I loved the Carmen Sandiego computer game. But I sucked at it, hard.
Anyway, just posting the absolute obvious - have left the deep end behind and am now paddling about just above the abyss that contains giant squid, the lost civilisation of Mu (coincidence? I think not) and all manner of undiscovered sea species.
So more self righteous snark has been put on indefinite hold.
But maybe one day I'll set up a creative writing blog attached to this. Because there must have been three (optimistic?) people who've checked here because I'm listed in the Letterbox zine largely as a fiction writer. Hi there, if you are one of these three! I'm a bit.... indisposed (mentally, emotionally, grammatically) so nothing's been going on around here. But maybe soon I'll post more about mock turtles and potatoes. Oh, I've got one about a flowerbed of burlesque dancers that you'll just love!
Stay tuned (but maybe get yourself something to eat, it might be a while).
Tuesday 11 October 2011
Thursday 4 August 2011
The See-Saw: Are TV and Torture Porn Making Us Lose Our Balance?
This is a very hypothetical, very non-commital, somewhat inflammatory (but also, not at all new) thought process I've been going through over the past few days and I wanted to get it out there, just to give my conscience a break.
I'm a fan of Law & Order: Special Victims Unit. I'm not a die hard, even though I seem to structure my blogs in the same manner as the show, starting on a seemingly unrelated topic to the actual story. I'm not even 100% on being a fangirl (that's a lie, I'm just trying to hide my lust for Christopher Meloni's arms - yeah, I watched Oz, I admit it).
But I've been watching SVU for a good 6 years. I know which one's Alex and which one's Casey (sidebar, your Honour: I'm down with both my legal homegirls, no haters here), I know Dick Wolf has been messing with us on Olivia's sexuality for 90% of the show's 12 seasons thus far (is it the butch hair? is it the puffy jacket? is it Alex or Elliot? Put us out of our misery, Ironbone!*) and I can list each character's deviance for kicks. Okay, you twisted my arm -
Captain Cragen - alcoholic, 20 years sober
Elliot Stabler - anger management issues
Olivia Benson - child of rape, daughter of traumatised, alcoholic mother
John Munch - conspiracy theorist, kook and ex-husband four times over
Odafin Tutuola - absentee father making amends to his adult son
Alex Cabot - ADA who had a hit put out on her, was shot by a former member of the IRA, thrown into witness protection, dragged in and out for appearances back at SVU and in her own shortlived spin-off (Conviction) and who now seems to live in unexplained suspended animation, brought back periodically with no explanation as to what she's been doing or if she's secretly boffing Olivia (maybe I used to run a community... maybe it was on Livejournal... and maybe it was packed with rabid femslashers that just loved their A/O pairing)
Casey Novak - replacement ADA to Alex Cabot, has a distinct lurching gait and notoriously bad fashion sense, was severely beaten whilst on the job and, let me just say, not a bad egg at all
*Ironbone is the nickname fangirls (okay, I admit it - I know too much) use for creator Dick Wolf, because it appears in multiple episodes as a company name or on posters - Dick just likes inserting his Ironbone wherever he can. Kapow, badoomtish! That's what she said.
So I may be a bit of a fan. Whatever. I can stop whenever I like.
But in seriousness, I started watching because some kids in my science class were talking about it before the teacher showed up one lesson. And I put in my two cents (I know, shock horror) that it was kind of wrong to watch a show totally centred around rape and violence. A bit messed up, you know. They didn't like that, let me tell you. And fair enough, no one wants it implied that they're a weirdo. But hey, I'm one of the weirdos - I succumbed and slowly slid into something of a long term, low intensity addiction.
(Okay, I say low intensity - but when Alex was shot, I cried. Multiple times. Bordering on hysteria. But who can blame me? Stephanie March is too pretty to even fake-die.)
I felt a bit guilty at first, going against my convictions, but it's so easy to be ensnared by the drama, the banter between cops or the infamous 'ripped from the headlines' plots that resemble real-life cases that have some international recognition. After a few years, the blood and the torn underwear and the dead bodies stop meaning much and it takes more and more gruesome, depraved acts just to get us paying attention.
Now, jump to the present. I was just made aware of a news story (via Facebook status updates, which is mostly where I get my news now... feel free to roll your eyes) that broke today about a teenage girl living in an affluent suburb not far from where I went to school who had a collar bomb strapped around her neck. It was fake and removed about 10 hours after the police arrived (and the bomb squad and Scotland Yard and a bunch of military personnel, say the rather vague reports that have come in thus far) and the girl is fine.
But the first thing that jumped into my head when I saw the words 'collar bomb' was the Saw franchise. Specifically, the third installment of torture porn. Where a doctor has her head blown off after being threatened throughout the movie to do what she's told, keep the mastermind alive or she dies. And yes, this was achieved through means of a collar bomb.
