tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26866962406725432872024-03-24T10:43:53.239-07:00The VagendaThe Vagenda Teamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09068281916141463016noreply@blogger.comBlogger730125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2686696240672543287.post-13430774387458769752014-03-08T03:00:00.000-08:002014-03-08T03:00:08.938-08:00So We Have a Book<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi52deDIca1IgaROup4zuMNe3aRwBoubNvb0usHgLF7mXClY21N2Bc7PdajXyeIwr-WyCqm1SwYkDHY7QDRKFE2QlRARv26CnOxym0m1cmRVwN52U34a4BscrFJvqIN619_TSWSk_fOol4n/s1600/vagenda_zero2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi52deDIca1IgaROup4zuMNe3aRwBoubNvb0usHgLF7mXClY21N2Bc7PdajXyeIwr-WyCqm1SwYkDHY7QDRKFE2QlRARv26CnOxym0m1cmRVwN52U34a4BscrFJvqIN619_TSWSk_fOol4n/s1600/vagenda_zero2.jpg" height="640" width="418" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We know, we know. Where the hell have we been? Well, we've been redesigning a new website thanks to the lovely kickstarter cash you guys provided us with (and it will be ready soon), but we've also been FINISHING OUR BOOK. Behold its magnificent cover, which we love. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">(We've also been having media training, which involves doing a mock interview and watching yourself back on a screen. If you fancy being made acutely aware, in high definition, of all the physical flaws of which you were previously ignorant, you should totally try it. Just kidding, David. It was super-helpful)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It's been just over two years since we launched this site, and literally millions of you have graced it with your presence, which is why we'd like to use today, International Women's Day, to say a massive thank you for all your support and letters and emails and hilarious input. It's been real.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We'd also like to use International Women's Day as a naked marketing opportunity (not literally naked, I am wearing a No More Page Three T-Shirt that could probably do with a wash) to ask you to buy our book. We've worked really hard on it. This meant not just trying to make it as funny as possible, but also going through all its hundreds of pages and changing every incidence of 'cum' to 'come'. That's dedication. There are quite a few spaffs, too. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You can <a href="http://www.waterstones.com/waterstonesweb/products/rhiannon+lucy+cosslett/holly+baxter/the+vagenda/9768994/">pre-order it on Waterstones here</a> (it's released on May 1), and <a href="http://www.vintage-books.co.uk/books/0224095803/rhiannon-lucy-cosslett-and-holly-baxter/the-vagenda/">on the Vintage website.</a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">For updates, you can <a href="http://twitter.com/vagendamagazine">follow us on Twitter</a>, as well as <a href="https://twitter.com/Vintagebooks">the lovely people at Vintage Books</a>, who have just been fucking spectacular for the whole year and a half that we've been working on this. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now, I must get back to my main Saturday morning activity, which is trying to keep the rising cornershop-wine-flavoured nausea at bay until my boyfriend wakes up to make breakfast, but we hope you like the cover and much as we like YOU. Big love, ladybros, and look out for the new site soon. </span></div>
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The Vagenda Teamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09068281916141463016noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2686696240672543287.post-49707535507968635612014-02-07T08:17:00.000-08:002014-02-07T08:26:35.078-08:00Could you be ‘London’s Perfect Girlfriend’?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhookuo7W3R3V6AHZix7gkr7-gZDmGdIQvUToB0YSK4oFFKY-fE1JXpJgO-EnLHxJh5OzyZuAkuy80OWTSS0xRGF2bf9uSM_ryH_Vp47sR9BQ9FGKptgh4W6kID7Rd6DfybOAYPd1ZMM-_Q/s1600/perfect_girlfriend_01_880.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhookuo7W3R3V6AHZix7gkr7-gZDmGdIQvUToB0YSK4oFFKY-fE1JXpJgO-EnLHxJh5OzyZuAkuy80OWTSS0xRGF2bf9uSM_ryH_Vp47sR9BQ9FGKptgh4W6kID7Rd6DfybOAYPd1ZMM-_Q/s1600/perfect_girlfriend_01_880.jpg" height="440" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">…because I’m fucking not.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Ironic, how just as I’m doubting my own abilities as a
girlfriend, this little puppy of a press release lands in my inbox, courtesy of
a bemused journalist:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5h97olkxojDZJFeJioleYAegDhQW_xb_V38z_iLyqxoT60DNLjZ1wEJqQe_SQrm-HA8e-kgGrEi4-Lm3a8gc1HZy9lRkPe1JjrUiVPlrRzS1U1qqZWI5CI2G1jf_hJ1F8UgapF1C1Nea_/s1600/Screen+Shot+2014-02-07+at+14.52.23.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5h97olkxojDZJFeJioleYAegDhQW_xb_V38z_iLyqxoT60DNLjZ1wEJqQe_SQrm-HA8e-kgGrEi4-Lm3a8gc1HZy9lRkPe1JjrUiVPlrRzS1U1qqZWI5CI2G1jf_hJ1F8UgapF1C1Nea_/s1600/Screen+Shot+2014-02-07+at+14.52.23.png" height="168" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Nice, huh? So basically last night I had a huge row
with my boyfriend. So huge that I actually thought we might break up (the row
was about a pie - I am not joking). I did not, however, mourn ‘appropriately’ –
the night ended with me and my friend Kate finger pointing to Jane Weidlin’s
<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gAsLDf-tYlg&feature=kp">Rush Hour</a> while sloshing warm prosecco all over the kitchen floor, so I suspect
I might need some girlfriend lessons. Or lessons on how not to suppress my
emotions using alcohol. Hell, probably both.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Thankfully, here she is, my muse, ‘London’s Perfect
Girlfriend’. I have, it seems, much to learn from her. And I quote: <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">‘</span></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: white; color: black; font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">London’s
‘perfect girlfriend’ is 5ft 6 inches tall, drinks white wine, has no tattoos
and supports local team Tottenham, it has been revealed.</span></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">’<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">I am 5ft6 inches if I stoop
and flatten my hair a bit, AND I drink fuckloads of white wine: SCORE. I don’t
support Tottenham, so already my perfection is coming into question, but I’m
doing well so far. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">‘<span style="background: white; color: black;">A study of 2,000 men by
location based dating app [REDACTED SO AS NOT TO PROMOTE THESE BASTARDS] also
found that men in London like a woman with a foreign accent, who drive an Audi
TT, is a meat-eater and loves a roast dinner.</span>’<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I don’t technically have a foreign accent, but I grew
up in Wales and can do a pretty convincing North Walian accent if forced. I’m
not sure how sexy it is and it kind of reminds me of the guy I lost my
virginity to but hey, it’s something. I also LOVE a roast dinner, and having
been a forced veggie for twelve years of my life, will now eat pretty much any
part of an animal. Last time I went to France I had pig’s colon!! Could it be
that I might actually be London’s perfect girlfriend?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Ok, so I don’t drive. Even if I did I’d never drive an
Audi, because I am not a letting agent called Andy. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">‘</span></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: white; color: black; font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Like
other British men they would like to date a teacher or nurse with brown hair
and think it’s more attractive if she wears makeup – but only subtly.</span></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">’<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Both professions which crop
up in porn a lot (coincidence?) and which, outside of porn, involve caring for
vulnerable people, a typically feminine activity which chimes with thousands of
years worth of patriarchal gender roles. Nice! I’m impressed, men of London. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">But be warned, nurses and
lady teachers of London, your years of training and underpaid labour and long
hours are only worth so much as far as your perfectionability goes. If you go
about no make-up (or too much), the men of London won’t be impressed. We’re
talking the ‘natural look’ here, as favoured by women’s magazines: a look which
apparently makes it appear as though you’re not wearing any make-up despite the
fact that you’ve been goaded into buying fifteen different products to achieve
the finished result. And you thought your public sector job was hard, bitches. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">‘<span style="background: white; color: black;">Weighing a healthy 9st,
she’s a 34C who enjoys listening to a bit of pop music and her favourite movie
is the Patrick Swayze classic – Dirty Dancing.</span>’<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Let’s break this shitlist
down. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">9st? Not since I was 21, you
bunch of cunts. Now I feel really bad about myself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">34C? At most I am a B, but to
be honest, only when I’m on the blob. Most of the time I’m more like an A. So
I’m fat and I have small tits, basically. I’m Lena Dunham! (</span><span style="background: white; font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 9.5pt;"><a href="http://www.theguardian.com/culture/2014/jan/11/lena-dunham-called-fat-hideous-and-i-lived">"No, her stomach isn't huge, it's just that her boobs are reallysmall – it's an optical illusion"</a>)</span><span style="font-family: Times; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">And Pop music is OK, I
suppose. The last song I listened to was ‘Bloody Motherfucking Asshole’ by
Martha Wainwright. That counts, right? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Oh, and I’ve never seen Dirty
Dancing. Do I need to hand my vagina back in now? Or should I just give it to the men of London, on a plate? It would solve a lot of problems, it seems. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">‘<span style="background: white; color: black;">When asked to choose a
celebrity who resembles their perfect girlfriend, Kelly Brook was</span><span style="color: black;"> <span style="background: white;">London</span> <span style="background: white;">and the nation’s most popular choice, followed by
Denise Van Outen then Kiera Knightley and Katy Perry.</span></span>’<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Talk about a mixed bag! I do
not resemble any of these women, but I could potensh pass for Katy Perry in the
right light, if I stopped eating for a couple of months and dyed my hair black
and stopped calling myself a feminist. Potensh.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">‘<span style="background: white; color: black;">Friends is her current
favourite television show closely followed by Location, Location, Location and</span><span style="color: black;"> <span style="background: white;">Coronation Street.</span></span>’<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Friends? Was this survey
conducted ten years ago? It’s not even on anymore. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">The press release, which is probably being uploaded to MailOnline this very second, continues:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">‘</span></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">We know that everyone has a favourite hair colour and
sometimes even eye colour and height.</span></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">But we think that avoiding a woman because
she might support an opposing football team or enjoy a different genre of films
to you, might be being a bit too picky.’ </span></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">No shit, guys? Really?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">‘</span></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">It was also found that the perfect partner enjoys a
wide range of hobbies, with reading, going out to dinner and travelling as
their favourites.’<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Those are literally EVERYONE’S favourite hobbies, as evidenced by their
dating profiles. <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">‘They also love to go to bars with their
friends, watching a live band every so often and are careful with what they eat
– without being too strict.’<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">So much for that regular roast dinner they wanted me to snaffle. ABORT
ABORT.</span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">‘Men like a girl who likes to watch
football and would prefer them to wear either skinny jeans or miniskirts.’<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">The rage is becoming strong now. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">‘Researchers also found that the perfect
girlfriend needs to be adventurous in the bedroom, is happy to embark in a bit
of role-play and experiment with different positions.’<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Role-play, huh? Like being a sexy nurse, or perhaps a teacher? Or Denise
Van Outen? Or some kind of nurseteacher nineties ladette hybrid?</span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">‘And men don’t want a woman who can just
impress them; they want a girlfriend who will get on with the other important
woman in their life too – their mum.’</span></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Fuck your mum. She made you. Seriously, fuck her. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">‘But after all that, three quarters of the
single men who responded to the study said they don’t think they will meet
their perfect woman and will have to compromise instead.’<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">At which point I begin playing the world’s tiniest violin. </span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">‘And more surprising still, two in five
men already in a relationship think their current wife or girlfriend isn’t the
perfect woman for them.’</span></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Thus comes the realisation
that, not only am I too angry and flat-chested to be London’s perfect
girlfriend, but I’m probably not even my boyfriend’s perfect girlfriend. Thanks
bullshit press release, your sexism just made my hangover ten times worse. I’m
off to bake a literal humble pie while watching Dirty Dancing now, you pricks. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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The Vagenda Teamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09068281916141463016noreply@blogger.com30tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2686696240672543287.post-36355225524758282302014-02-04T05:16:00.001-08:002014-02-04T06:40:59.327-08:00This Is How I Realised I Had Not, In Actual Fact, Been “Asking For It” <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguwdu-H9SA0gD92rLMxquoPJ1Z_yT2Z1vejwG1kxUoOymkivKNJh7Cq0ac-xfgEZCbC21st__aiYh2cFDDaBwyUbFLY8duO4NX5OIdNB3jGhKQ-_aQR65wwrAxRcFoU1wN3UgI9WSHlng1/s1600/stillnotasking.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguwdu-H9SA0gD92rLMxquoPJ1Z_yT2Z1vejwG1kxUoOymkivKNJh7Cq0ac-xfgEZCbC21st__aiYh2cFDDaBwyUbFLY8duO4NX5OIdNB3jGhKQ-_aQR65wwrAxRcFoU1wN3UgI9WSHlng1/s1600/stillnotasking.jpg" height="381" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My sweet, shy younger cousin and I were going for our first sophisticated restaurant dinner together. Admittedly it was at about <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_93707395" style="border-bottom-color: rgb(204, 204, 204); border-bottom-style: dashed; border-bottom-width: 1px; position: relative; top: -2px; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ" style="position: relative; top: 2px; z-index: -1;">5:30</span></span> – not so sophisticated, but she had a train to catch. She had recently turned 18 and was visiting London, and I decided that as an established, refined woman a whopping <i>four years </i>her senior, it was my duty to show her some of the finer things in life. As it stands, thanks to my rather affluent aunt and uncle she actually has one hell of a lot more in her savings account than I do (I have experience going deep, deep in the red, and I don’t mean that in some sort of menstrual sex sense). But no matter.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I ordered the blue cheese gnocchi while she decided upon some irritatingly healthy salad concoction. My usually nervous cousin was growing in confidence as she got older, and I sat there feeling immensely proud as she said to the waitress: “Can I have it without olives, please?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Waitress: “Oh no, believe me, it’s much better with olives. It’s nothing without the olives.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Her: “Oh, I don’t know, I don’t really li–”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Waitress: “Miss, I’m telling you, it’s made by the olives. If you’re getting this salad, you can’t have it without olives.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Her: “No really, please, no olives. Thank you.