs on the toilet rim. This was not what our young woman signed up for, he's supposed to spend his every waking moment either with her or thinking of her, bring her breakfast (of Michelin star quality) in bed, clean the house, do his own washing, bring her flowers every week...... "THEY SAID I COULD HAVE IT ALL" Wailllll!
Yes dear, but what you wanted was a wedding, what you got was a marriage.
Not to worry, the contraceptive implant was removed immediately upon return from Honeymoon (Maldives, naturally) so within a year of the Happiest Day Of Her Life our young woman finds herself joyously expecting the patter of tiny perfect feet. Of course, THIS will mend all the cracks in the marriage and you can't Have It All without reproducing your genetic material.
During the run up to Maternity Leave our young woman gains another promotion at work as the boardroom is simply aching for more part-time, hormonal, exhausted Yummy Mummies and we can't discriminate because of a small matter like taking a year off.
Twenty seven hours in labour followed by an emergency Caesarean Section. We really are 'having it all' aren't we? Bundle of joy is named Amelia Grace and never wears anything other than pink and always a 'label'. Amelia Grace has croup. And nappy rash, and cradle cap, and eczema. She's six months old now and has yet to sleep through the night. Despite crippling mastitis our young woman has exclusively breast-fed as per NCT's recommendations and Amelia Grace, desite being a rather sicky baby, is thriving. Mummy has neglected herself a little however, and before she has the chance to return to work finds herself pregnant again. Daddy still plays 5-aside, goes to the pub, attends every home game at the Emirates and thinks playing Gears of War with Amelia Grace on his knee is suitable Daddy-Daughter quality time. He still can't use the washing machine. Nothing has been ironed for 4 months.
Oscar Henry comes along when Amelia Grace is 15 months old. When he's 3 months old Mummy sticks the pair of them in a nursery and slinks back to her job, sorry 'career', for a rest. A 16-year-old called Jodie will now potty train, educate and socialise the children, passing on her moral values but hopefully not her WKD Blue and Benson & Hedges habit. 18 months off work is a long time and Mummy is struggling to catch up with the latest trends and methods. She gets a call usually at least once a week because one or the other of her lovely children is ill, or hurt, or misbehaving. Younger colleagues are promoted ahead of her as no one wants someone in the boardroom with sick down their back, hair that's not been washed for 4 days and odd shoes. "It's not fair, they said I could have it all!"
Yes sweetheart, but what you wanted was a baby, what you got was motherhood.
I could go on. The teenage years are, I understand, particularly enjoyable. Then the driving lessons and resultant fender benders in your nice Mini Cooper, the empty nest as they go off to Uni, the full-again nest when they come back as house prices keep them off the property ladder, the empty nest again, the undesirable son- and daughter-in law, the mid-life crisis, the divorce, the menopause, sciatica, thinning hair, daughter emigrates, son ignores you as he always was a Daddy's boy anyway, the equity release, the nursing home. Your carer is a woman called Jodie who smokes Benson & Hedges and still has a taste for WKD Blue.
Oh yes, you really have Had It All. Well wasn't that what you wanted?
The problem with telling women that they 'can have it all' is that far too many then expect 'it all' to just fall in their laps with no effort required. Over the last 40-or so years the education system has been tailored to suit the way the girls learn and dumbing-down or grade inflation have conspired with feminist teaching methods to help girls leave high school with a folder 3" thick & full of worthless pieces of paper telling prospective employers or universities how bloody marvellous said girl is. My husband has interviewed a young woman with said folder who actually only had 5 GCSEs, one of which was in P.E. but who had lovely official looking certificates for entering an art competition (not winning, just entering) and being able to cross the road safely (earned at the tender age of just 15, so precocious).
Young woman then rocks up at university and graduates 3 years later with a 2.2 in Media Studies or Sports Journalism or some other almost worthless degree, the work for which wouldn't have earned you a grade 3 CSE back in 1985, and expects a 'graduate position' in a FTSE 100 company with commensurate salary.
Do some photocopying? I have a degree you know. Put the kettle on? I didn't work my well toned ass off for 3 years to make tea for my colleagues. Earn less than £50k per annum? THEY TOLD ME I COULD HAVE IT ALL! *sob*
So, career disappointment bubbling perilously close to the surface, young woman drowns her sorrows in a tragically fashionable bar on Friday night after work and after a Mojito too many falls for a lower management type. Our girls is a career girl, so her contraceptive implant prevents anything so inconvenient as a child interrupting her carefully planned life. 12 months or so later, on Valentine's Day naturellement, Mr Just Promoted to Middle Management proposes with the help of a restaurant he can't really afford and a carefully orchestrated flashmob singing that awful Bruno Mars song.