The few reports on this incident I've seen so far mention Colombian ransoms and a bank heist gone wrong in America where the victims in each case were killed when their collar bombs exploded. Now, I'm all for referencing real life occurrences in the media (otherwise, what on earth is the point?) but, apart from the girl being from a rich family, to which five children in private school and 'a house in the hills' attests, there are few similarities. The bank robber in the US was sold out by his buddies and the woman in Colombia hadn't paid the ransom and was killed as a technician attempted to diffuse her collar. But it seems that, despite the girl's family now revealed as being supposedly "the richest in the city", no ransom demands were made.
The police have called it a "very, very elaborate hoax" and were fooled into believing it was, potentially, a real bomb around the girl's neck. No attempts at extortion were made, only clear instructions pinned to her chest saying not to call the police and not to disarm the bomb, or it would be detonated. But it has also been reported that the man who broke in told the girl she could call the police but not to give many details about him or he would detonate the bomb. Understandably, at such early stages, reports are mixed.
But without an initial extortive demand (or contact with the police during the 10 hours before the girl was freed) or any plausible reason the girl herself would merit that kind of operation, the whole situation seems gratuitous. Why bother? The father has been linked to Nokia, Microsoft and Google via his high-paying job and the concept of intimidation seems probable. It could have been extortion gone wrong or abandoned mid-way, for whatever reason.
But the fact remains that the vast majority of people in developed countries, and I'd say the majority of people who live in the area where the event took place, know collar bombs from Saw III. How they work, their applications, what motivates people to hit the red button. It's like ideas are being served up on a cellulose platter. It has even been admitted by John Moncrieff, former police officer and current security expert, that the situation shows "disturbing similarities" to a recent Hawaii Five-O episode.
“These shows all have ex-military and police officers giving them advice and telling war stories which get picked up by script writers to make them more realistic, and one of the unforeseen consequences is that they might inspire copycats...” - Mr Moncrieff
My immediate reaction to this story was that one or more persons under 30 got the idea to terrorise this girl by faking a collar bomb and watching as the scene played out in the media. I'd say they were most likely young men but with possible female accomplices and I'd say it's even more likely that they're high school age or just graduated. If so, I'd say the probability of a young woman or women being involved is much higher because, as we know, there's nothing like a teenage girl for psychological cruelty. And knowing the area, the private school system and the mentality of the young people in that environment, I'd say the possibility of this scenario being at least partly accurate is high. Bullying has been taken to extremes in Japan, America and even a suburb away from the girl's house at a prestigious private school.
Which brings me right back around to my issue with SVU (cos I've obviously seen too much crime drama when I start talking like this). I've been watching the latest season over the past week and finding myself more than usually horrified by the child actors they use on the show. How are they affected by what they hear, see and say on those sets? Pretending to be dead on a slab or crying, saying how a man put things inside you cannot be healthy, right? Tell me it's not just me who has these thoughts. And I worry about how incredibly desensitised we become by watching all of this. And what that means for fragile minds that might, consciously or subconsciously, act out according to what they've seen.
Like in this case, where the possibility is presented (even if by chance) of someone wanting to re-enact the horror that's expressed in torture porn like the Saw franchise, Hostel I + II, Wolfcreek and the Final Destination films.
I'm not suggesting censoring television and film more than is current, I'm not saying we shouldn't watch crime shows or confronting movies, I'm not even calling those that do (myself included) any nasty names. I don't really know what I'm doing.
I just wonder why we're so fascinated with this particular brand of horror and what it means. Because if we want to see atrocities, we could always look to the real world and use that repulsion to change the lives of real people. Apparently, SVU has helped many sexual assault victims come to terms with and even report the crimes against them, an admirable achievement. But what about women who survive rape as a weapon of war in places like the Democratic Republic of the Congo or Rwanda, people who've suffered torture and degradation and abuse, anyone who's not able to find help or justice?
Never mind the good looking celebrities that play out pretend drama with fake blood while we eat our dinners on the couch, eyes glazed, unable to turn away.
I'm a fan of Law & Order: Special Victims Unit. I'm not a die hard, even though I seem to structure my blogs in the same manner as the show, starting on a seemingly unrelated topic to the actual story. I'm not even 100% on being a fangirl (that's a lie, I'm just trying to hide my lust for Christopher Meloni's arms - yeah, I watched Oz, I admit it).