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now, it’s impossible to relate just how difficult my cousin would have once found this exchange, but as she’s matured she’s become more and more sure of herself. Saying no took her guts, a lot of guts, but as they say: no likey, no lighty. Or something. Anyway, we made general chit-chat while I near-on downed my wine. My cousin, contently a product of a teetotal upbringing, politely sipped her orange juice. Then the food arrived, and, lo and behold: olives.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She insisted she didn’t mind – that the restaurant had served this dish countless times, that the staff knew better than her, that if she was ordering the salad she should have everything that comes with it. Meanwhile, the wine having slightly gone to my head, I flipped the fuck out.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Because, ladles and gentlespoons, turns out there are still people in the world have not yet understood: <i>No. Means. No.</i> And what infuriated me most of all was that, prior to this experience, I had been one of those people.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Here comes the heavy stuff, folks (Nope, still not a period reference.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Back during my university years I had a friend with whom I conducted a consensual S&M relationship. We would regularly engage in painful sexual activities which we both enjoyed, and were very comfortable with. But I had limits – limits he, when he was extremely drunk, would not always accept. Therein lies the difficulty, or so I once believed. I had brought this man into my room, gotten naked with him, let him spank me and slap me and bite me and scratch me and squeeze my breasts like they were stress-balls (coincidentally, I sometimes gave the same treatment to his actual balls – and he friggin’ loved it). And then, sometimes, he would try to anally penetrate me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It might not make sense, it might not seem consistent, but that was something I just wasn’t ready for. I had expressed as much many, many times. I would cry and try my utmost to stop him, to no avail. But after all, hadn’t I invited him in myself, wanting him to sexually dominate me? Surely I should have expected precisely this kind of treatment? This is what I believed for a very, very long time: that the second I’d let him in, I should’ve known what was coming. Sometimes, I found myself nodding emphatically alongside our old friend Robin #PRICKE – for I, too, hated these blurred lines.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But they’re not blurred, now are they? It could not have been plainer. These acts: okay. Those acts: not okay. Simples. There is nothing inconsistent about consenting to one sexual activity whilst being uncomfortable with another. Placing down particular items does not imply other things are immediately, irrevocably on the table. I had a tipsy epiphany (etipsany?) at the restaurant: it’s as straightforward as ordering a salad without the olives. Doesn’t matter whether my cousin was allergic to olives, never liked olives, just didn’t feel like olives during that particular evening. Perhaps she practices some sort of obscure religion in which one does not consume olives after <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_93707396" style="border-bottom-color: rgb(204, 204, 204); border-bottom-style: dashed; border-bottom-width: 1px; position: relative; top: -2px; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ" style="position: relative; top: 2px; z-index: -1;">noon</span></span> on a<span class="aBn" data-term="goog_93707397" style="border-bottom-color: rgb(204, 204, 204); border-bottom-style: dashed; border-bottom-width: 1px; position: relative; top: -2px; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ" style="position: relative; top: 2px; z-index: -1;">Tuesday</span></span>. Point is, as she expressly stated,<i> she didn’t want any fucking olives</i>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I wish to make it abundantly clear that, evidently, it is not just men who believe “No” can mean “ERRRR SECRETLY YES LOL”. The waitress wouldn’t listen to my cousin. My S&M partner wouldn’t listen to me, but for a very long time I blamed myself for having confusing criteria, for saying yes to some stuff then bitchily denying him other stuff – and I bet you a plethora of people, men and women alike, would still believe that it was my fault. To them, finally, I say: go choke on an olive.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was not “asking for it”. I was “asking for it” as much as my cousin was “asking for” olives. No one else has the right to tell me, her, or anyone else what they want. Newsflash, people - we’re not so fucking incompetent as to not understand what “yes” and “no” mean. It took me a long time to understand that I did not bring those unpleasant experiences on myself. I suppose in one sense (and one sense alone) I have to thank that pushy waitress, for jolting me into realising that I had not been to blame.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So, friends, let’s sum up. Was I secretly, unbeknownst even to myself, begging for anal sex? Does my cousin conceal an insatiable hunger for olives that only the waitress could see? Did I convince my cousin to send back her order and get the one she had actually asked for?</span></div>
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The Vagenda Teamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09068281916141463016noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2686696240672543287.post-75755559656515764302014-02-03T02:15:00.000-08:002014-02-04T04:50:44.413-08:00The Day My Behaviour Became "Too Much" For A Woman<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Recently, a male colleague at work glanced at the array of lunch items on my desk and asked pointedly, “What are you eating <i>now</i>?!” Turning away from my perfectly arranged artillery of tupperware boxes to face him, I brazenly demanded to know if he was an officer of the diet police and whether he was going to lock me away for my sins. As a rather feisty feminist, everybody else in the office probably thought that my colleague’s comment had slipped across my teflon-coated shoulders virtually unnoticed. But <i>au contraire</i>, my friends. Instead, I ate the remainder of my lunch feeling guilty and embarrassed about the amount of food I had consumed. </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now, before you get all Chuck Norris on my work colleague, I have to point out that he was absolutely joking. In fact, he’d probably be mortified if he knew that his comments had made me feel that way. We’ve both tried to lose weight in the past so his joke was a nod to the fact that we’ve both well and truly fallen off the diet wagon (I caught him with a mouthful of biscuits when he thought nobody was in the office). However, this idea of women being “too much” is most definitely not a joke, and is something that us ladies are having to deal with on the regular. </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Exhibit B: After writing a rather angry opinion piece on my blog lately, I received a snore-inducing lament about how young ladies shouldn’t swear, especially in writing. It was as though the material and concrete presence of a curse-word, ensconced in text forever, bore into his very eyeballs and set off all manner of stereotypical gender alarms. “Warning! Warning! A female of the species has dropped an F-bomb! Alert the troops! Cover the fragile ears and eyes of the men!” Well sir, I don’t remember ever telling anybody that I was going to behave like your grandfather's idea of a perfect young lady, and if my F-bombs are offensive to you, my suggestion is that you get the F-bomb off my website. </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Women are constantly chastised for being too much of anything: too loud, too boisterous, too sweary, too fat, too thin, too cocky, too good at recognising patriarchy when it stares them right in the eyeballs. Men, on the other hand, are praised and celebrated for their extremes. Well, I call bullshit, and it makes me mad as hell.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Good grief, I’d better be careful about openly admitting I’m angry, though. You see, one time I got angry at the way somebody had spoken to me and instead of the apology I expected, I received an expression of relief that my "little strop" was over with. Oh, my. My, my. If I’d had a real "strop", he’d bloody well know about it: think Incredible Hulk after ten bottles of Stella Artois having just come face-to-face with the man his girlfriend has been having a brazen affair with. Yes, I can throw down a tantrum as well as any toddler in a busy supermarket - or indeed, as well as any high-powered CEO who's failed to achieve the turnover he wanted. And, god help them, if someone even dares to mention the words “period”, “time of the month” or “red flag day” in response to my legitimate anger, I will delve into the grizzly details of my menstruation cycle with them, no holds barred. </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There is a glaring gender inequality here and it goes right back to the idea that women should be quiet, passive and not take up too much space. Well, I’ve got news for those folks. If there are biscuits in the house, I will scout them out like a little piglet searching for truffles; my waistline is nobody’s business except perhaps Topshop’s; if I’m angry, it’s probably because somebody pissed me off; and my language, including the obscenities, are governed by nobody except me. Mess with me and I am as liable to swear as the next motherfucking trooper.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So, fellow ladies, this is a call to arms. Let’s never feel ashamed of the fact that we’ve just eaten a huge meal and are looking forward to seeing the pudding menu. Let’s pepper our language with effs and jeffs if we feel the need. Let’s be loud, strong and powerful so that we can get our voices heard and get where we want to be in life: to that place where nothing we do is deemed "too much for a woman".</span></span></div>
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The Vagenda Teamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09068281916141463016noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2686696240672543287.post-31394776414568210012014-01-31T03:09:00.002-08:002014-02-03T02:19:52.666-08:00Women at Wedding Fayres Are Alienating and Belitting My Fiancé, and it's NOT ON<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBGYSpdh0-bAofKbXExNQ2tlmoOwJ9gOVfp6g6J6v_3J5DQsiQlIVvwJxa8S9-rtOhKhWNqFxs4N88VrD2tD8R3N8jmIVtzyZGwrFOrsQ2hGy7RKuKa0a9tocpRxqQQ2ZjnibIJ9XnrIXH/s1600/Screen+Shot+2014-01-31+at+11.07.49.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBGYSpdh0-bAofKbXExNQ2tlmoOwJ9gOVfp6g6J6v_3J5DQsiQlIVvwJxa8S9-rtOhKhWNqFxs4N88VrD2tD8R3N8jmIVtzyZGwrFOrsQ2hGy7RKuKa0a9tocpRxqQQ2ZjnibIJ9XnrIXH/s1600/Screen+Shot+2014-01-31+at+11.07.49.png" height="296" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When I first got engaged, one of the top things on my to-do list was go to wedding fayres. In fact, I was a bit miffed because it was the end of May, which any budding ‘Bridezilla’ worth her icing knows is already very late in the wedding season. Most of the high profile fayres had come and gone, leaving little more than a puff of glitter and a wisp of lace in their wake. I was determined to make up for lost time. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I had visions of what the Fayres would be; what they would mean. We would get so much inspiration there. We would float between beautiful, perfectly crafted stalls, quaffing champagne, umming over creamy, velvety invites and ahhing over little tasters of loveliness designed to ignite our senses. It was all going to be so perfect. The Wedding Fayres would be the journey to start all journeys. They would make me a Proper Bride.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Well, that's not quite what they're like in real life. Not for the first time, my imaginings far exceeded the realms of reality. What they actually involved was a stampede of heavily made-up, steely-eyed women, manning their stalls with military enthusiasm. Behind every morsel of free cake and glass of champers - ok cava – ok, ok lambrini – one of these women would be waiting, ready to pounce as soon as we were suckered in to stand within a couple of feet of her tressle table. Escaping unscathed from the hard sells without leaving any traceable details is an impossible mission. By my second event, I was a dab hand at missing a digit on my phone number and misspelling my own name in my email address.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But it wasn't this that eventually caused me to throw in the towel. I can't tar all suppliers with the same brush; there were exceptions. I've been lucky to have dealings with wedding suppliers who have been genuinely passionate about their work and who have really wanted to do their best for us. The sort of fairy godparents whose sole aim was to transform us from dazed and disorientated fayre-goers into happy customers with a swish of their wedding wands.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The last straw of disillusionment was actually the barrage of sexism we faced, fayre in, fayre out. Now, as a person of female gender with blonde hair and 32GGs, it takes quite something to say that planning a wedding is possibly the most unashamedly, overtly sexist experience I have ever endured in my 25 years on this planet. More than the bin men whistling as I saunter (read: frantically half-walk, half-run) to my car at 8.20am (read: 8.35am) every Tuesday morning, more than my family hooting 'he's such a BOY' every time my nephew does anything remotely interesting, more than sitting in a room full of male MDs at every single client meeting.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In fact, once I saw it, I couldn't stop seeing it. It extended beyond the fayres, it was everywhere. Every website, every magazine, every blog post. The whole industry was riddled with raised eyebrows and sideways glances. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But let’s focus on the fayres. On almost all occasions, suppliers talk to me and only me. There are always two of us at their table. My partner is not a shy and retiring wallflower type. He wears bright colours (most of which don't match), has the loudest laugh of anyone I have ever met and is over-friendly to the point of social awkwardness, in addition to being a 6'3 rugby player. He's not easy to miss, in other words. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And yet, suppliers have said shamelessly to me: "We'd rather not have the groom come along - men don't understand these things and it takes so long to explain everything to them....this is a great way to get hubby involved in the wedding prep - but not too much!....All he has to do is turn up, amiright??!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Well, no, they're not right. And they've actually made my brash, beautiful groom feel a little awkward and embarrassed, because he actually wants to be involved in the planning of our upcoming nuptials – and is actually pretty damn amazing at organising it. I have received pictures of table centrepiece ideas from the midst of rugby bar crawls, my bridal magazines are well thumbed long before I get chance to read them, and he has cross referenced pretty much every supplier within a ten mile radius, complete with price checks and reviews. That is dedication, my friends. Organising a wedding is no easy task.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Why should he – and all other grooms – feel like this isn’t their role? Why should they feel as though they have to turn a blind eye to the whole event meticulously planned and prepared around them, involving all of their nearest and dearest?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">On occasion, I have seen that fleeting feeling of shame and awkwardness in his face and recognised it, as many (if not all) women do on a daily/weekly/monthly basis, and it has proved too much. I can’t keep quiet. The response is always total surprise. They seem to have never been challenged over it. Some have been making comments like the above for years, even decades, to hundreds of couples. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We are talking about an industry dominated, perhaps even run, by women, mostly women with husbands, some even with real human ones who have personalities and feelings and shit and live alongside them in their house every day. We should know better than this. Perpetuating stereotypes helps no one and shying away from confrontation only proves to encourage it. This is what I tell myself anyway, when I can bite my lip no longer.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So all the Brides to be, stand up for your Grooms. And for the Grooms to be, brandish your bright pink wedding mags with pride. Because it’s 2014, and despite what some people may say, it's perfectly OK to care about who you're marrying - and how you're marrying them.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">- <a href="http://twitter.com/PR_LeanneJayne">LT</a></span></div>
