a meme (not a real post, I know… bad ms. violet!)

I’ve been tagged by Laurelin!

1. One book that changed your life? Probably The Beauty Myth by Naomi Wolf. It re-assured me during a time when I was doubting myself and my beliefs. Whenever I think “Am I the only one? Am I imagining all these things?”, I pick it up and I’m reminded that it is real and that feminism is as necessary today as it ever has been.

2. One book you have read more than once? The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath. It’s my favourite book ever and I’ve read it numerous times over the past few years. I probably know it almost off by heart now, but I still crave it every now and then.  

3. One book you would want on a desert island? Food For Free by Richard Mabey (although, I’m not sure how helpful it would be on a desert island…!). It’s a fantastic guide to all the wild-growing edible plants and has successfully converted me into a lover of dandelion! Call it a weed and I will attack!  

4. One book that made you laugh? Are You Dave Gorman made me chuckle under the duvet a few times.

5. One book that made you cry? The only book to have made me cry was The Diary Of Anne Frank, now I come to think of it.

6. One book you wish had been written? A decent journal.

7. One book you wish had never had been written? Pride and Prejudice. Sorry, but it bored me to tears. (there are probably more offending books out there really, but it’s all I could think of at the moment! Apologies to any Austinites)

8. One book you are currently reading? The Outsider by Albert Camus

9. One book you have been meaning to read? The Second Sex by de Beauvoir is still sitting on my shelf waiting for me.

10. Now tag five people! I tag anyone who’s reading this!

 …

In other news…

The postman has just pushed my copies of Subtext and Uplift through the letterbox! Both magazines look fantastic and I’ll settle on the sofa with the cat on my lap, tea by my side and give them a good reading shortly. Massive love is on its way to Gill from me for setting up Subtext, as I know it wasn’t the easiest thing in the world. I originally wanted to help out, but things went a bit pear-shaped with me at the time. So well done to all the ladies involved in making both magazines!

I will do a post at some point. Quite possibly about the wonders of washable sanitary towels, which I have just discovered.

ms violet is lazy and promises to write a proper post soon

Just a quick entry to point you into the direction of this, as it ties in pretty well with my earlier post on street harrassment

“To use one cheap and easy example, homosociality explains the function of catcalls and wolfwhistles.  I’ve often been asked by female students why men whistle and hoot at them from construction sites and passing cars.  “Why do they do it?  Do they think this actually ‘works’ to pick up women?”  I usually inquire whether the whistling was done by a single man or a group; the answer is almost invariably that it was the latter.  The answer, seen through the lens of homosociality, is obvious — men whistle and yell to connect with other men.  Women are devices for creating non-sexual, same-gender bonds.  This doesn’t explain all catcalling behavior, but it goes a hell of a long way towards doing so.”

I’ve also added a few links to my blogroll, including one to my boyfriend’s new blog (he’s new to blogging, so be gentle!)

so-called problem pages…

Yesterday I was flicking through some godawful trashy women's/celeb magazine, when I came across the problem page. A woman had sent a letter asking for advice regarding her partner's porn addiction. She said that he had hundreds of videos and images stored onto his computer and - even though she had told him that it upset her - he refused to delete them. She also mentioned the fact that she thought he watched them when she had gone to bed at night time and that this especially distressed her as she thought they had a healthy sex life.

And the agony aunt's advice?

"His porn has been around longer than you have. Stop being so jealous and get over it".

I mean, who cares that this woman is clearly upset and distressed! Who cares that she feels betrayed and demeaned! Of course, what this so-called expert thinks is most important is that the boyfriend keeps his precious porn stash. After all, dear, if you start complaining then he will think you're an old prude and he'll start looking elsewhere for a younger and sexier replacement girlfriend…!

The women reading these magazines are already likely to hate themselves and their bodies, no matter how 'empowering' they believe the magazines to be. In that particular issue I was flicking through, I'd already seen pictures of 'celebrity bikini bodies', who's got fat and who's got thin, Kerry Katona going on about how she's not depressed anymore because she's gone from a size 10 to a size 8, page after page of women attacking other women… And after all that, a fucking "expert" tells you that you're a jealous prude if your boyfriend's porn makes you feel sick inside.