But I've been watching SVU for a good 6 years. I know which one's Alex and which one's Casey (sidebar, your Honour: I'm down with both my legal homegirls, no haters here), I know Dick Wolf has been messing with us on Olivia's sexuality for 90% of the show's 12 seasons thus far (is it the butch hair? is it the puffy jacket? is it Alex or Elliot? Put us out of our misery, Ironbone!*) and I can list each character's deviance for kicks. Okay, you twisted my arm -
Captain Cragen - alcoholic, 20 years sober
Elliot Stabler - anger management issues
Olivia Benson - child of rape, daughter of traumatised, alcoholic mother
John Munch - conspiracy theorist, kook and ex-husband four times over
Odafin Tutuola - absentee father making amends to his adult son
Alex Cabot - ADA who had a hit put out on her, was shot by a former member of the IRA, thrown into witness protection, dragged in and out for appearances back at SVU and in her own shortlived spin-off (Conviction) and who now seems to live in unexplained suspended animation, brought back periodically with no explanation as to what she's been doing or if she's secretly boffing Olivia (maybe I used to run a community... maybe it was on Livejournal... and maybe it was packed with rabid femslashers that just loved their A/O pairing)
Casey Novak - replacement ADA to Alex Cabot, has a distinct lurching gait and notoriously bad fashion sense, was severely beaten whilst on the job and, let me just say, not a bad egg at all
*Ironbone is the nickname fangirls (okay, I admit it - I know too much) use for creator Dick Wolf, because it appears in multiple episodes as a company name or on posters - Dick just likes inserting his Ironbone wherever he can. Kapow, badoomtish! That's what she said.
So I may be a bit of a fan. Whatever. I can stop whenever I like.
But in seriousness, I started watching because some kids in my science class were talking about it before the teacher showed up one lesson. And I put in my two cents (I know, shock horror) that it was kind of wrong to watch a show totally centred around rape and violence. A bit messed up, you know. They didn't like that, let me tell you. And fair enough, no one wants it implied that they're a weirdo. But hey, I'm one of the weirdos - I succumbed and slowly slid into something of a long term, low intensity addiction.
(Okay, I say low intensity - but when Alex was shot, I cried. Multiple times. Bordering on hysteria. But who can blame me? Stephanie March is too pretty to even fake-die.)
I felt a bit guilty at first, going against my convictions, but it's so easy to be ensnared by the drama, the banter between cops or the infamous 'ripped from the headlines' plots that resemble real-life cases that have some international recognition. After a few years, the blood and the torn underwear and the dead bodies stop meaning much and it takes more and more gruesome, depraved acts just to get us paying attention.
Now, jump to the present. I was just made aware of a news story (via Facebook status updates, which is mostly where I get my news now... feel free to roll your eyes) that broke today about a teenage girl living in an affluent suburb not far from where I went to school who had a collar bomb strapped around her neck. It was fake and removed about 10 hours after the police arrived (and the bomb squad and Scotland Yard and a bunch of military personnel, say the rather vague reports that have come in thus far) and the girl is fine.
But the first thing that jumped into my head when I saw the words 'collar bomb' was the Saw franchise. Specifically, the third installment of torture porn. Where a doctor has her head blown off after being threatened throughout the movie to do what she's told, keep the mastermind alive or she dies. And yes, this was achieved through means of a collar bomb.
The few reports on this incident I've seen so far mention Colombian ransoms and a bank heist gone wrong in America where the victims in each case were killed when their collar bombs exploded. Now, I'm all for referencing real life occurrences in the media (otherwise, what on earth is the point?) but, apart from the girl being from a rich family, to which five children in private school and 'a house in the hills' attests, there are few similarities. The bank robber in the US was sold out by his buddies and the woman in Colombia hadn't paid the ransom and was killed as a technician attempted to diffuse her collar. But it seems that, despite the girl's family now revealed as being supposedly "the richest in the city", no ransom demands were made.
The police have called it a "very, very elaborate hoax" and were fooled into believing it was, potentially, a real bomb around the girl's neck. No attempts at extortion were made, only clear instructions pinned to her chest saying not to call the police and not to disarm the bomb, or it would be detonated. But it has also been reported that the man who broke in told the girl she could call the police but not to give many details about him or he would detonate the bomb. Understandably, at such early stages, reports are mixed.
But without an initial extortive demand (or contact with the police during the 10 hours before the girl was freed) or any plausible reason the girl herself would merit that kind of operation, the whole situation seems gratuitous. Why bother? The father has been linked to Nokia, Microsoft and Google via his high-paying job and the concept of intimidation seems probable. It could have been extortion gone wrong or abandoned mid-way, for whatever reason.
But the fact remains that the vast majority of people in developed countries, and I'd say the majority of people who live in the area where the event took place, know collar bombs from Saw III. How they work, their applications, what motivates people to hit the red button. It's like ideas are being served up on a cellulose platter. It has even been admitted by John Moncrieff, former police officer and current security expert, that the situation shows "disturbing similarities" to a recent Hawaii Five-O episode.