The Vagenda Teamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09068281916141463016noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2686696240672543287.post-9196189347128155742014-01-31T02:40:00.001-08:002014-01-31T02:59:05.460-08:00New Technology Means That No One But Prince Charming Shall Ever Gaze Upon Your Holy Tits<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">GIF via The Daily Dot</span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">CLASH, go the symbols: Behold! The Magic Bra! BOOM, go the drums: The Magic Bra only opens when confronted with true love! LOUD, go the other drums: for no one </span>but a handsome prince will gaze upon your Holy tits! Yes, Vagenda readers: as numerous newspaper reports have recently informed us: a group of Japanese underwear technicians have created the final word in anti-rape wear; <a href="http://www.buzzfeed.com/rachelzarrell/this-bra-that-only-unhooks-for-true-love-is-basically-a-chas">The Magic Bra</a>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">According to their Human Sexuality Specialist (<a href="http://www.nancyellison.com/_images/Actors/wide/13.jpg"><u>disappointingly</u> not one being played by Harrison Ford in Witness</a>), women experience an increase in physical excitement when they are in love. As women only ever remove their bras to have sex and as the only motivation to have sex is True Love the next step was painfully clear to these boffins. Develop a bra that responds to women’s increased heart rate when they clap eyes on Prince(cess) Charming, by popping open automatically. OBVS. </span></div>
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The bra making company, Ravijour, have not only consulted a Human Sexuality Specialist, but have also invested much time into investigating 'the ladies's primary motivations and lady-heart flutterers. Apparently, 'watching horror movie' [-sic], 'eating spicy food' and 'shopping' are our main life activities. Who knew?</div>
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Worry not, however, the Magic Bra has been carefully calibrated to recognise the difference between the physical effects of annihilating two naans and a bhuna in one sitting and catching sight of your True Love’s moustache trimmer. We’re also safe to go jogging. But, be warned: the second your True Love strolls into view, the Magic Bra will hit the deck. Presumably only once you’ve courted, had the banns read and got married (I imagine with your bra around your ankles the entire time?) can the coitus begin!</div>
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<strike>To demonstrate how effective these bras are at keeping women sexually submissive - S</strike>orry, let me rephrase that, my Magic Bra is a bit tight this morning and thus I am feeling feministically crabby. </div>
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Correction: <strike>to demonstrate how effective these bras are at reinforcing a puritanical, heteronormative, victim blaming culture</strike>... Dammit! Ahem. To demonstrate just how 'effective' these bras are, Ravijour produced a promo featuring all the crusty guys who are currently trying to burrow their way into your normal underwear.</div>
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There’s the The Animal, The Flash Guy and The Technician; a titillating (hur hur) line up of predatory, unwanted men who now, thanks to the product, will no longer be able to rape you! </div>
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OK, so here's what’s really going on here. The Magic Bra isn’t just a slightly creepy way for you to tell your guy or gal that you love them for the first time: “Hey, I’ve got something to tell you. Let me just take off my shirt and gaze at your face while you cuddle a puppy and fondle that bunch of flowers. Ok. Wait for it. Huurghghhh ahh, yes, my Magic Bra has fallen off, I love you!” Oh no. By introducing us to The Animal and chums, the bra makers are acknowledging that women receive an almost constant barrage of sexual harassment and, in their eyes, the only thing we can do to stop this is shell out for a pretty heart monitor so at least while these guys are groping us they’ll be denied a bit of hand on nipple action. </div>
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I get that these boffins are but humble bap manipulators and not responsible for all sexual aggression. But <i>come on guys.</i> If you like the idea of electricity and underwear, I’m sure there are better places those currents could be directed (indeed, we've been at the receiving end of several press releases this week - Ed.) Clearly there’s a whole world of underwear research going on out there. Nevertheless, there seems to be a troubling gap between research into men’s man-part cradlers and women’s modesty shields. Where are all the chastity boxers? Specialist websites, you say? Not good enough. If a press release about chastity bras are prompting the kind of media frenzy they did this week, then I want the male equivalent to be front page news. </div>
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If you’re a man, underwear technicians are always going to be most concerned with comfort. Take these <a href="http://ufmunderwear.com/underwear-technology/%20">handy adjustable pants</a>! They go from being a pair of normal kegs to looking like a PG Tips two string teabag in no time at all! If you’re a woman, meanwhile, it’s <a href="http://www.nydailynews.com/life-style/anti-rape-wear-save-women-article-1.1515379">anti-rape pants</a> or, at a push, something to stop all your gross <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/10/24/fart-filtering-underwear_n_4156400.html">smells </a>and <a href="http://www.trendhunter.com/trends/guard-pants">secretions</a> leaking out.</div>
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The problem here is that people will pay far more attention to creating non-rip underwear for women (which ignores the elements of intimidation and coercion that accompany the majority of rapes) and too little attention to educating men and women about consent. This week has seen<a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/newsbeat/25921487"> calls for consent to be taught in schools</a> as part of mandatory sex ed. I don't know how many times I need to say this, but THAT is what we need to be focusing on. Because there is something seriously wrong when a company's response to the threat of rape is to monetise and belittle the victims.</div>
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Not to worry though, if you are a wanton slag and therefore want to fuck someone towards whom you have no romantic feelings, you could always just snort half a gram of gak. Apparently it has the same effect. </div>
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- <a href="http://twitter.com/TheNotoriousBMD">BD</a></div>
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The Vagenda Teamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09068281916141463016noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2686696240672543287.post-64974936907605852552014-01-29T07:38:00.002-08:002014-01-29T07:38:22.732-08:00I Complained to Channel 5 About Celebrity Big Brother's Sexism, Here's What They Said <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Picture: Fappy, sorry, Dappy, of N-Dubz 'fame'</span></i></div>
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I didn’t intend it to happen, but I got hooked on Celebrity Big Brother. Maybe it’s because I live in a house where everyone else was watching it. Maybe it’s because I’ll watch any show that is in anyway associated with a cast member of Made in Chelsea. Or maybe it’s because I (thought I) was still in love with Lee from Blue. But it happened. And for 8 days it was beautiful. </div>
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In episodes on the 5th and 7th January, I was pleased to see Big Brother reprimand contestants Evander and Dappy when, on separate occasions, each used homophobic language. </div>
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But then on the 11th of January, Channel 5 aired an episode which was like watching an hour long exposé on sexual double standards and apathy towards sexism in Britain. </div>
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Luisa and Dappy had a conversation in which Dappy states that he has cheated on his girlfriend on a number of occasions but it would be unacceptable if his girlfriend cheated on him. Luisa criticised the hypocrisy of this but Dappy replied by stating it is ok for a man to sleep with 5 women but ‘if a girl sleeps with 5 men what does that make her; a fucking ho.’ Evander then stated that there ‘Ain’t no such thing as equal …. Sure it’s not equal.’ Luisa criticised Dappy for his double standards but he repeatedly reiterates it stating that having sex with numerous men ‘makes women a slag.’ Later in the episode he then uses this opinion to personally attack Luisa for comments she made earlier in the programme about sleeping with more than one partner in a night. He repeatedly insists that it is women who he has a problem with doing so. At no point are Dappy or Evander called to the Diary Room to be sanctioned for their sexist remarks. </div>
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The incidents on the 5th and the 7th January illustrated that Big Brother does interfere on occasions where they feel that the housemates express unacceptable views. This leads viewers to assume that if Big Brother does not reprimand housemates for something they say, then Big Brother does not believe what they have said to be problematic and offensive. This is what irritated me about the episode. The Big Brother producers clearly do not take sexism as seriously as they do homophobia and racism. </div>
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So I decided to email Channel 5 and Ofcom, expressing my disappointment on how the incident had been handled: (It appears I was not alone in doing so; Ofcom received 52 complaints regarding sexist comments on the show): </div>
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12 days later I received this reply: </div>
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<i>Dear Correspondent </i></div>
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<i>Thank you for your recent e-mail concerning what you regard as demeaning and sexist comments about women in Celebrity Big Brother on 11th January. </i></div>
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<i>As you will be aware, this programme is a competition where viewers decide who their favourite housemate is. In order for viewers to make fully informed decisions about which housemate they most favour, it is critical that the programme includes all relevant interactions which are capable of seriously affecting the viewer’s opinion. </i></div>
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<i>The argument between Dappy and Luisa was such an interaction. Viewers who saw the altercation may have felt differently about either or both of the housemates as a result of seeing it. It is important, too, to recognise that Luisa and Jasmine roundly condemned Dappy for his opinions about women. If they had not, it may have been necessary for the producers to intervene. Equally, Dappy was expressing his opinion and, like anyone else, he was entitled to express that opinion. This was not a case where Dappy was purporting to state facts about women which were offensive; he was clearly articulating his opinion, albeit an opinion which many people might find offensive. In an adult programme such as this, which regularly contains adult content and deals in serious adult themes, this is not a surprising occurrence. </i></div>
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<i>The production team constantly judges and assesses the actions of housemates and the views they express. When inappropriate or unacceptable language is used, or when comments likely to incite racial hatred are made or when facts are mis-stated in relation to controversial topics such as sexuality or gender, the producers will always act to prevent harm and offence. Where individuals express their own opinions which are potentially controversial but which are expressed in ways which make it clear that they are individual opinions and when other housemates provide critical assessment of those opinions, it will rarely be appropriate for those opinions not to be included in the broadcast, along with the criticisms. That is precisely what happened on this occasion with Dappy. In these circumstances, Channel 5 does not believe that there was any breach of the Ofcom Broadcasting Code. </i></div>
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<i>However, we apologise if you found the comments offensive and are grateful to you for taking the time to make us aware of your concerns. The details of your complaint have been noted for the attention of all relevant personnel. </i></div>
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<i>Thank you for your interest in Channel 5. </i></div>
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So I replied: </div>
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Dear Ian, </div>
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Thank you for taking the time to reply to my complaint about the sexist language aired in an episode of Big Brother on 11th January. I do, however believe that you failed to respond to my central questions: Why were Evander and Dappy sanctioned for their homophobic comments but not for their sexist comments? </div>
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I am pleased that both housemates were reprimanded for their offensive and unacceptable homophobic language and I believe that Big Brother acted correctly in both of these instances. I feel that a show with an average of 2.3 million viewers each night has a responsibility to make clear to viewers that prejudice espoused by the contestants are their views alone and are condemned by the show's producers and Channel 5. </div>
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However, the very fact that the contestants were reprimanded in these instances undermines your argument that Big Brother simply shows the audience everything that the contestants do and say without comment or interference from Big Brother, in order to allow the audience to make up their own mind about the contestants. I believe that this explanation is not a truthful explanation of why Dappy and Evander weren't sanctioned for their sexist comments. I believe the only viable explanation is that channel 5 does not believe that sexism and prejudice against women needs to be taken seriously. </div>
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I would like to address the elements of your argument that I find unsatisfactory: </div>
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1) "It is important, too, to recognise that Luisa and Jasmine roundly condemned Dappy for his opinions about women. If they had not, it may have been necessary for the producers to intervene." </div>
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"and when other housemates provide critical assessment of those opinions," </div>
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I find it difficult to accept that criticisms by other contestants carry the same weight as a sanction from Big Brother (who is ultimately the authoritative voice in the house). Moreover I do not understand why then, Evander was sanctioned for his homophobic comments given that Luisa expressed her disagreement with him in that conversation. Again, I believe that this demonstrates that Big Brother does not take sexism as seriously as it does other types of prejudice. </div>
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2) This was not a case where Dappy was purporting to state facts about women which were offensive; he was clearly articulating his opinion, albeit an opinion which many people might find offensive. </div>
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Upon reading your email, I re-watched the episode because I knew it hadn't seemed like Dappy was 'clearly expressing an opinion' when I saw it the first time and I wanted to check I hadn't missed anything. At no point do Dappy or Evander say anything which suggests that they are aware that what they are saying is only their opinion. They in fact say things that explicitly state that they believe that they are stating facts: </div>
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For example in a conversation straight after the first interval: </div>
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Dappy – If a girl sleeps with 5 men what does that make her; a fucking ho </div>
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Evander– Ain’t no such thing as equal …. Sure it’s not equal </div>
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(After Luisa says you can’t say that a man can sleep with 5 women but a woman can’t) Dappy – ‘Yeah but that’s true though’ </div>
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Jasmine – that’s you’re opinion </div>
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D – No it makes women a slag </div>
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At about 16mins 30 seconds: </div>
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D – I’m talking about a woman who has sex with 5 men in one night…that ain’t right (16mins30) </div>
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I can see no reason why these statements are more clearly 'opinions' than the homophobic comments were. Again, sexism is being treated less seriously. </div>