I felt like shouting out to the woman who had sent the original letter "That isn't your only choice! You don't have to shut up and let him have his way! If it upsets you, then you tell him that either his porn goes or you do!"

I'm fed up of us women being told that if we don't like porn then we must be frigid, boring, bad in bed, jealous, paranoid, old-fashioned and just not cool.

breasts

It’s funny how such simple things cause so much heartache.

They are too big. Too small. Too saggy. Too pointy. One’s bigger than the other. The areoles are too big. The areoles are too small. We push ‘em up. Strap ‘em down. Worry that people can see our over-the-shoulder-boulder-holders through our tops. Worry that we are showing too much cleavage. Worry that we’re not showing enough cleavage. Worry that our nipples are showing through our clothes.  Worry worry worry. Stress stress stress.

Most of the time, I am happy with my lot. But I have felt and been hurt by people who insinuate that, since I have a conventionally ‘nice’ figure (being skinny with a 34D bust), that I can’t possibly be a feminist.

Now, shit like that hurts. A lot.

I can’t help the way my body is. I don’t diet or obsess about my appearance. I didn’t have breast enlargement surgery. I didn’t ASK to look like this. So how, exactly, does the way I look damage my feminist credentials? Am I not really a part of the sisterhood unless I put weight on and wear baggy clothes to hide my bust and small waist? Because I happen to like my body the way it is, does that mean I am a tool of the patriarchy?

And, what’s more, according to the masses I can’t possibly be a feminist because that would mean I would have to have a brain, and - come on! - women with larger than average breasts certainly aren’t intelligent! Big tits = air headed bimbo. They’re sluts. They’re whores. They must want sex from every man they see. And, god help them if there is the slightest indication of nipple showing through their tops! Good god, they really are asking for it then!

(To the next dickhead who assumes that because a woman’s nipple is showing through her top that she must be trying to get him into bed, think about this : 100% of the population have nipples. But 100% of the population CERTAINLY do not want to get you into bed.)

And, you know something? I like pretty clothes. I like tops with ribbons and floral patterns and strappy bits. I see my friend (with a 34B chest) wearing a pretty top and it makes her look cute. But I know that if I wear it, then I will look like a ‘slut’ because I have a larger chest. Who the hell decided this was the rule? Why should I have to worry about looking ‘stupid’ and like a ‘slut’ because someone decided that a woman with certain sized mammory glands is biologically their intellectual inferior?!?

This is the worry that I have. But I know that women at the other end of the scale have their own worries also. Many of these women think they have to stuff their bras and play dumb to attract men. Somehow, they are led to believe that all their problems will magically disappear once they have cosmetic surgery on their breasts. And then, when they have had the surgery, they worry that men won’t LIKE fake breasts and that they must keep the fact that theirs are surgically enhanced a SECRET.

Why are so many women prisoners of the lumps of fat on our chests? Why do they rule our lives so much?

We need to STOP worrying about them so much. We need to love them the way they are and for what the are. Breasts are great! They are provide free milk to our beautiful babies. They feel nice to touch. Nipples are fantastic and sensitive and, when stimulated, can make us feel warm and tingly inside.

I found a great website a while back with a “gallery of normal breasts” showing pictures of various shapes, sizes and types of breasts. I know many women who have looked at those pictures and felt much more at ease with their own bodies. Most of the time, the only breasts we women ever see are the surgically enhanced (or airbrushed) ones from pornography - so to see that, in fact, most boobs don’t look like that is a great relief to many women.

(I can’t find the link to that site now! Grr. If anyone knows what I am talking about , then can you please let me know the URL?)

the little things

Sometimes, it’s the little things that really get to me.