“These shows all have ex-military and police officers giving them advice and telling war stories which get picked up by script writers to make them more realistic, and one of the unforeseen consequences is that they might inspire copycats...” - Mr Moncrieff
My immediate reaction to this story was that one or more persons under 30 got the idea to terrorise this girl by faking a collar bomb and watching as the scene played out in the media. I'd say they were most likely young men but with possible female accomplices and I'd say it's even more likely that they're high school age or just graduated. If so, I'd say the probability of a young woman or women being involved is much higher because, as we know, there's nothing like a teenage girl for psychological cruelty. And knowing the area, the private school system and the mentality of the young people in that environment, I'd say the possibility of this scenario being at least partly accurate is high. Bullying has been taken to extremes in Japan, America and even a suburb away from the girl's house at a prestigious private school.
Which brings me right back around to my issue with SVU (cos I've obviously seen too much crime drama when I start talking like this). I've been watching the latest season over the past week and finding myself more than usually horrified by the child actors they use on the show. How are they affected by what they hear, see and say on those sets? Pretending to be dead on a slab or crying, saying how a man put things inside you cannot be healthy, right? Tell me it's not just me who has these thoughts. And I worry about how incredibly desensitised we become by watching all of this. And what that means for fragile minds that might, consciously or subconsciously, act out according to what they've seen.
Like in this case, where the possibility is presented (even if by chance) of someone wanting to re-enact the horror that's expressed in torture porn like the Saw franchise, Hostel I + II, Wolfcreek and the Final Destination films.
I'm not suggesting censoring television and film more than is current, I'm not saying we shouldn't watch crime shows or confronting movies, I'm not even calling those that do (myself included) any nasty names. I don't really know what I'm doing.
I just wonder why we're so fascinated with this particular brand of horror and what it means. Because if we want to see atrocities, we could always look to the real world and use that repulsion to change the lives of real people. Apparently, SVU has helped many sexual assault victims come to terms with and even report the crimes against them, an admirable achievement. But what about women who survive rape as a weapon of war in places like the Democratic Republic of the Congo or Rwanda, people who've suffered torture and degradation and abuse, anyone who's not able to find help or justice?
Never mind the good looking celebrities that play out pretend drama with fake blood while we eat our dinners on the couch, eyes glazed, unable to turn away.
Update: As of 7/8, the police have confirmed there was an extended note pinned to the girl and that it contained the name of a character from a book on the required reading list for her brothers' school. Further information seems to conclude (because the cops are being understandably tight-lipped about the whole thing) that there were no ransom demands mentioned, apart from the threat of activating the device if the police were involved or it was removed. There have been come mentions of a USB containing a digital copy of the note pinned to the girl, found inside the device.
Bungled extortion has an outside chance but I'd say they're quickly discovering how ridiculous spoiled rich kids can be and just as quickly covering it up for their parents.
Update: 16/8 - And it finally seems to be somewhat resolved. A man was arrested outside Louisville, KY and the police seem to have amassed quite compelling circumstantial evidence that it was him. The only problem is that no one can quite work out why he did it. And why his note not only referenced by seemed to centre around a book on her brother's school reading list. And how, exactly, he knew the family. And... once more... why the hell did he do it? We'll see what happens when he's finally extradited.
I'm glad it wasn't another sign of the impending apocalypse of the moral youth, when all is said and done. But I'm still pretty certain that we're moving in that direction, videogame by movie franchise by tv spin-off. Quick, switch over to Lady GaGa... I want to watch something normal.
Update: 16/8 - And it finally seems to be somewhat resolved. A man was arrested outside Louisville, KY and the police seem to have amassed quite compelling circumstantial evidence that it was him. The only problem is that no one can quite work out why he did it. And why his note not only referenced by seemed to centre around a book on her brother's school reading list. And how, exactly, he knew the family. And... once more... why the hell did he do it? We'll see what happens when he's finally extradited.
I'm glad it wasn't another sign of the impending apocalypse of the moral youth, when all is said and done. But I'm still pretty certain that we're moving in that direction, videogame by movie franchise by tv spin-off. Quick, switch over to Lady GaGa... I want to watch something normal.
Saturday 30 July 2011
BACKsLASH - How Gender Keeps Us Fighting Ourselves And Why Blogs Are Weapons of Mass Destruction
I've been ever so slowly approaching the status of blog addict. There are several that I check for updates multiple times a day and I get way too much of a buzz when a new post is up. I read crafty blogs, mummy blogs, Christian blogs, blogs that post pictures of animals that look like they've had a hard day's night, endlessly refreshing pages for memes (NB: Portal is the new Lolcat – and I don’t really know what that means either) and keeping up to date on Disney's campaign for global domination. I love reading new things; a bit of mindless trash, a few anecdotes and an opinion piece a day keeps me very happy.