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3) "When facts are mis-stated in relation to controversial topics such as sexuality or gender, the producers will always act to prevent harm and offence." </div>
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I fail to see how the quotes I have posted above do not constitute mis-statement of facts. I also note that your email only addresses Dappy's comments not Evander's statement that men and women are not equal. I would be interested to hear the logic behind not sanctioning him for his comment. </div>
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I am concerned that you felt the need to refer to these comments as 'what I regard as sexist and demeaning to women.' I would hope that people working for one of the major television channels in the country would share my belief that commenting that men and women aren't equal and should be held to separate sexual standards does count as sexism. However, I fear that the real problem here is that the Big Brother producers do not share my belief that sexism is a problem that deserves to be treated with the same seriousness as homophobia and racism. </div>
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Thank you for again taking the time to consider my complaint. </div>
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Ultimately, I think the reason this episode affected me is that it is so symptomatic of a widespread feelings in the UK that ‘sexism doesn’t exist anymore.’ It is evident in the fact the Big Brother producers did not feel it was necessary to step in to sanction Dappy and Evander and it is evident in Ian’s claim that it is a matter of opinion whether the comments count as offensive. </div>
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I await their response. </div>
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- RS</div>
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The Vagenda Teamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09068281916141463016noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2686696240672543287.post-49129896594842243192014-01-28T05:50:00.001-08:002014-01-28T06:17:31.227-08:00'Help, I'm A Funderachiever!' and Other Amazing Tidbits From Grazia<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">‘WEREWOLF DIET A-LIST ARE HOWLING ABOUT’. Does this sentence make any sense to you beyond random, unconnected words? Me neither, but this is one of the many screwy headlines on Grazia this week that intrigued me enough to buy it. I mean like, ‘werewolf diet’? Is that a kooky version of 5:2 where you fast all the time and then eat the flesh of innocent babes every full moon? Please, <i>please </i>tell me that’s what it is. </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Underneath that, there’s ‘THE BIG CATWALK REPORT: ANGRY FLOWERS’. Sold.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">First page? The Fashion Charts. ‘Heads up, Beyonce fans - now you can have your own bespoke name necklace, just like her daughter Blue Ivy. From £85.’ OK, there are two problems I have with this piece of so-called advice. Firstly, it’s the insinuation that I should be modelling my fashion sense on a toddler. I don’t care if it’s a toddler who had a Destiny’s Child reunion and full rent of a zoo in Miami for her second birthday - she hasn’t mastered the fine art of wiping her own arse yet, and therefore she WILL NOT be my style icon.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Secondly, it’s the idea that if I wanted to have one of those god-awful necklaces with my name on, that I wouldn’t just be able to get it for a fiver at Claire’s Accessories (and then go to the school disco and have the boy of my dreams tell me that I have a ‘gross green neck’ because the gold colouring rubbed off and then have to spend the rest of the time hiding in the toilets of the youth club as my best friend pushes sour snakes under the cubicle to me so I can intersperse eating them with broken-hearted sobs and listening to the rest of the year chant, ‘Shrek! Shrek! Shrek!’, thus cementing a lifetime of comfort eating habits. Or whatever.)</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">‘Wear these classic white dungarees with a Breton top and Converse sneakers’. I won’t even bother telling you the story about the time I tried out white dungarees, but you can imagine. </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Next, we get treated to Grazia’s breakdown of the weekly ‘news’. First up: ‘Michelle Obama turned 50 and contemplated Botox’. This goes on to say that ‘when quizzed about whether she’d go under the knife’ (when?! Why?!) the First Lady tactfully took a ‘never say never’ line. Obvs it ends on a bitchy note about how Grazia loves her just the way she is, but it’s not like anyone ever said that and actually meant it.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In further breaking news, it’s ‘THE DRESSES THAT DIVIDED OPINION’. At the Golden Globes, obvs. One of the burning questions on the magazine’s collective mind is ‘Did Sandra Bullock let us down?’ Appazza, ‘critics were quick to slam Sandy’s satin moment.’ Up until reading this, I presumed the only time anyone would use the phrase ‘satin moment’ was as a really shit euphemism for masturbation, in an article in Red where they suggest you ‘prepare your body for self-love’ with a bubble bath and a couple of vanilla-scented candles. But I’m probably just bitter because I’m having a perpetual polyester moment and I’m never ‘channelling Disney’s Little Mermaid’ (another direct Grazia quote, about the dress Jennifer Lawrence wore. Lord give me strength.) </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Next up, your requisite ‘woman on the verge’ tale, and this time it’s about the Francois Hollande love triangle. Because we all heard about this on the internet years ago, they’ve spiced it up with the truly Grazia-worthy headline ‘HER SENSE OF BETRAYAL GETS WORSE EVERY DAY’. To illustrate the way in which Hollande’s previous partner will have her entire life spat on then shredded then crumpled up and set on fire once he starts a new life with The Other Woman, they’ve brought in a personal perspective from someone who genuinely claims to suffer from ‘post-infidelity stress disorder’. Because who even cares about real medical diagnoses anymore? </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now, one of the most ill-advised fashion statements Grazia has ever come up with: ‘Sandals in January? OH YES!’ I’m going to give you the credit this magazine hasn’t and assume that you’re smart enough to realise why you shouldn’t actually follow such advice.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Further down is an article about Nigella Lawson’s recent trial that opens with this nauseating description: ‘With her hair perfectly coiffed, her famous figure encased in a wiggle dress, all eyes were on Nigella Lawson last week.’ Unfortunately this sentence made me vomit so copiously that I can’t see the rest of the page, so I can’t supply you with criticism for the rest of the article. As a side note, am I the only person who thinks that being ‘encased’ in a dress sounds like the poor woman is a sarcophagus? </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Hold your horses: time for a feature. ‘Help, I’m a funderachiever!’ is the puntastic headline on this one, where one woman laments that her defining quality is that she has ‘absolutely no sense of humour’. At least that explains the headline.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Next up, Grazia attempts to make me accept ‘luxe sportswear’ as a viable addition to my wardrobe. In one of its recommendations (for ‘easy living’ wear, that well-known concept), it actually states that ‘the look may be easy but it’s deceptively luxe, its fine fabrics undercut by flat - even ugly - shoes.’ I’m getting the feeling that even the Grazia journalists themselves are throwing in the towel now. There literally are no more innuendos for what they’re trying to say when they tout another neon-feather-boa-with-facepaint-and-tartan-leggings concoction (seriously, there are two times in this piece where they feature facepaint, and one is a green chin with a black dog nose. No, <i>seriously</i>) and now, screw it, they’ve settled on ‘ugly’. Which I have a grudging amount of respect for. Btw, you’re also supposed to be wearing ‘luxe accessories’. Just buy something that’s fucking LUXE, all right?</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There’s another feature called ‘Give your MIND a gym membership’. Oh, how I laughed. Basically, it’s about how you should meditate and the Aveda/Cowshed/Neal’s Yard products you can buy to ‘help you’ along the way. As well as some ‘lifting creme’ by Chanel and an Elizabeth Arden dark circle corrector (like, the type you get under your eyes rather than some sort of occult problem) which seem kind of incongruous when you consider it’s supposed to be an article about freeing yourself from the stress of consumerism and insecurity.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">At the end of the magazine, my Grazia horoscope warns me that ‘it will be all too easy for you to be seen as a troublemaker’ in 2014. I’m just going to let that speak for itself.</span></span></div>
The Vagenda Teamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09068281916141463016noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2686696240672543287.post-77060145658251015432014-01-28T02:14:00.001-08:002014-01-28T02:19:39.853-08:00I Was A Teenage Sexist. Here's How I Grew Up<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIEEeCll2LspMoWddtFv_R217_9DfLMYqVh757vdyrm0LKuZXffO_-QbvDE89WcYZUi2HNswukCyDVTcGkZqzO2PoHCW44NIoJJX1tf9LFFC6mYzeMsbTgE8DfCPxP-CDcTMr4YoCiICwY/s1600/teenboys.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIEEeCll2LspMoWddtFv_R217_9DfLMYqVh757vdyrm0LKuZXffO_-QbvDE89WcYZUi2HNswukCyDVTcGkZqzO2PoHCW44NIoJJX1tf9LFFC6mYzeMsbTgE8DfCPxP-CDcTMr4YoCiICwY/s1600/teenboys.jpeg" height="320" width="314" /></a></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I’ve a feeling I might be preaching to the converted here, but it's occurred to me in the last few years that feminism is actually rather of a Good Thing. People who I’ve never spoken to about sexism or misogyny have struck up conversations with me - an Actual Man - about wage discrepancies, the Daily Mail’s notoriously woman-phobic Femail section and the Blurred Lines video, and I've had something to say about them in return. Not exactly a shocker for a feminist blog, right? But I have something to confess to all of you.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Here goes.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was a teenage sexist.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I’m a moral, caring and well-educated (a 2:2 counts as well educated, right?) man, and back in high school I probably had more female friends than male. Yet at the same time, I did, said and thought things that I’m ashamed to recall. Sadly, I was far from exceptional among the boys I went to school with - and not one boy, girl, man or woman ever picked me up on my behaviour, urged me to reconsider or told me it was wrong.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The old “I was just going along with what everyone else was doing” excuse is the oldest and most cowardly in the book (invoke Godwin's Law to your heart's content here) but it genuinely rarely ever occurred to me to challenge the status quo on women. Trying to convince girls to go out with me was a constant pursuit throughout my teens, and it wasn’t uncommon for a girl to have her boobs fondled without permission almost as soon as she began to wear a bra. This was all seen as a "bit of a laugh" by the boys, and the girls seldom complained. At the time, I considered this evidence that they didn't mind at all. And it was a culture that was ingrained – girls were labelled either frigid or sluts depending on how sexually active they were, yet boys were never subject to the same judgements. So far, so horribly, horribly normal.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Today, when reading stories about boys pressuring girls into sending explicit texts and pictures, and viewing hardcore pornography on a regular basis, I find it hard to judge. I hate to admit it, but there’s a part of me that wonders if one of the reasons I didn’t do those things at school is because the technology didn’t allow it. It’s become a cliché, but finding a discarded porn magazine in a hedge was a big event a dozen years ago. Teenagers today have free porn practically on tap. </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Strangely enough, there was no epiphany that changed my views or behaviour. You can’t change people unless they’re ready. However, there are three things that, looking back, I think were significant factors in me realising the error of my ways.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I’m a music writer and so, unsurprisingly, I’ve long held a borderline-unhealthy relationship with music of all kinds. At the age of 16, I became briefly obsessed with an above-average power-pop band called Nada Surf. Digging deeper into their back catalogue, I found the song <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hx_prve2OHk"><span class="s2">Mother’s Day</span></a>. I used to listen to this a lot and some of the lyrics really stuck with me. “What do you see when you look at a girl? Is she a game you want to win?” “Do you have friends who would be proud if you went in for the kill? Do you have friends who would do it even against her will?” As far as anti-rape statements or feminist views in rock music go, Mother’s Day hardly reinvents the wheel. However, it was the first time I’d been confronted with these kinds of questions, and it made me think about the answers. As a teenager, when you begin to question the world around you, you realise how wrong some of it is. Why are female celebrities expected to pose half-naked while male ones aren’t? Why are women treated the way they are? Why do men earn more than women? These were all things that had barely crossed my mind.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Secondly, soon after, I had my first proper girlfriend (although reading this, I’m sure you’re wondering how that happened). A few weeks into our burgeoning relationship, she told me her faith meant that she didn’t believe in sex before marriage. Again, this was a viewpoint I’d never even considered before, and made me think about sex in new and very different ways. </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">For a start, I’d never even considered that girls might even like or want sex. At that age, sex was something girls would either let or not let you do to them, and their own desire didn’t come into play. My girlfriend, conditioned by years of schoolboy chauvinism, feared that I’d break up with her there and then when she told me this news. When I said that I cared about her and respected her wishes (I was clearly already a bit of a nicer person by this point), her reaction was such that you’d have thought she found £1,000 down the back of the sofa.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And lastly, and perhaps most importantly, I simply grew up. I read, I thought about things, I met people, I had conversations, I discussed ideas, I went to different places – the usual stuff. It’s not been easy to face up to things and write this piece, but I bet it’s nothing compared to what being a girl at my high school was like.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This is why making feminism a mainstream idea and the norm is so important to me as a man. It's impacted the way I think about discrimination across the board. And it's my belief that, one Blurred Lines discussion at a time, all of us can come round to seeing the world this way: that is, for what it really is.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">-JR</span></span></div>
The Vagenda Teamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09068281916141463016noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2686696240672543287.post-24386600140796512452014-01-23T02:59:00.002-08:002014-01-23T02:59:48.981-08:00On Bush Tucking: Sometimes, Muff Maintenance is Essential<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPWw2_eR2gPDB5WVrXa84lVo7Db1iV1W3ZPNpbL_PR1unBLbwpNS00-dxBmWQ-5ke63izA5LOi_V7D1bGoEKC2dLXh4UriT-d8SXV-cjIXvTlaiXwLRN82RhD-f0ejD7H568-VoO2xA8Np/s1600/Bushyfanny.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPWw2_eR2gPDB5WVrXa84lVo7Db1iV1W3ZPNpbL_PR1unBLbwpNS00-dxBmWQ-5ke63izA5LOi_V7D1bGoEKC2dLXh4UriT-d8SXV-cjIXvTlaiXwLRN82RhD-f0ejD7H568-VoO2xA8Np/s1600/Bushyfanny.jpg" height="290" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Pubes are everywhere. Nope, I’m not looking in Seth Rogan’s
bath - I’m reading the papers. According to the Vagenda's own pubes correspondent Emer's 'Hair, Not The Musical' follow- up piece in The Guardian, bush pruning is a <a href="http://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2014/jan/19/year-of-the-bush-female-body-hair-cameron-diaz-pubic">thing
of the past</a>. A campaign, fronted by <a href="http://metro.co.uk/2014/01/16/cameron-diaz-why-im-on-a-quest-to-enlighten-women-about-pubic-hair-and-poo-4264278/">Cameron
Diaz</a> of all people, is trying to
convince women to grow their well-tended lawns into great, resplendent meadows.