So, I have just been to a job interview, which I feel went well. This is very very good news to me as (and I haven’t mentioned this before, as I’m still dealing with it) I suffer from a degree of social phobia. I swing between opposites - sometimes I am confident, ballsy and when impassioned I have no problem spouting my opinions, but then sometimes I can’t leave the house to go to the shop to buy milk as I can’t bare it. My behaviour is irrational and has taken me down to depressive slumps over the last few years, because I have been unable to understand it. “How come in some situations you are confident and open, but then randomly you are a nervous wreck during situations which should be easy?” I’d ask myself. I still don’t know, but I’m becoming stronger. I haven’t had a crying session in a while and I’m getting closer to understanding it. So (and I’m getting to the point here, don’t worry!), I felt insanely proud of myself for going to an interview and doing well. To be honest, whether I get the job is not vitally important here, as the fact I was able to COPE with it is what means something to me.

I was walking along a narrow grass path alongside a busy main road, feeling proud and happy and as though things were going to get better and normal for me again, when a lorry loudly beeped its horn at me as it passed, frightening me to death and almost knocking me into the road. “Nob”, I thought as I grumbled under my breath a bit and walked on. But then, a minute or so later, another lorry passed and did the same thing. And then a truck also did the same. Three vehicles all beeped at me in a matter of minutes.

Why?

Why is beeping at a 19 year old female walking down a busy main road entertaining? What exactly had I done that warranted being “yelled” at (because that is how a beep feels)? Was it because I was wearing a skirt? Because I had my long hair down and it was blowing in the traffic wind a bit? Was it because I was wearing a fitted blouse? Or did I have a sign on my back saying “WHORE! PLEASE BEEP AT ME!”?

And I know how it goes : “It’s only a bit of fun!” “It’s a compliment really!” “Walk about by yourself and you’re asking for it!”. No. No. NO. It’s not a bit of fun - it’s terrorising. All I am doing is walking down a PUBLIC footpath, after an interview and feeling somewhat proud of myself, when a massive heavy duty lorry feels the need to VERY loudly draw attention to me in a vulgar way. It’s offensive, whether the shitheads driving the vehicles in question think so or not.

And yeah, it’s only minor compared to some instances of street harassment, but it is still part of the same thing and comes from the same mentality - making women feel uncomfortable makes certain men feel “big and strong”. It’s an ego boost. It’s “Haha, I’M the one in the position of power here. I’M in the safety of my big MANLY truck. YOU’RE a pathetic woman on the street, therefore I will show YOU who is boss.”

You know what? Fuck you.

Fuck you for ruining my good mood. And FUCK YOU to the men who did a similar mood trashing to BB the other day as well. FUCK YOU. FUCK YOU.

And, while I’m at it - fuck you to those who yelled at me from a car “ARE YOUR TITS REAL?!!” And fuck you to the 12 year old boys who walked up to me in an alleyway and said “Give us a blow job and we’ll give ya a couple of quid, yeah?”. And fuck you to the old man on the bus who felt the need to stare at my chest and try and touch me inappropriately. You scared me to hell, y’know? I ran home and cried. So fuck you. And fuck you to all the others that I’ve tried hard to forget.

Just. Fuck you.

How are we supposed to be able to cope? We women are being treated like objects and we are supposed to enjoy it. Well, I for one do not. I hate it. I hate how it makes me question myself and how it makes me hate my body. I hate the way it makes me want to avoid going near men when I am out alone. I hate how it makes me and other women live in a constant state of being “aware” and “on the edge”.

I hate it. And fuck you.
(sorry for the non-constructive rant here. Sometimes I just need to type all my anger out)

i’m back!

I've been a bit quiet lately.

It's down to no particular reason other than the fact that sometimes - as a feminist - I feel like just hiding under the covers of it all. But the patriarchy is still ruling with an iron cock, so here I am - back to do my bit in attempting to battle it out.

Also, I wanted to say a huge thank you to all those who visit my blog regularly, to those who have just found me, to the silent readers and to those just passing through. I write down my feelings so that I can get them out of my head, but also to share them with others. It's tough for a feminist (or any forward-thinking person) in this world to voice their opinions without being shot down by others, so I am eternally grateful to those wonderful women (and men) who leave me such encouraging and sincere comments. As corny as it sounds, this is the foundation of the feminist movement - sisterhood.

she’d run you down

 

There are some things in life that I really wish I had done.