Until I discovered a particular post about women and how they view themselves.
Not unusual, really, in my blogging history. Back in the day, before Livejournal became a joke about teen angst (sure there was a before, shut up) I used to post entries constantly. A great majority of my friends list were female and many very intelligent and opinionated about their gender. Most texts I wrote or read were about women, by women, for women, all rounded off with an icon of Meryl Streep at a red carpet event or Amanda Tapping in an impressively tight outfit (or vice versa, come to think of it). I wouldn't have minded a little more diversity within that sphere but the few guys I chatted with were straight and very supportive of the feminine. Which is a lovely thing.
But something's changed. Or maybe my eyes are a little more open. Because when I read this piece last week, I couldn't believe what was in front of me.
In a post entitled Take Up Space, on the blog for children’s apparel brand Pigtail Pals, CEO Melissa Wardy objects to a billboard put up before Valentine’s Day. It shows a selection of chocolates with the words “I’ll love you no matter how fat you get.” stencilled over the top. It’s pretty easy to see where she’s coming from, right? And pretty much the entire post can be summarised in a couple of lines by the lady herself –
"We give our power away when we allow others to tell us how to feel about our bodies. OUR bodies. Our freaking amazing, sexy, curvy, soft, creative, nice smelling, intelligent, nurturing, life giving bodies.”
It gives out a positive enough message, I guess - women are brilliant. Very true. Women are fairly wonderful, taken collectively. If that's what we're doing. I'm a huge fan of women, I have all their records. I’m not arguing this point in general. It was the other, highly liminal message I read that made my blood boil. This quote preceeded most of the post and set the tone for everything that followed.
“We’re the beautiful half of the species. For God’s sake, our male counterparts are bald or balding, grow hair in their ears, out their noses, on their shoulders, asses, bellies and backs, they’re smelly, beer bellied and have sweaty, stinky balls hanging off their ape-like bodies. And they feel F*$%@^& GREAT about themselves. That just doesn’t add up.”
- Tracee Sioux (journalist, writer and editor, amongst many other things, says her blog)
Women are beautiful and men aren't. Women are naturally sexy and men aren't. Therefore women have more worth than men. Because they are, comparatively, pretty nice to look at.
I'm sorry... what?
I just... WHAT?
The hypocrisy is enough to make me scream. Look, I think all women should receive positive messages about themselves throughout their life. As part of that group, I can't really help feeling supportive. There's a little person in my chest, jumping up and down with ♀ symbols painted on her cheeks, and a big smile on her face, that really wants to spread that love for a part of who I am.
But giving out the message that women are special and beautiful and worthy because men are not? I will not stand for that. Especially when we’ve been fighting for centuries not to be treated as pretty dolls with mouths painted closed.
Here's my little Theory of Everything. Ever since I was a child, I’ve had trouble differentiating. I've been told off a hundred times for not being good at finding things I'd lost in my schoolbag or my room, I still have to check my right and left on my hands and I never really got why it was so important that someone was a boy or a girl. I'm still great at losing things, bad at finding them, I pause to work out which way someone means when they're giving me directions and although I've mostly accepted that there's a big emphasis on gender in our world, I still don't really worry which way someone goes to pee.
If we work with an idea of some kind of unity of being, an interconnectedness that not only includes everything but IS everything, which seems to be the outline of the vague ‘spirituality’ we all admit to over organised religion, does it really matter if I'm a guy or a girl? Well, yeah. This is where it gets complicated. Of course it matters. Definitely. On some level, it matters very deeply. You wouldn't be the person you are in this world, the manifestation of your unique concept, without your gender.
But am I wholly defined by my breasts? If I didn't have the potential to give birth, what would that mean? And what exactly is a woman?
There have got to be thousands of definitions, millions, that would be completely personal to each individual. But how do we actually define a thing? We describe it. We list its features, its functions, its context. We categorise. We box down. What makes a box a box? Is it the cardboard? Or is it the fact that it separates the air inside from the air outside?
We define something by what it is and, consequently, by what it isn't. Which is something we don't put under the microscope too often. It's an easy process of ours and, like any kind of communication, it's a feature of relativity. It is, therefore, flawed. It needs to be, in this world. But tell me, what sounds right to you?
- You are yourself because you are you.
- You are yourself because you are not the person next to you.
Women are not sexy because men are not. Women are not intelligent because men are not. Women are not beautiful because men are not. These double negatives should be a clue.
Women are because they are,
and
Men are because they are.