The kind through which strapping Austrian children might frolic. Even porn
hipsters <a href="http://www.telegraph.co.uk/women/womens-life/10578880/American-Apparel-pubic-hair-mannequins-shock-New-Yorkers.html">American
Apparel</a> are in on the act. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">That’s all great, because women should never be expected to streamline
their vaginas back to prepubescence. Since the fluffier days of the 70s bush,
the porn industry has done to fannies what timber corporations are doing to the
rainforest (sorry, this plant imagery is really hard to drop). And Cameron Diaz, imma let you finish, but have you ever gone down on
another woman? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">OK, don’t get me wrong, I love cunnilingus – both the giving
and receiving thereof. But in order for it to be fun for both parties, some
level of muff maintenance isn’t just preferable, it’s sometimes essential. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I’m a dark-haired Jewess. You know that opening scene in
Carrie, where all the girls are hosing down their retro pudenda in the shower? If
I wanted to, I could totally grow my bush out like that. In fact, it would save
me the stultifying time and effort given over to my “Routine.” Rest assured, I
don’t take it all off and I’m way too much of a pain wimp to wax, but I do preen.
I don’t do so out of shame. Far from it. I do it out of respect and consideration
for the women who are prepared to give me head. Let’s not kid ourselves. A
mouthful of fur is a bummer. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Have you ever seen a heavily bearded man down a pint of milk?
The dripping, matted mess of fuzz that’s left before he wipes his mouth -
that’s not something you want to put your tongue anywhere near, right? And
getting a pube stuck in your throat is exactly as disastrous as Larry David makes
it out to be in <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mzg7Ybv2Pmo">that
episode of Curb</a>. Actually, that very thing happened to me the first time I
ever went down on a girl and I thought it was the end of my career as a
lesbian. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Being faced with a giant bush is a similar level of daunting
to being shown a “doer-upper” by Kirstie and Phil.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Oh, blimey,” you say, running your fingers through your
hair and looking at a 70s, avocado coloured bathroom, with a rusty shopping
trolley parked in the middle of it for some reason.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“I know what you’re thinking,” says Phil, “But trust me,
this place has some real potential.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Three months later, you’re curled in a foetal position,
covered in paint, clutching a wallpaper stripper and praying for death. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Kirstie and Phil aside, a bit of pubic preening makes it a
lot easier for a cunnilinguist to see what they’re doing - which ultimately means
more pleasure for the receiver. If there’s a lot of panicked thrashing about
down there, have you considered that he or she may be lost? It’s the difference
between traversing a Brothers Grimm-style forest (sorry, did it again) and taking a
gentle stroll through a National Trust maintained garden. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Granted, women should never be told what their fannies ought
to look like. Anything from a trim to a Brazilian shouldn’t render your privates
some kind of patriarchal sock puppet. The same applies to all body hair. If you
want to shave the whole lot off, apart from a single armpit hair that you dye purple
and name Sally – then, whatever, man. Trends are fickle. Today, Cameron Diaz is
instructing us to have loads of pubes. Maybe next year, Taylor Swift will demand
that we shave it all off and wear merkins made of. <a href="" name="_GoBack"></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">All I can do is politely
suggest that if you expect head, you should at least have some empathy for the giver. </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">- EM</span></div>
The Vagenda Teamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09068281916141463016noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2686696240672543287.post-91273415436064266862014-01-22T02:24:00.002-08:002014-01-22T02:24:47.068-08:00My Month Of Feminist Hell <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSSQALToi-hyDSdPsEmE0BjsLJwA28zNcwRilpKNi6xO_vjUyRD0dOaypnZgVDHJ7nKXIN7Sz224p49tQd242gSfrE2zwpa87A_8CRrv1ddgA-zRY0jP-9y-HUVPCC6WiHE4loVsI8T4hq/s1600/Picture+27.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSSQALToi-hyDSdPsEmE0BjsLJwA28zNcwRilpKNi6xO_vjUyRD0dOaypnZgVDHJ7nKXIN7Sz224p49tQd242gSfrE2zwpa87A_8CRrv1ddgA-zRY0jP-9y-HUVPCC6WiHE4loVsI8T4hq/s1600/Picture+27.png" height="232" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>(...we need to get this girl to feminist rehab, pronto - Ed.)</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Over the summer, I fell in love with a South African man. He was funny, he was sweet, handsome - and, most importantly, he let me be me. If I put on weight, he didn’t care, he just said there was more of me to love. If I ranted and raved about the over sexualisation of women, the oppression of woman, slut shaming, body image or the stereotyping of women drivers - you name it - he supported my opinions. He was, all in all, a perfect addition to my life. He didn’t moan when I scoffed four desserts in a day (which is most days), he thought I was just as sexy in ugly holey tracksuit bottoms and a hoody as he did in lingerie and he NEVER told me what to do. Then he had to go home, his visa had expired and I swore I would be out to see him over Christmas, and stay for three months.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And that is exactly what I did. I took a gap year (yes, I know what you’re thinking, I took a gap year and put my life on hold for a boy, but hey, it was relatively cheap travel and an excuse for an extended holiday) I arrived in Africa on the first of December, excited, and ready to see my boyfriend. Instead, I was met with his mother and his sister. Oh. While I suffered the four hour journey from Capetown airport to their home minus my boyfriend, I encountered my first of their many anti-women comments. From women. There was a sex worker on the side of the road, a common sight for me as I live in a city, but not so for them. Their response? “She needs to be stoned.” Erm, EXCUSE ME?! I do not fucking think so. We are not living in an age where stoning people is an acceptable punishment for a girl trying to make a living. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But this was not the worst of it. What came out of his sister's mouth nexting is “she deserves to be raped.” They were an extremely religious family, so how in the name of all that is Holy can a 'Christian' woman condemn another woman to be raped? It's genuinely the vilest thing I have ever heard. And what of the men that paid said 'prostitutes'?, I asked. Oh but no, they were, OF COURSE, A-OK. Men ought to sow their seeds, they explained. Woman, meanwhile, should remain pure until marriage. Considering I had spent the summer shagging her son with no ring in sight, I was cringing. As I sat silently in the back seat , I wondered how exactly I was going to get through this trip. As it happens I didn’t.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Upon arrival at their house (we had to go through electrified security gates, with ARMED guards, I kid you not), I greeted my boyfriend, and felt a lot calmer. Until, that is, they explained their diet. The diet I was EXPECTED to follow. It eliminated carbs, processed sugar and soy. And any meat of which the animal may have been fed soy, which left only turkey and fish on the menu. With pumpkin. And peas. Every single night.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was expected to pray before dinner, which seemed a tad pushy to me, as I wasn’t religious, and they knew that. I did it however, out of respect. The next morning, after spending our nights in separate bedrooms- go figure- my boyfriend and I went out for breakfast, as all that was available in their house was rye bread and millipap (literally a tasteless mush that looks like mashed potato, but is a lot harder) All I had eaten in the last 48 hours was the crap they serve on the plane, and a minimal amount of turkey and pumpkin (I hate peas.) I ordered waffles for breakfast, with bacon, syrup and sausages. My boyfriend raised his eyebrows at me. I proceeded to stuff the whole thing in my face and order a huge cookie to go. Another raised eyebrow.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Later, as I sat on his sofa devouring the cookie, his mother came to talk to me. Picture a 7 stone, 5’8 woman, and that is her. She told me that women who eat sugar have an increased risk of cancer as it combines with the hormones and increases the growth of cancer cells. What the fuck. I continued eating my cookie, trying to ignore the horrible fact that she is suggesting women who have suffered from cancer brought it on themselves because, cake. She then proceeded to tell me that if I put on weight men wouldn’t find me attractive (I'm a size 6-8). </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Well blow me down. I never thought it was my job to keep a man interested in me. Being an unhealthy weight and starving myself to make myself appealing to her son? I think not. This was coming from a woman who subsists on a diet of juice, whiskey and turkey.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I could go on to list every woman-oppressing, racist, homophobic comment they made over the time I was there, but I will jump straight to my favourite ones.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">They got me a book for Christmas about a prostitute who is redeemed because she lets in 'God's love'. They told me I was corrupted for reading Fifty Shades of Grey. My boyfriend poked my stomach and told me I was putting on weight. I wasn’t permitted to swear or blaspheme, or talk about drinking culture or partying. I was told, by a woman that has a maid, has massages twice a week, and her hair and nails done weekly, that housewives have it easy. I was told not to wear crop tops. I wasn’t allowed to mention my top exam results because woman were not meant to be intelligent. I was introduced to everyone with the end line “Isn’t she pretty?.” Like a trophy.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I cannot describe how oppressing the environment was. As a woman, I was not allowed to give an opinion. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I left my boyfriend, and was abandoned in a foreign country. I had to make the four hour journey to Capetown airport by myself, in a country known for its violence again women.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I don’t know what happened to my boyfriend, or why he suddenly changed. Maybe he was just as controlled as I was in that house.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I don’t regret going, I know more than anything now that I am not a trophy, that I am not a weak and feeble damsel in distress. I am a woman, and I am stronger and better than any man that thinks a woman should cut out sugar to be his perfect trophy girlfriend. I lasted exactly one month, which I think I deserve a fucking medal for, frankly. I knew people like this existed, but until I met them, I never quite realised the level of hatred and disdain that exists for women in this world. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When I fled the house, I left my empty pill packets in plain view.</span></div>
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The Vagenda Teamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09068281916141463016noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2686696240672543287.post-88517421147534014772014-01-20T08:19:00.000-08:002014-01-20T08:19:03.499-08:00France's Latest Love Triangle Should Make Us All Question What It Means To Be A Mistress<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It’s a story that has been played out many times throughout history - but it’s only a relatively contemporary notion that the female is ‘wronged’ when her husband cheats on her.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Superfast history catch-up time: European rulers were once actively encouraged to play the field. The French king had a ‘maitress-en-titre’ (an official mistress), while British monarchs across the channel were equally notorious for their own liaisons. From Madame de Pompadour (the mistress of Louis XV) to Nell Gwyn (the mistress of Charles II) to Camilla Parker Bowles (the illegitimate-cum-legitimate partner of Charles Princes of Wales), the affairs of powerful men have often shed the limelight onto the women they choose to share a bed, and often, a life with.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Thus we move to the present day and the Francois Hollande–Valerie Trierweiler–Julie Gayet love triangle. What's changed, now that we've swanned our way into 2014? The answer seems to be: not very much at all.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Julie Gayet, in most headlines in the UK media, is referred to as Hollande’s ‘alleged mistress’ – but what does it mean to be a ‘mistress’ in this day an age where such a title no longer means access to the corridors of power and especially not protection from critics? </span></span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Terms like ‘mistress’ and - shudder - ‘The Other Woman’ have been historically criminalised in a way that the male equivalents ‘lover’ or ‘paramour’ are not.</span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">One suggests an element of deviance and unsisterly wrongdoing; the other a sense of mystery and allure. </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">‘The Other Man’, of course, is not a regularly employed term. Examples like D H Lawrence’s ‘Lady Chatterley’s Lover’ typify the way that the male gets termed with more exotic terms in such dalliances.</span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Boys, after all, will be boys.</span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">One of the many problems with being termed a ‘mistress’ is that it is a part which often eclipses all other achievements and only those women who are Cleopatra avoid being solely defined by their sexual infidelity. Take </span></span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Nell Gwyn, widely agreed to be one of the most talented actresses of the Restoration era, and yet significantly known for sleeping with Charles II. Marilyn Monroe, a number of centuries, later was likewise a talented actress - but her supposed relationship with JFK is easily her most famous role.</span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So that brings the story back around to Gayet in 2014, 400+ years after Nell and fifty years after Marilyn. While many speculate and even congratulate Hollande on such an affair, it’s the women around him who are in many ways most affected: the partner, and the 'mistress'. </span></span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">One has been hospitalised (and now discharged) and the other is ‘in hiding’. Hollande publically insists that these are private matters to be dealt with privately - w</span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">hich is all fine and well, apart from the fact that his ‘alleged mistress’ has now very publicly been ousted from positions of power that she has earned a place on in her own right. It emerged in the past week that Julie Gayet has been apparently blocked from a spot on a cultural jury which selects scholarships for the Villa Medici, a French academy in Rome, by an unnamed official in the culture ministry.</span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Thus Gayet – a successful actress before this affair – has been defined by her sexual choices (which are still as yet, unconfirmed.) People in the public eye do not necessarily enjoy the separation of personal and professional life, but it is nonetheless worrying that now Gayet has publicly been given the title ‘mistress’, she has professionally been compromised. </span></span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If Gayet’s professional judgment is to be questioned and her career undermined because of a ‘private matter’, then shouldn’t accordingly Hollande’s be as well? The biggest judgment call he's been pulled up on recently is the decision to wear the same pair of shoes two days in a row.</span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Gayet’s credentials speak for themselves. She has, according to her IMDB page, been credited with 90 roles since the start of her career in the entertainment industry. She has won accolades such as the 1997 Brussels International Film Festival award for best actress for her role in the French language film ‘Select Hotel’ and the 2009 Tokyo International Film Festival best actress award for her role in ‘8 Fois Debut’. She has co-founded her own production company ‘Rouge International’ and last year co-directed a documentary ‘Cinéast’ featuring 20 French female directors. </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In other words, Gayet is much more than 'a mistress'. And, unfortunately, there's not much room to make 'being a mistress' a barrel of laughs for yourself once you've been branded that way - t</span></span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">he ‘mistress’ or ‘other woman’ is rarely the femme fatale or smouldering seductress breathlessly singing happy birthday to important men. She's more often than not left to bear the brunt of intramarital relations, and expected to slink off with her tail between her legs, career in tatters. Men 'make mistakes' and can reform; women are shady temptresses who can never be trusted again.</span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Once upon a time, the position of being a mistress of a powerful man was a significant (and often <i>the</i> <i>only</i>) way for a woman to obtain power and protection. They were often memorialised in paintings by the most illustrious artists of the time. Unfortunately, however, the only portrait that Gayet can look forward to is splashed across the pages of ‘Closer’.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Maybe Gayet had an affair with Hollande; maybe she didn't. The point is that that there must be room for women beyond their sexual identities. A fetishised 'mistress' position is not much better than a destructive one. All roads, eventually, lead us back to something resembling the Madonna/whore dichotomy.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There's space for us all to be more than sluts, prudes and mistresses here, kids. Literally hundreds and hundreds of square miles of it. So could people in the media please, for the love of God, consider using it?</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">-KF</span></span></div>