(in other news: does anybody know why the links in my sidebar have repeated themselves? WordPress - stop being an ass)

more on the rape crisis

A few days ago, the fifteen year old boy accused of raping an eleven year old girl in a supermarket toilet appeared in court. The attack took place a month ago and generated quite a lot of media attention as well as awards totalling £30,000 for information regarding the incident.

I followed the story with disgust and I hope that justice will be served, although sadly the damage has been done for the young girl and her family. But I couldn’t help think - if the victim of this attack had been a grown woman, would the media and public have reacted in the same way? Would people really offer so much money for a reward in exchange for information, had the female been past the age of consent?

Call me cynical, but I’m pretty sure the story would have barely found its way into the media at all.

It goes without saying that of course child abuse is an abhorrent crime, but why is it that - as a society - we claim to want paedophiles’ heads on sticks, yet say that rape of grown women is “just one of those things” or “partly her own fault anyway”?

ms. violet’s feminist spotlight: ani difranco

If you haven’t heard of Ani Difranco, then I urge you to rush out and find her music as soon as possible.

Ani is everything I could want in an artist. She’s fiercely intelligent, opinionated, political, brave, independent, honest and - of course - unashamedly feminist. At age eighteen she started her own record label Righteous Babe Records with just $50 and has not looked back since, successfully managing to stay true to her independent roots and avoid the anti-feminist glare of the media. 

Lyrically, she covers all the issues close to her heart, including sexism, racism, homophobia, reproductive rights and sexual abuse - and always honestly and emotionally. Her musical style is pretty innovative (described by some as folk-punk) and she sings in a way that demands you pay her attention.

I will forever kick myself for missing her perform when she was last in the UK, but I am holding out for her next European tour!

“I am not an angry girl
but it seems like I've got everyone fooled
every time I say something they find hard to hear
they chalk it up to my anger
and never to their own fear
and imagine you're a girl
just trying to finally come clean
knowing full well they'd prefer you
were dirty and smiling
and I am sorry
I am not a maiden fair
and I am not a kitten stuck up a tree somewhere”

- ani difranco, ‘not a pretty girl’

hooooray!

If you haven't already read it, I'd like to point you in the direction of the latest post at Laurelin In The Rain. Not only has she posted an excellent critique of the terrible and frustrating Kate Taylor article in The Guardian, but she has actually recieved word from Ms Taylor herself who states "I wanted to tell you that I have been humbled and shamed by your comments on that article. You’re absolutely, 100% right…"

This is fantastic news. Not just for Laurelin, but for all rad-fem bloggers. It just goes to show the power that an intelligent argument holds!

misogyny sells, people!

Teri Hatcher, the actress who stars in Desperate Housewives (don’t worry - I don’t watch this shit) and who used to be in The new Adventures of Superman a few years back (saldy, I’m afraid I did watch this) has recently admitted to Vanity Fair magazine in the US that she was sexually abused by an uncle as a child.

Abuse is, of course, a very serious matter and I applaud Ms. Hatcher for being brave enough to talk publicly about such a horendous past - however, I can’t help but feel that using a picture such as this one on the cover of the aforementioned issue of Vanity Fair, is extremely distasteful:

She is holding onto her clothes, her underwear is showing and - quite frankly - she looks pretty damn scared. But, at the same time, she has a tanned ’sexy’ body and is in full make-up. Just what are we being told here? That being sexually abused as a child somehow enhances Teri’s sex appeal? That only pretty girls get raped? That rape is sexy? That rape sells?

 I have no doubt that the actress had little to do with what picture appeared on the cover here, so I’m not blaming her whatsoever. The magazine decides what sells and what to do with the cover and, in this case, it appears that sexualising a story about child abuse is the editor’s idea to sell more copies.

The misogynistic media strikes again.

Quick

Just a quick update to say that I’ve now included “about me” and “faq” sections, which you can find to the left of this.

And, to quickly say that I will never be buying from The Body Shop again. Oh well, no huge loss. Their products aren’t particularly natural either, anyway.