I don't believe in creating a sense of self upon the denouncement of others. And I don’t believe in this over zealous neo-feminist crap that not only implies, but says outright, that women are better than men. I mean, you wouldn’t say Einstein wasn’t a genius or Johnny Depp isn’t beautiful because they’re men, would you? No, that’s ridiculous. And it would bely the statement that women have a superior intelligence if you did think so (allowing for subjective opinions on Mr Depp’s attractiveness, of course).
Somewhere along a road that was long and hard, where many amazing people (and yes, largely women) fought for their rights as members of society, we forgot what the word ‘equality’ means. Equal. Once, we marched for the same pay, the same respect, the same rights as men. But now, when those matters are still not resolved, we’re looking for more than that. We’ve forgotten about equality and are firmly preaching superiority.
I’m lucky, because I was born after many of the big fights for the feminist movement. When and where I came into existence, I already had the right to vote when I turned 18, to pay that’s either equal or a lot closer to equal than it was, to live in a place that (outwardly, at least) wouldn’t tolerate blatant sexism. But the downside is that now, the degradation of women is more insidious. Advertising, media, celebrities – all telling us that beauty and worth fits into a stick figure slot that few can squeeze into.
But that does not give us license to react with dismissive and bullying attitudes that are frankly reminiscent of the patriarchy which we have fought so hard against. Saying you’re superior because you can give birth is just as bad as thinking you’re better because you have a penis. Worse, even, because we know what it feels like to be belittled and mistreated. I’m going to go out on a limb here and tell you that it puts me in mind of the Israel/Palestine situation. A people who have been degraded, abused and killed oust another people from their home, putting them squarely in the same position. That is not a simple situation. It has history and strong emotions and a hundred complexities. The same as our self imposed battle of the sexes.
If there’s to be any kind of reconciliation between men and women on this issue, we’re going to have to let a few things go. We can learn from history but if we let it define who we are to the exclusion of all else, how can we grow? How can we expect anything to change if we repeat and repeat this cycle of intolerance and one upmanship? I don’t know the answer to this, as I couldn’t tell you how to solve the conflict surrounding Israel, but I know a good place to start. We’re all here trying to figure out what life is and do the best we can to know ourselves, the least we can do is respect each other as human beings, not walking billboards of labels, misconceptions and prejudice.
Think about what you write, think about the message you’re really sending the next generation of men and women, because while we may not have started this, we’re responsible for ending it.
To close with the final lines of Ms Wardy’s post -
“C’mon Ladies. Let’s face it. We’re the beautiful ones. We make the rules.”
How’s that attitude been working out for you so far, sister?
Until I discovered a particular post about women and how they view themselves.
Not unusual, really, in my blogging history. Back in the day, before Livejournal became a joke about teen angst (sure there was a before, shut up) I used to post entries constantly. A great majority of my friends list were female and many very intelligent and opinionated about their gender. Most texts I wrote or read were about women, by women, for women, all rounded off with an icon of Meryl Streep at a red carpet event or Amanda Tapping in an impressively tight outfit (or vice versa, come to think of it). I wouldn't have minded a little more diversity within that sphere but the few guys I chatted with were straight and very supportive of the feminine. Which is a lovely thing.
But something's changed. Or maybe my eyes are a little more open. Because when I read this piece last week, I couldn't believe what was in front of me.
In a post entitled Take Up Space, on the blog for children’s apparel brand Pigtail Pals, CEO Melissa Wardy objects to a billboard put up before Valentine’s Day. It shows a selection of chocolates with the words “I’ll love you no matter how fat you get.” stencilled over the top. It’s pretty easy to see where she’s coming from, right? And pretty much the entire post can be summarised in a couple of lines by the lady herself –
"We give our power away when we allow others to tell us how to feel about our bodies. OUR bodies. Our freaking amazing, sexy, curvy, soft, creative, nice smelling, intelligent, nurturing, life giving bodies.”
It gives out a positive enough message, I guess - women are brilliant. Very true. Women are fairly wonderful, taken collectively. If that's what we're doing. I'm a huge fan of women, I have all their records. I’m not arguing this point in general. It was the other, highly liminal message I read that made my blood boil. This quote preceeded most of the post and set the tone for everything that followed.
“We’re the beautiful half of the species. For God’s sake, our male counterparts are bald or balding, grow hair in their ears, out their noses, on their shoulders, asses, bellies and backs, they’re smelly, beer bellied and have sweaty, stinky balls hanging off their ape-like bodies. And they feel F*$%@^& GREAT about themselves. That just doesn’t add up.”
- Tracee Sioux (journalist, writer and editor, amongst many other things, says her blog)
Women are beautiful and men aren't. Women are naturally sexy and men aren't. Therefore women have more worth than men. Because they are, comparatively, pretty nice to look at.
I'm sorry... what?
I just... WHAT?