The Vagenda Teamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09068281916141463016noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2686696240672543287.post-86190362741693504332014-01-20T06:23:00.001-08:002014-01-20T06:24:33.018-08:00It's Totally OK to Have Curly Hair (But Only Sometimes)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I have always had ‘difficult’ hair. Some of my earliest memories are of my mum and I screaming at each other as she tried to drag a brush through my mountain of frizz. My hair has the texture of pubes and the feel of a baked poodle, and I’ve spent most of my adult life trying to change it. GHDs have become my saviour; I’ve used them almost every day for about 10 years, and the thought of life without them makes me want to pace around and claw at my face. The main response I’ve got to my hair is that it’s not OK. Yes, everyone says ‘I’d love to have curly hair! You should just leave it alone!’, until they actually see it. Then they back away slowly, as if trying not to antagonise a large bear. Hairdressers tell me they can easily blow dry it straight, until their arms seize up an hour later, a look of utter frustration on their faces. The worst part is when people say that they have curly hair too, and that they understand; when in reality they sport an adorable little wave when they come out of the sea. They have NO IDEA. </div>
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In fact, there seems to be a sliding scale of how acceptable curls are according to the media, bitchy lasses at school, and my own insecurities. See below. </div>
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<b>Types of curls (and how OK they are):</b></div>
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I’ve seen a picture of Beyoncé with her natural hair. It is glorious; as if Tina Turner had pooed out a golden waterfall of loops and spirals. And yet she rarely ever had it au-natural, preferring to go for relaxed, looser curls. It’s still big and a little fierce, but it’s toned down. It seems to be the same for every female celebrity with curly hair: Taylor Swift, Rihanna, Sarah Jessica Parker, Nicole Kidman. This trickles down to the rest of us, and it seeps into our brains; I looked through an entire Cosmo magazine and found, out of hundreds of images, two (TWO!) images of women with naturally curly, or afro hair. And it was a hair special! Fuck you Cosmo, for making me think my hair is unfashionable. When I try things on in a changing room with natural hair, I feel like it makes the clothes look immediately messy and undone. It makes me look like I don’t have my shit together; like I’m unpolished and a bit 'out there'. It makes me feel like Curly Sue before that woman made her have a bath. There also has to be something in the fact that two of the most famous WOC in the world, Beyonce and Rihanna, choose to have their hair relaxed. Even bloody Oprah succumbs to straightening treatments. It all adds up to send the message that straight/wavy hair is what we should aim for, and that curly hair is unattractive. </div>
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<b><u>Historical curls: (sort of OK)</u></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWKXF9p0ZEkhbgKMFHqTAK6bSRYnLmwBgrHYGH5NZXHgND0-C1_mkXXddlqLRyJFXKIaN7jufGtJn_ZB_Coih3fswhaWQud6WmsBWoJdrXf850tS_8YAxeVsOz9KRu7eoGUVBj0-3YSYWA/s1600/curlyhair3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWKXF9p0ZEkhbgKMFHqTAK6bSRYnLmwBgrHYGH5NZXHgND0-C1_mkXXddlqLRyJFXKIaN7jufGtJn_ZB_Coih3fswhaWQud6WmsBWoJdrXf850tS_8YAxeVsOz9KRu7eoGUVBj0-3YSYWA/s1600/curlyhair3.jpg" height="220" width="320" /></a></div>
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I think we can all agree that Botticelli’s ladies were fit as fuck. Their hair cascades over their shoulders in soft waves and the Venus even uses hers to cover up her (suspiciously bald) front bum. They are teasingly wild; a hint of a curl seems to equate to ‘dead good at shagging’. They conform to the image of an ideal woman which is still championed by the Daily Mail, even though it’s two thousand and sodding fourteen. This ideal woman is essentially a giant child. Long loose hair, preferably blonde, hairless everywhere else. These women are meek, bland, obedient vessels; for baby making and sex. They are a gorgeous open mouth and a vagina on legs. Of course deep down they have an uncontrollable, tempestuous side that is brought out in the bedroom to please their partner, but this side scares people. So it is kept under wraps. Or she is vilified her for it: her skirt’s too short, slut, she won’t sleep with me so she’s a bitch. She’s a mermaid on a rock, tits out, unreachable, otherworldly. So historical curls are OK, so long as you stand very, very still, and have a bit of your fanny on show. </div>
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<u><b>80’s curls: (not OK)</b></u></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8FbTylB7JdCmzmMCjo95zXLmvE0NSmjUeD-U6mvGMUBeUSt-PUcMzCdEck72WlD32XQk74haIDfPzuze9ySUxqvPOmBT2ASyH1BA_DsAJWjlSJoIiDvLtO-JGFGR8XDNxpuNAPGbgTsa_/s1600/curlyhair4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8FbTylB7JdCmzmMCjo95zXLmvE0NSmjUeD-U6mvGMUBeUSt-PUcMzCdEck72WlD32XQk74haIDfPzuze9ySUxqvPOmBT2ASyH1BA_DsAJWjlSJoIiDvLtO-JGFGR8XDNxpuNAPGbgTsa_/s1600/curlyhair4.jpg" height="320" width="241" /></a></div>
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This was the last time curly hair was really popular. I had three solid years of contributing my ‘fro to the decade before the 90’s arrived, and it was all about lank Kate Moss heroin chic. If I had been a teenager in the 80s, people would have been like ‘hey, you look like Kevin Keegan, congratulations!’, but instead all I got was ‘hey, you look like you’ve got a fluffy brown bird on your shoulder, ew’. My hair made me miserable throughout my teens. I had a pair of Babyliss Straight & Shines, the ones where you put water in the end and then essentially burned your hair until it died. I used to fight it into a massive bun, shove three Tammy scrunchies over the top, then straighten two fluffy strands down the side of my face. I looked like utter shit, but at least no one was bullying me over my hair. It made me a target; lads shouting out about how gross, dark and frizzy it was. It probably didn’t help that I had a mustache, monobrow, and hairy arms. No one had told me these things might be a problem at secondary school; I was 11, so I didn’t even look in the mirror. In year 8 I managed to get hold of a tube of vile smelling Veet and chucked it everywhere I could, and flattened my hair down with water in between each lesson. And of course the most popular girls always had silky straight hair. If I’d been 15 in the age of Madonna, then maybe I’d have been the hottest girl in school. Instead, I roamed the corridors au naturel, inviting comparisons to a lost, hairy, Portuguese exchange student. Kids are assholes. </div>
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<b><u>The Rebekah Brooks: (Don’t even think about it)</u></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVQtMSMadXmB6qLdOBAnphQ3x8zSPh6TX3haLJa2kgJjZVXxKn4jOjN6RV_RpLVJvtT8KyvwjowriLJe3eNNzTvxvnn4KFjCi2lGzkT17eiE2bOD84hCyUCEByKi-rzHwOB7bxsrM79181/s1600/curlyhair5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVQtMSMadXmB6qLdOBAnphQ3x8zSPh6TX3haLJa2kgJjZVXxKn4jOjN6RV_RpLVJvtT8KyvwjowriLJe3eNNzTvxvnn4KFjCi2lGzkT17eiE2bOD84hCyUCEByKi-rzHwOB7bxsrM79181/s1600/curlyhair5.jpg" height="250" width="320" /></a></div>
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Rebekah Brooks’s hair reduced the Mail’s sidebar to near hysteria when she was on trial during the News of the World phone hacking scandal. They made constant jibes about it being unruly and attention seeking, and intimated that if she wanted to be taken seriously, she should have it tied back or hidden, like some horrible stiff pilgrim. They went on and on about how she used to go out with human testicle Grant Mitchell, and seemed to think that this, and the fact that her hair was a bit crazy and red, meant she was a harlot (gingerism really is the last acceptable fucking prejudice). Having long, ginger curly hair apparently means you are some sort of demon/porn star hybrid. How many articles did you see about Rupert Murdoch’s hair, his looks? Not many. Maybe because it consists of a tiny amount of white fluff that only seems to stay on his head because he’s stuck it to his liver spots with superglue. Or maybe because he was only judged for his actions, his career and his power. I’m not defending Brooks; I think she’s a deeply unpleasant woman. But that has nothing to do with what she looks like. Her hair is not what makes her bad. If I stop straightening my curls I won’t suddenly turn into some hack with no morals, who Snapchats pictures of my dinner to David ‘human thumb’ Cameron.</div>
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So all in all, there aren’t many ‘acceptable’ forms of curly hair. I think my need to straighten is partially due to all of that, but it’s also due to the fact that when my hair comes within a mile of a hairdryer it immediately quadruples in size. It takes 6 hours to dry naturally, and once a comb actually broke in it. One time, a wasp got stuck in the maze of my hair and stung me on the ear as it frantically tried to get out. When I was a kid a hairdresser used a diffuser on me; I caught sight of the giant bushy mess on my head, reflected in a shop window, and burst into tears. When I got nits, the situation was so bad that my mum threatened to shave my head. I’ve had so many hair disasters that I just want to scalp Olivia Palermo and stitch her locks onto mine, like some crazed Frizz-ease obsessed Buffalo Bill.</div>
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I wish I had the guts to go natural, but somehow it feels wrong. I already judge myself- needy insecure nightmare that I am- and worry that my natural hair will make me less attractive. There might even be people out there stupid enough to think my hair represents my sexuality (in which case it would form into the shape of a lonely tumbleweed blowing across a cervix). But it’s hard enough having curly hair without being constantly curl-shamed by the media.</div>
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I’m hoping that the 2010’s will see a re-emergence of the perm; but until then, I’m taking my GHDs to the grave.</div>
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- <a href="http://twitter.com/@bellers_">LB</a></div>
</span>The Vagenda Teamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09068281916141463016noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2686696240672543287.post-63526464739389852562014-01-20T04:04:00.001-08:002014-01-20T07:38:15.680-08:00New Maybelline Beauty Ad Encourages Us to Make Like a Baby (and Shit Ourselves)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWNbQlZuoaa23fGuG6F1sRArUQipqpMXlmtmOgsaD4WDsVNS7ZuusckHNglLeYuqIdyuZYcAsL1eA1NuKtjk5j2QJrOxynj5Twf2bp-SoPOPccrOOQ-1oSZP0zhJ5H8JtSS27SHPFUQHOY/s1600/maybelline-baby-skin-pore-eraser-L-BrxNID.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWNbQlZuoaa23fGuG6F1sRArUQipqpMXlmtmOgsaD4WDsVNS7ZuusckHNglLeYuqIdyuZYcAsL1eA1NuKtjk5j2QJrOxynj5Twf2bp-SoPOPccrOOQ-1oSZP0zhJ5H8JtSS27SHPFUQHOY/s1600/maybelline-baby-skin-pore-eraser-L-BrxNID.png" height="640" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">On a good day, my Facebook targeted ad stream might look something like: </span></div>
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Cat food (I have a small but murderously feline-loathing dog)</div>
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Internet geek dating (I already a geeky boyf, I just hate checking that 'in a relationship' box on Facebook. It's my business, not the world wide web's)</div>
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Expensively rustic looking furniture (that I absolutely can't afford)</div>
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Racy negligee shoot in a photo studio (No)</div>
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Online burka store (Again, no)</div>
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So far, so badly (but sometimes comically) targeted. </div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This week, however, I've been subject to a particular treat. One that made me first double take to make sure I'd read it correctly (I had), then Google it to make sure it wasn't a spoof (it wasn't).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Not content with the not-entirely-new trend of infantalising women (think Marilyn breathily husking her way through 'My Heart Belongs to Daddy' - eeerrrrgghhh!), cosmetics wunderkind Maybelline have have come up with a whole new riff on the subject – a cream that ACTUALLY MAKES YOU LOOK LIKE A BABY.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Thought it was ok for your skin to breathe? Through its pores? Yeah, no. It's not OK, you ugly pore-sporting grown-up womanbeast. </span></div>
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Forget it you ugly pore-sporting grown-up beast. For Maybelline's new 'Baby Skin Pore Eraser' comes complete with a pouting Emily Didonato holding up a photo of the squishy infant she's keen to emulate.</div>
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Now, there are some of you who might say, 'but Emily Didonato is a woman of brain boggling beauty with the body of a goddess and the face of an angel, it's the very fact of her obscenely incredible looks that her entire career is based on.'</div>
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But no. Even Emily wishes to swap her face for the squashy plump cheeks of a newborn. </div>
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WTF? </div>
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Oh, and just in case you were in any doubt that Maybelline are definitely saying 'women, you'd absolutely look better if you looked like a baby,' the've handily come up with an unthreateningly babyish font for the turquoise tube that implies you're supposed to throw in a few boo-boo-ba-bas and a giggly squeal of angelic delight as you smear it onto your disgusting adult skin.</div>
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Now, it's hard to be completely immune to the coveting of lovely, smooth, soft skin.</div>
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I grew up in a hot country and covered in freckles, with little creases of sun damage on my temples and some fairly deeps trenches when I furrow my brow, I do, I admit, look quite enviously at one of my friends' peaches and cream Irish complexion, which is regularly shaded from anything resembling a sun beam with factor 50 and large hats. </div>
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But I don't feel any less feminine or attractive because of my speckledy-brown-egg face, even though, according to Maybelline, I probably should. I just kind of want to stroke her super-smooth cheeks while gently cooing at the silkiness of it. </div>
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But no, according to Maybelline (which from now one I shall refer to as 'the Charles Saatchi of the cosmetics world' considering how, it too, apparently 'likes its women pale'), I am wrong to think I might actually look OK the way I am. </div>