The diamond is just about big enough so our young woman, tears in her eyes, accepts and spends the next 18 months planning her wedding. Not 'their' wedding - 'HER' wedding. All he has to do is not argue about the cost, turn up on the day wearing what she tells him to and read out the vows which she has written for him. Incidentally, during this 18 month planning period, young woman will have been promoted at work due to the 'positive discrimination' policy which is trying to push more women towards the board-room in spite of the fact that of her 35 hour working week she's been spending 30 hours on choosing which exact shade of pink the roses in her bouquet will be and 5 or less actually doing any work.
So the Big Day passes and everything goes off flawlessly. Within six months, however, the strain is starting to show as Mr Middle-Management still insists on playing 5-aside football after work on Tuesdays and going to the pub with his mates afterwards. He still has his season ticket for Arsenal and he leaves his X-Box controller on the coffee table instead of putting it away in the drawer. His mother clearly never taught him how to use a washing machine or an iron, his culinary skills extend as far as Spaghetti Hoops on Toast and he leaves stray pubic hairs on the toilet rim. This was not what our young woman signed up for, he's supposed to spend his every waking moment either with her or thinking of her, bring her breakfast (of Michelin star quality) in bed, clean the house, do his own washing, bring her flowers every week...... "THEY SAID I COULD HAVE IT ALL" Wailllll!
Yes dear, but what you wanted was a wedding, what you got was a marriage.
Not to worry, the contraceptive implant was removed immediately upon return from Honeymoon (Maldives, naturally) so within a year of the Happiest Day Of Her Life our young woman finds herself joyously expecting the patter of tiny perfect feet. Of course, THIS will mend all the cracks in the marriage and you can't Have It All without reproducing your genetic material.
During the run up to Maternity Leave our young woman gains another promotion at work as the boardroom is simply aching for more part-time, hormonal, exhausted Yummy Mummies and we can't discriminate because of a small matter like taking a year off.
Twenty seven hours in labour followed by an emergency Caesarean Section. We really are 'having it all' aren't we? Bundle of joy is named Amelia Grace and never wears anything other than pink and always a 'label'. Amelia Grace has croup. And nappy rash, and cradle cap, and eczema. She's six months old now and has yet to sleep through the night. Despite crippling mastitis our young woman has exclusively breast-fed as per NCT's recommendations and Amelia Grace, desite being a rather sicky baby, is thriving. Mummy has neglected herself a little however, and before she has the chance to return to work finds herself pregnant again. Daddy still plays 5-aside, goes to the pub, attends every home game at the Emirates and thinks playing Gears of War with Amelia Grace on his knee is suitable Daddy-Daughter quality time. He still can't use the washing machine. Nothing has been ironed for 4 months.
Oscar Henry comes along when Amelia Grace is 15 months old. When he's 3 months old Mummy sticks the pair of them in a nursery and slinks back to her job, sorry 'career', for a rest. A 16-year-old called Jodie will now potty train, educate and socialise the children, passing on her moral values but hopefully not her WKD Blue and Benson & Hedges habit. 18 months off work is a long time and Mummy is struggling to catch up with the latest trends and methods. She gets a call usually at least once a week because one or the other of her lovely children is ill, or hurt, or misbehaving. Younger colleagues are promoted ahead of her as no one wants someone in the boardroom with sick down their back, hair that's not been washed for 4 days and odd shoes. "It's not fair, they said I could have it all!"
Yes sweetheart, but what you wanted was a baby, what you got was motherhood.
I could go on. The teenage years are, I understand, particularly enjoyable. Then the driving lessons and resultant fender benders in your nice Mini Cooper, the empty nest as they go off to Uni, the full-again nest when they come back as house prices keep them off the property ladder, the empty nest again, the undesirable son- and daughter-in law, the mid-life crisis, the divorce, the menopause, sciatica, thinning hair, daughter emigrates, son ignores you as he always was a Daddy's boy anyway, the equity release, the nursing home. Your carer is a woman called Jodie who smokes Benson & Hedges and still has a taste for WKD Blue.
Oh yes, you really have Had It All. Well wasn't that what you wanted?
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