The hypocrisy is enough to make me scream. Look, I think all women should receive positive messages about themselves throughout their life. As part of that group, I can't really help feeling supportive. There's a little person in my chest, jumping up and down with ♀ symbols painted on her cheeks, and a big smile on her face, that really wants to spread that love for a part of who I am.
But giving out the message that women are special and beautiful and worthy because men are not? I will not stand for that. Especially when we’ve been fighting for centuries not to be treated as pretty dolls with mouths painted closed.
Here's my little Theory of Everything. Ever since I was a child, I’ve had trouble differentiating. I've been told off a hundred times for not being good at finding things I'd lost in my schoolbag or my room, I still have to check my right and left on my hands and I never really got why it was so important that someone was a boy or a girl. I'm still great at losing things, bad at finding them, I pause to work out which way someone means when they're giving me directions and although I've mostly accepted that there's a big emphasis on gender in our world, I still don't really worry which way someone goes to pee.
If we work with an idea of some kind of unity of being, an interconnectedness that not only includes everything but IS everything, which seems to be the outline of the vague ‘spirituality’ we all admit to over organised religion, does it really matter if I'm a guy or a girl? Well, yeah. This is where it gets complicated. Of course it matters. Definitely. On some level, it matters very deeply. You wouldn't be the person you are in this world, the manifestation of your unique concept, without your gender.
But am I wholly defined by my breasts? If I didn't have the potential to give birth, what would that mean? And what exactly is a woman?
There have got to be thousands of definitions, millions, that would be completely personal to each individual. But how do we actually define a thing? We describe it. We list its features, its functions, its context. We categorise. We box down. What makes a box a box? Is it the cardboard? Or is it the fact that it separates the air inside from the air outside?
We define something by what it is and, consequently, by what it isn't. Which is something we don't put under the microscope too often. It's an easy process of ours and, like any kind of communication, it's a feature of relativity. It is, therefore, flawed. It needs to be, in this world. But tell me, what sounds right to you?
- You are yourself because you are you.
- You are yourself because you are not the person next to you.
Women are not sexy because men are not. Women are not intelligent because men are not. Women are not beautiful because men are not. These double negatives should be a clue.
Women are because they are,
and
Men are because they are.
I don't believe in creating a sense of self upon the denouncement of others. And I don’t believe in this over zealous neo-feminist crap that not only implies, but says outright, that women are better than men. I mean, you wouldn’t say Einstein wasn’t a genius or Johnny Depp isn’t beautiful because they’re men, would you? No, that’s ridiculous. And it would bely the statement that women have a superior intelligence if you did think so (allowing for subjective opinions on Mr Depp’s attractiveness, of course).
Somewhere along a road that was long and hard, where many amazing people (and yes, largely women) fought for their rights as members of society, we forgot what the word ‘equality’ means. Equal. Once, we marched for the same pay, the same respect, the same rights as men. But now, when those matters are still not resolved, we’re looking for more than that. We’ve forgotten about equality and are firmly preaching superiority.
I’m lucky, because I was born after many of the big fights for the feminist movement. When and where I came into existence, I already had the right to vote when I turned 18, to pay that’s either equal or a lot closer to equal than it was, to live in a place that (outwardly, at least) wouldn’t tolerate blatant sexism. But the downside is that now, the degradation of women is more insidious. Advertising, media, celebrities – all telling us that beauty and worth fits into a stick figure slot that few can squeeze into.
But that does not give us license to react with dismissive and bullying attitudes that are frankly reminiscent of the patriarchy which we have fought so hard against. Saying you’re superior because you can give birth is just as bad as thinking you’re better because you have a penis. Worse, even, because we know what it feels like to be belittled and mistreated. I’m going to go out on a limb here and tell you that it puts me in mind of the Israel/Palestine situation. A people who have been degraded, abused and killed oust another people from their home, putting them squarely in the same position. That is not a simple situation. It has history and strong emotions and a hundred complexities. The same as our self imposed battle of the sexes.
If there’s to be any kind of reconciliation between men and women on this issue, we’re going to have to let a few things go. We can learn from history but if we let it define who we are to the exclusion of all else, how can we grow? How can we expect anything to change if we repeat and repeat this cycle of intolerance and one upmanship? I don’t know the answer to this, as I couldn’t tell you how to solve the conflict surrounding Israel, but I know a good place to start. We’re all here trying to figure out what life is and do the best we can to know ourselves, the least we can do is respect each other as human beings, not walking billboards of labels, misconceptions and prejudice.
Think about what you write, think about the message you’re really sending the next generation of men and women, because while we may not have started this, we’re responsible for ending it.
To close with the final lines of Ms Wardy’s post -
“C’mon Ladies. Let’s face it. We’re the beautiful ones. We make the rules.”