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I should actually loathe my vile, splotchy, wrinkled crone-skin, suppressing the sun-marks and lines that tell the story of my childhood by instead attempting to smooth it back to womb-fresh babyness with latest their fuck-me-that's-completely-ridiculous product.</div>
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You see, what Maybelline are saying is that to be more womanly, more feminine, more attractive, more Emily Didnonato-like, we need to look more like babies. </div>
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And that's many things. It's laughable for one. It's downright ridiculous, for another. It's odd, it's insulting, and it's also worrying.</div>
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Infantalising women is a real thing. It's a viable 'get out of jail card' for many young women lacking in the confidence to throw themselves into challenges and gain skills and experience through failure as well as success.</div>
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It's the wide-eyed, giggly 'oh no, I'll just stand on the sidelines and twiddle my hair, I prefer to count my fluffy pink pens and nail varnishes anyway.'</div>
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And the 'well, I was never going to be very good at it because I'm just a silly-willy, giggle-headed, dumb-dumb girlie girl.'</div>
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And it sucks. Because women are genuinely told that this is the way they should be. </div>
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It's a nod to words like damsel, princess, and daddy's little girl. It conjures up images of 'manly men' looking after their 'child-women', and of women as helpless, silly little fools who's heads are full of thoughts of kittens and fluff and occasionally amusing aspirations of ambitions far above their limited, childlike capacity. </div>
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In a twist of irony, actual small children and their aspirations seems to be facing in the opposite direction – with iTunes coming under fire last week for their marketing of a game that allow girls aged 9+ to carry out virtual plastic surgery on a poor, fat girl who no diet can help.</div>
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Hang on, so small girls should be coveting an adult appearance while adult women should covet children's looks? And men prefer women who resemble infants? Actual real-life infants? Like...isn't that a bit like saying all men are secretly a bit paedophile-y?</div>
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<i>I am so confused guys! </i></div>
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- HM </div>
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The Vagenda Teamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09068281916141463016noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2686696240672543287.post-46134864373807029302014-01-16T09:21:00.003-08:002014-01-16T09:21:44.375-08:00Allow Me To Introduce You to My Glamorous, Awesome IUD: It's Coily Minogue<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic0CdLV0RJULbrWe6nhtcxAEfrAw2YtPF1UgirsHHszXmhzKyztBMwbBhEAQwxBzVv2v9qqn9hJvklIyIJnJWrqSj1V08zeGff5ObGYIgD5In1P3x2MADnKOhyphenhyphenEzZabMJwfLhzrIGFJns8/s1600/Mirena_IntraUterine_System.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic0CdLV0RJULbrWe6nhtcxAEfrAw2YtPF1UgirsHHszXmhzKyztBMwbBhEAQwxBzVv2v9qqn9hJvklIyIJnJWrqSj1V08zeGff5ObGYIgD5In1P3x2MADnKOhyphenhyphenEzZabMJwfLhzrIGFJns8/s1600/Mirena_IntraUterine_System.jpg" height="400" width="366" /></a></div>
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Readers. I want to introduce you to someone. We’ve been very (very) close friends for about 3 years now and she has changed everything. Some of you will know her well, some of you won’t but I suspect most of you have considered getting in touch. She is such an important part of my life it would be almost impossible to lose her as a friend, nor would I ever want to (plus she knows too much about me). She is glamorous. She is awesome. She is my coil. Otherwise affectionately known as ‘Coily Minogue’. </div>
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(DISCLOSURE: The Australian singer has not taken up residence in my life*. Unfortunately when I open my legs people aren’t greeted by a rather muffled version of “Better The Devil You Know”. God, I should be so lucky.)</div>
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Now, Coily’s full name is the rather exotic “Mirena”, she is a T shaped Intrauterine system – try not to stare – and letting her into my life is one of the best things I have done. She and her sisters have 180 million friends worldwide and counting.</div>
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Now, I get asked four main questions when I tell people of me and Coily’s close relationship.</div>
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“You have a coil? Really?!”</div>
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“Yes. Really.”</div>
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“Didn’t it hurt?”</div>
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“Yes. Really.”</div>
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“Do you still use condoms?”</div>
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“Yes. Really.”</div>
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“Do you get periods?”</div>
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“Rarely.”</div>
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Coily and I became friends when I had a mega bust up with The Pill. Yes she made me angry but I kept forgetting about her so we were both to blame. One of my other (human) friends knew Coily well and suggested I get in touch with her. It was one of the best pieces of advice I have ever had and the joy on the doctor’s face when I mentioned it was priceless.</div>
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The truth is she was little bitch to get into my life. I was very casual about it all (tricky when your legs are in stirrups but I was nailing it), that was until the nurse insisted on holding my hand – tightly – which immediately filled me with a sense of dread. All I know about the following 5 – 10 minutes was that I swore. A lot. Combinations of swearwords I previously thought impossible to conjure (“mother f*cking c*nt balls arse wanker” was a highlight). It felt like a little gremlin was gnashing at my insides and shredding them apart. Slowly. In a cold and calculated attack on my cervix. Upon my apology to the doctor afterwards she replied with a “Don’t worry. Happens all the time”. I bet it bloody does. Now Coiley was a little bit unpredictable the first few months but stick with her - the pain lasts for maybe 5 minutes and for the past 3 years I haven’t regretted it for a second. You do the maths. (Fine… Pain = 5 minutes. Blissful happiness of no regret = 1,576,800 minutes. Thank you Google).</div>
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There’s still a lot I don’t know about her. I just had to double check where she lives exactly. I also just learnt how she actually works. I’m pretty sure I was told this when we became friends but it is something to do with mucus – a word which often sends me temporarily deaf *shudder*. But to me none of that really matters. It’s the freedom she gives me that I’m shouting about. I am girl – uninterrupted.</div>
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You see, she makes a lot of promises does our Coily and, for me, she has kept every single one. She’s 99% effective against pregnancy which essentially makes her like a mother who you share a room with. But less disapproving. She makes your periods lighter and, in the most ideal scenarios, makes them stop altogether. I haven’t had a ‘proper’ period since we met and can often go without for months on end. No more pregnancy panics, no more dashs to the pharmacy, no more cramping. Just imagine the savings, just imagine uttering the words “I just need to nip out and get my ANNUAL pack of tampons”, just imagine how much more gin you could drink. Just imagine. NO. MORE. PERIODS. (NB - that’s a ‘full stop’). She releases a lot less hormones – she is like a placid sea in comparison to The Pill who careers around your blood stream shoving you, sobbing, into the bosom of a friend, who falls out of your wallet and who is so easily forgotten. Coiley knows her place and she stays there, a very cool, very collected little ninja, guarding the gateway and kicking serious sperm ass. Unperturbed. For five years.</div>
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Don’t get me wrong, she’s not perfect. She doesn’t protect against STIs and not everyone gets on with her. I won’t sugar coat it for you, there are some absolute horror stories of perforations, clots and heavy bleeding - there goes the hearing again - but these are the minority and whilst completely valid and true they do not represent the overwhelming majority of womens’ experiences. Which are blissfully happy ones. </div>
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If you’re reading this and thinking “yeah maybe I should give Coily a shout” I must just mention one final benefit I hope will really seal the deal and one which is actually my personal favourite aspect of our relationship. When you meet other women who has Coily in their lives you always – always – end up congratulating each other. 99% of the time you high-five. She’s that effective.</div>
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So for 2014 maybe give the coil a whirl (preferably whilst investing in some gold hotpants). 180 million women can’t be wrong.</div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">* Note – for the purposes of this article. By ‘life’ I mean ‘uturus’.</span></div>
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The Vagenda Teamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09068281916141463016noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2686696240672543287.post-83709313310585262782014-01-16T09:06:00.003-08:002014-01-16T09:10:03.946-08:00Katniss Everdeen: Where Your Girls At?<div style="text-align: justify;">
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WARNING: If you have not read, watched or engaged with the cultural phenomenon that is The Hunger Games this may spoil one or two bits for you. </div>
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Like many people who are really too old to enjoy teen fiction, I love The Hunger Games trilogy. I love the post-apocalyptic setting, I love the new made-up words for things and, most importantly, I love Katniss Everdeen. She is a young woman who is brave, strong, smart and would risk everything to protect those she loved i.e. the heroine who a whole generation of girls brought up on classic Disney princesses has been waiting for. A new found enthusiasm erupted around the films when the truly awesome Jennifer Lawrence took the lead role and began speaking out about the <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OvqfI9NTNtk">sexualisation of young women</a> and the <a href="http://www.theguardian.com/film/2013/oct/03/jennifer-lawrence-told-to-diet">pressure to lose weight for roles</a>. The stories are being held up as feminist literature and it wasn’t until after my cinema trip to see the second instalment, The Hunger Games: Catching Fire, that I began to question it. </div>
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It was when my friend and I (foolishly thinking that this would be the perfect film to see on a quiet Sunday evening to prepare us for the week ahead) were exiting the screen jabbering at a million miles a minute about how it looked amazing and Katniss had grown as a character and how tense we had been throughout that I began to think about the other women in Katniss’s life and what this did to the film. I actually spent most of the night thinking about this (note: do not watch on Sunday night. It’s not relaxing and you will have weird dreams about mutant animals chasing you) and it began to sadden me about the thing I loved so much. </div>
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We all know Katniss is strong (<a href="http://www.newstatesman.com/culture/2013/08/i-hate-strong-female-characters">Laurie Penny has already written a great piece</a> on the problems of female characters being ‘strong’) and can outsmart even the all-powerful Capitol thereby breaking away from the stereotypes of a female lead, but if you take a quick glance round at the supporting roles, they cannot help but fall back into the maiden, whore, spinster female stereotypes that plague female characters. It’s almost as if it has taken so much effort to create one rounded female character that there was no energy left to put into the others. </div>
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Hollywood has long since had an issue with displaying female friendship and relationships on screen without resorting to backstabbing and bitch fights. There are a few classic exceptions such as Thelma and Louise (but yes they die) and Steel Magnolias (more death), but these are not the norm. However, newer films such as Bridesmaids and Disney’s latest (unbelievably), Frozen, being incredibly popular and showing women being supportive of each other and experiencing a range of emotions (as if they are actually human!) means that things might be set to change. </div>
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But to return to the Hunger Games; first we have Katniss’s family; her Mother doesn’t actually have a name she is only ‘Katniss’s Mother’ or ‘Mrs Everdeen’ therefore immediately removing her from any Bechdel testing. Katniss’s sister, Prim, is small and blonde and the epitome of innocence throughout and doesn’t actually do anything other than serve as a plot device for Katniss to get involved with the Games at the beginning. Maid and Mother (who daughter doesn’t get on with) – check. </div>
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In and around the Games there are great characters like Effie Trinket, the District 12 escort, but she is really just there to embody the shallow nature of the Capitol. Bimbo – check. In the first book/film we see little Rue, a fellow tribute, who is smart and nimble but ultimately is a replacement Prim and is all innocent and little to the end. Maid #2 – check. </div>
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I was excited to see the character of Johanna in the second film as she is supposed to be a previous winner and so clever and skilled, but also equally troubled by the death she has seen in the Games. This was shat upon quite quickly when her first conversation with Katniss involves her stripping to nothing in a lift. Whore – check. </div>
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One interesting distinction between the films and the books is the omission of Madge who is Katniss’s friend in District 12 and the Mayor’s daughter. She is depicted as being intelligent and a rounded character despite not being in books very much. I am not sure why they would choose to leave her out of the films, but it leaves Katniss without any female friends and presents her in the films as being unable to relate to other women and being more masculine. Women hating other women – check. </div>
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There are other female characters in the books, but on the whole none are given the same time and care as the male characters. I will go and see the last two films when they come out with the same relish as the first, but I am hoping that the success and popularity of the films will cause a ripple effect: Hollywood has got the hang of creating a great female lead and role model so why not let it drift into the friends, the sidekicks, the family members so that it doesn’t just have to be one lady propping up the rest. I’ll wait for that day, but until then, Katniss is still my girl. </div>
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The Vagenda Teamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09068281916141463016noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2686696240672543287.post-84886494613232638182014-01-15T09:29:00.001-08:002014-01-15T09:35:17.992-08:00Women's Body Obsessions Throughout The Ages: Your Comprehensive Guide<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Recently, I squeezed myself into a pair of skinny leather trousers. For months I’d been trawling through Pinterest, pinning pictures of other girls wearing theirs and forming a mental image of what I’d look like in mine. However, no matter which angle I looked at myself in the mirror, here they were and they just didn’t look right. </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Playing a mental requiem, I hung them back in my wardrobe while trying to figure which would be less painful: attempting to grow 5 inches and lose 15 pounds to look like the girls on Pinterest, or putting the trousers up on eBay.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A rapid onslaught of questions began to spiral out of control in my mind. Were leather trousers designed for the seemingly apparent epidemic of women with legs like AT-AT walkers? What is it about my 5'5" frame that makes leather trousers look like sausage casing stuffed with pebbles? Why don’t I <i>ever</i> look how I imagine I will in the clothes that I buy?</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The answer suddenly seemed so obvious. My entire life I have been constantly presented with a body type chosen for me by somebody else: the faraway fashionistas who design clothes to androgynously hang off the 0.3% of women who never went through the M&S bra fitting Rite of Passage because they never grew a pair of tits that don't stand up on their own. All power to them - they're fit as hell. But so am I, and they look nothing like me.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It’s not always been this way, though. Looking back even just 60 years, the female form was routinely celebrated for its softness and the fluidity of its curves. Body fads have persisted throughout history and it isn’t just the modern world that ascribes to the idea of an archetypal female figure. </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So, just to prove my point, let’s take a look at just a few of the fleeting fads of the past. Go on, you know you want to. It all started with...</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>The Paleo Diet</b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Supposedly. And moved swiftly on to...</span></div>