How’s that attitude been working out for you so far, sister?
Come in! May I offer you some snark?
Full disclosure - I suck at intro posts. Well, I really, really hate writing them which is pretty much the same thing. So, prepare to be wowed by my incredible lack of finesse and my cheerful honesty about uncomfortable subjects. Let's see if I can come up with a few descriptors.
Call me whatever you want. I'm seeing how the anonymous thing goes. For as long as I can get away with it, my name remains a secret (like whether or not Joan Rivers still retains any of her original parts... ugh sorry, that was weak - I should have stretched first).
I'm a little Pisces shut-in who's been medicated to the eyeballs for the past few months on account of my being a basket case. I've yet to conclude whose method is more effective - mine or the doctors. Mine was certainly more fun (if a little hard on my liver) but now I'm messing with my brain chemistry under the guise of medical opinion. It's a rollercoaster of inspiration and all out panic.
I reside with my cat whose name lives in infamy for its length, unlike his tail which is known for its lack thereof. I'm a speed demon on the roads but I'm fully prepared to shoot out the tyres of anyone gunning it down our quiet street, after my kitten was hit and left on the road to die. Luckily for me, because he's my stand-in child while I'm too young for kids but clucky as fuck, he dragged himself home for us to race him frantically to the vet where he spent the next few months recovering.
He's fine now, if a bit neurotic.
I'm totally uncertain about almost everything but manage to be extremely opinionated, nonetheless. The only time this doesn't seem to backfire is when I'm giving people hell for leaning too far in one direction (usually the scared or hopeless). Ironic that someone who slides in and out of depression like a.... okay, I'm going to try and leave dirty conversational similes out of the first post. But it's definitely interesting that what gets me fired up the most is other people giving up. My extremely indirect way of looking out for myself, I suppose.
I can do cartwheels wearing handcuffs. I'm terrified of being in the water around submerged objects. I have an encyclopaedic knowledge of tv shows and my dvd collection oscillates between being organised alphabetically or by colour. I sang nicely as a child but now I'm tone deaf, which makes me want to cry. If you take a flash photograph of me, all you'll see are my eyes. I used to spend my weekends getting paid to blow my whistle at girls in lycra miniskirts. And I also umpired netball.
And, as you can see, once I start talking... I always have more to say than I thought. Verbose is an understatement.
So, I hope I've caught your interest a little, though I know this post is mostly for people who've come in mid-blog history and want to know who this fuckwit is. Or net!stalkers. So, whichever category you fall under, welcome and I hope I live up to your high expectations.
Lemon out.
Call me whatever you want. I'm seeing how the anonymous thing goes. For as long as I can get away with it, my name remains a secret (like whether or not Joan Rivers still retains any of her original parts... ugh sorry, that was weak - I should have stretched first).
I'm a little Pisces shut-in who's been medicated to the eyeballs for the past few months on account of my being a basket case. I've yet to conclude whose method is more effective - mine or the doctors. Mine was certainly more fun (if a little hard on my liver) but now I'm messing with my brain chemistry under the guise of medical opinion. It's a rollercoaster of inspiration and all out panic.
I reside with my cat whose name lives in infamy for its length, unlike his tail which is known for its lack thereof. I'm a speed demon on the roads but I'm fully prepared to shoot out the tyres of anyone gunning it down our quiet street, after my kitten was hit and left on the road to die. Luckily for me, because he's my stand-in child while I'm too young for kids but clucky as fuck, he dragged himself home for us to race him frantically to the vet where he spent the next few months recovering.
He's fine now, if a bit neurotic.
I'm totally uncertain about almost everything but manage to be extremely opinionated, nonetheless. The only time this doesn't seem to backfire is when I'm giving people hell for leaning too far in one direction (usually the scared or hopeless). Ironic that someone who slides in and out of depression like a.... okay, I'm going to try and leave dirty conversational similes out of the first post. But it's definitely interesting that what gets me fired up the most is other people giving up. My extremely indirect way of looking out for myself, I suppose.
I can do cartwheels wearing handcuffs. I'm terrified of being in the water around submerged objects. I have an encyclopaedic knowledge of tv shows and my dvd collection oscillates between being organised alphabetically or by colour. I sang nicely as a child but now I'm tone deaf, which makes me want to cry. If you take a flash photograph of me, all you'll see are my eyes. I used to spend my weekends getting paid to blow my whistle at girls in lycra miniskirts. And I also umpired netball.
And, as you can see, once I start talking... I always have more to say than I thought. Verbose is an understatement.
So, I hope I've caught your interest a little, though I know this post is mostly for people who've come in mid-blog history and want to know who this fuckwit is. Or net!stalkers. So, whichever category you fall under, welcome and I hope I live up to your high expectations.
Lemon out.
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