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<span class="s1"><b><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Shapely Spartans</span></b></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm talking Ancient Spartans here. Those guys loved working out. Think <i>300 </i>six packs and pecs glistening with olive oil. Except there’s one lesser known fact. From a young age the women would exercise nude in the gymnasium alongside the men, taking part in wrestling and other athletic competitions. But Spartan women didn’t work out regularly so that they could fit into smaller-sized togas. Healthy body = healthy Spartan babies. It’s just a fortunate side effect that the exercise probably left them looking pretty sexy, too.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><b><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Randy Romans</span></b></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The Romans sexed things up a bit. The Augustan poet Ovid once famously published an ancient ‘Kiss and Tell’, describing the naked bod of his infamous (and imaginary) lover, Corinna. Anyone who’s read his <i>Amores </i>poems will recall his description of Corinna’s ‘belly so smooth below the breasts so high’ and her ‘fine young thigh’. </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But it wasn’t just Ovid who had a ‘type’ back then. The Romans in general were fans of big-bottomed girls with pert little breasts - just have a look at some of their sculptures if you need proof. Unfortunately, women back then may or may not have had cracking bodies but they rarely had a voice. This leaves us unable to tell whether this body craze was shared by women or limited to horny blokes. Ovid’s poems might simply have been the ancient equivalent of <i>Nuts </i>magazine.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><b><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Malnourished in the Middle Ages</span></b></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The Dark Ages offer little evidence to work on when it comes to female body image, although the long working days in the field combined with regular plagues and famine probably did keep them pretty trim. Totes jel.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The Tudors may have been ‘at it’, but that didn’t mean that women were allowed to flaunt what their mommas gave them. The bell-shaped babes of the Elizabethan days wore thick, restrictive corsets which would have left even Katie Price looking as flat-chested as your average male third grader. </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Renaissance artists of the 16th and 17th centuries reveled in the lumps and bumps of their muses. Rubens’ depiction of the Roman Goddess of Love in his 1635 painting <i>Venus and Adonis </i>(above) was modelled for by his wife, who definitely didn’t spend a month on the maple syrup diet before stripping off. Sadly, if Rubens’ wife were alive today, the press would almost certainly have bullied her into dropping 4 stone on <i>I'm A Celebrity</i> and then releasing a fitness DVD about it.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">By 1800, women were gripping firmly to their four poster beds while their corsets were yanked until their waists were a neat 18”. This waist-cinching obsession persisted until the 1920s, when the flapper dress allowed women to breathe freely for the first time in around 500 years.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The 1940s and 50s saw film stars like Rita Hayworth and Marilyn Monroe hit the scene with their pointy bras and hypnotic hips. This hourglass figure sums up the screen sirens of the time but is equally as unattainable for your average women as my half-formed plan to grow a few inches in height.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><b><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Stick Thin in the Sixties</span></b></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The 1960s gave birth to the wafer thin model that still stalks the catwalks today. Twiggy dominated the covers of fashion magazines, her minuscule frame tented by shift dresses and swing coats that were intended to accentuate her childlike demeanour. Thus began the lamentable conception of our current body fad: thin. </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><b><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Modern Day: A Land of Contradiction</span></b></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The 90s was the decade in which Pamela Anderson’s breasts bounced around in <i>Baywatch,</i> while the noughties provided us with The Supersized Ass Debate (did J-Lo and Kim Kardashian have implants to boost their fulsome behinds? How the hell did they do that? Does anybody even care one iota?)</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Thin still remains almost as a constant side note in the 2010s, while hugely rounded butts and boobs get thrown into the mix occasionally as another genetic contradiction that you just can't will away (even though they PROMISED in <i>Are You There, God? It's Me, Margaret </i>that, 'I must, I must, I must increase my bust' was a genuine method of going up a bra size.) Women nowadays are not only expected to bare their ribcages, shoulder blades, bikini bridges and thigh gaps, but in stark contradiction they’re also strongly suggested to retain a double D cup and a booty which wobbles around seductively while they gyrate to songs about booties wobbling around.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Women in their droves have taken to hashtagging the shit out of every aspect of their bodies while snapping screen shots of women with an entirely different natural body type to their own in order to spur on diets and fitness training (#thinspiration #impossible). If that's not enough to slap down your self-esteem, try another #belfie. Or if you're naturally thin, why not head on over to the wildly popular Facebook page 'My Man Likes Meat On My Bones' and cry about your fast metabolism and your apparent lack of 'real woman'ness there?</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In other words: </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> fuck it. </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I’m going to put my leather trousers back on. I may not look like the leggy Pinterest girls but I’m starting a new fad: accepting and embracing my own body type. #FightTheThighGap</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">-Sophie Miskiw, who blogs at <a href="http://sophiesface.blogspot.com/">Sophie's Face</a></span></div>
The Vagenda Teamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09068281916141463016noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2686696240672543287.post-80127723437990829242014-01-15T06:56:00.001-08:002014-01-15T06:56:09.261-08:00Snog, Marry, Avoid: How To Stop Being A Slut and Embrace Your Kate Middleton-esque Natural Beauty<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; text-align: justify;">
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Quick question – is nominating new year’s resolutions for other people a thing? If it is, then I would like to suggest one for BBC Three, regarding their programme <i>Snog, Marry, Avoid</i>, which seems to be on TV if not in one, big continuous stream, then A LOT. I’m mostly pissed at them for spoiling my festive viewing last month (which is a sacred, SACRED thing) with their Christmas Special. Maybe alarm bells should have rung at the fact that BBC Three had taken my two fave options out of the epic conundrum game Shag, Marry, Kill. But Hell, <i>Snog, Marry, Avoid's</i> Christmas Special DID have the words 'Christmas Special' in it. And it was early December. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">For those of you who are generally out doing social things of an evening instead of watching random-shit-that-comes-on-<wbr></wbr>after-10pm-on-a-schoolnight (but WHY?), <i>Snog, Marry, Avoid</i> is ‘the world’s first makeunder show’ which in which an alien/robot encourages people to ditch the ‘fakery’ and show the world their REAL selves. It's been going for a while now, though the more recent episodes seem to have aired without the invaluable input of former presenter and ex-Atomic Kitten member Jenny Frost. Now you just get shamed by a pretend machine called POD. More's the pity. Well, POD plus innumerable members of the general public. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This particular Christmas-themed episode's main beef was the abundance of 'Sexy Santa' outfits in sub-zero temperatures, something which I too often have a problem with, so I should have enjoyed it. But then the term 'natural beauty' cropped up, as it is often wont to do. And I was a bit sick in my mouth.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Swallowing down the vom and blaming it on the mulled wine, I tried to persevere with a programme in which a disembodied voice called a twenty five year old woman 'tanorexic' and attacked her for wearing hardly any clothes. Which is basically what every episode is like.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I mean, Jesus, pink-obsessed monster Verity (for that was her name): can't you have a little compassion for ALL OTHER WOMEN but most of all YOURSELF and dress how other people tell you to, please, rather than trying to dance to the beat of your own fugly drum? Couldn't you just stop offending our eyes and acquiesce to dress a little bit more like the Duchess of Cambridge, for she is the model for all the programme's 'makeunders'? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Who knew 'natural beauty' meant a Boden wrap dress? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In every episode, members of the public (if the victim is female, which is likely, read: men off the street ) are invited to give their opinions on the latest POD-victims. This is because the best way of getting someone like Verity to embrace her 'natural beauty' and not feel the need to 'hide' behind fake tan is obviously to reinforce the idea that her opinion of herself and choices about how she dresses should be based on what random guys think. I mean, , that's not something women hear nearly enough in modern society, so I totally get it. Next time a builder 'compliments' me across a busy street, maybe I should stop and check in with him about which EXACT aspect of my outiftslashbodyslashheadslashf<wbr></wbr>ace has caught his admiring attention so I can work on turning myself into a 'natural beauty' all the more accurately, instead of just feeling furious and walking faster. Maybe they really are just trying to help, like POD. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Turns out, POD’s patented way of changing someone’s self-image is to basically repeatedly yell, 'YOU LOOK STUPID. NOBODY LIKES YOU' until its victims crumble and tear their extensions out, thus emerging in all their bland, girl-next-door, middle-classified John Lewis-clad glory like a phoenix from the ashes that's been dunked in a water butt and told it looks fat in those trousers. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But you know someone is in REAL trouble with POD if 0% of the randomers questioned want to 'marry them'. I really thought that whole thing of basing choices on whether the outcome would affect your marriageability wasn’t a thing anymore, but BBC3 says otherwise. It is, after all, scientific proof that fake-tan makes you fail at womanhood. And guess what turns the guys off most of all: <i>sluttiness</i>. I know, I know. I, too, was so shocked that whole chunks of mince pie cascaded from my open mouth onto the coffee table.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In the land of <i>Snog, Marry, Avoid</i>, not wearing enough clothes means people can tell how many people you've had sex with, thus rendering you non-wife material, a slag barely worthy of a snog. Here’s a little refresher on the science behind that old chestnut, if you need one: boys want nice girls. And nice girls are the ones who are NOT sexually emancipated. IF you have sex with too many people (numbers will vary on what constitutes 'too many', according to which wise oracle of streetside philosophy you speak to) then you are <i>gross</i>. Unless you’re a man, because then you’re the one doing the sex. OK? Good. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">What really pisses me off about this programme is the fakery of it. Yeah. I said it. This isn't, as it posits to be, a public service programme, helping women to love themselves the way their mamas and papas made them - no. This is a programme that cynically forces all the usual shit down our throats and encourages us to judge each other on appearances EVEN MORE THAN WE ALREADY DO. It is a backward, slut-shaming wolf in a self-help book's clothing.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There’ll be a new series this year, appaz, so yay. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">- SW</span></div>
The Vagenda Teamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09068281916141463016noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2686696240672543287.post-73227788798537870332014-01-14T10:23:00.000-08:002014-01-14T10:23:02.308-08:00Does Feminism Have A Problem With Virginity?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I’ve had sex. Have you heard of sex? It’s this thing you can have with other people where you touch and probe your tongues around and hope you’ll have something “like a sneeze, but better,” although you probably won’t. I quite like it. Sometimes it tires me out a bit because I’m horrendously unfit, and after a few minutes of bobbing up and down I can find myself thinking about how a Babybel would really give me a much-needed energy boost right about now. But that’s okay, because no one cares if you have a nap right afterwards, or a cigarette, or indeed a Babybel. Yeah, sex, wow. What a thing.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Oh, what’s that? You’re a woman and you haven’t had sex? And you don’t even want to? What on earth are you on a feminist blog for? You’re certainly no feminist. You’re a backwards, judgemental prude who damages the cause of feminism. You’re too anal for anal, babe. Not cool.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Disclaimer: this is not true. Of course it’s not bloody true. Klaxons for satire. But it alarms me to see this prevailing trend in some strands of feminism: the idea that it is inexorably linked with a varied, dedicated and open sex life. To be a feminist, you have to be willing to walk around topless most of the time, shag all manner of partners in all manner of ways, and go into painstaking detail about your rimming techniques at restaurants (“Say, ladies, tell you what this onion ring reminds me of... and that's to say NOTHING of the vinaigrette dressing...")</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Take the girls (women?) of Lena Dunham’s <i>Girls</i>. I love the girls of Lena Dunham’s <i>Girls</i>. Hannah: highly sexualised, openly declares she’ll experiment with pretty much anything sexually. Marnie: steady consummated relationship with a boyfriend for four years, quick to comment when he eats her out like never before. Jessa: <i>unsmotable</i>. And then we have Shoshanna. What’s Shoshanna’s big story arc of season one, exactly? She begins the series as a virgin, a fact revealed in a confession which provokes shock and, seemingly, pity from the other girls. Her big defining moment of the season in the closing episode when she – phew! – gets laid. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Admittedly, Shoshanna expresses frustration at not having had sex and a strong desire to do so, meaning sleeping with someone is an achievement for her. All fine and dandy, because she got what she wanted. But then, of <i>course</i> she wanted it, because it is so rare we see a modern female character who may, lo and behold, simply choose not to have sex - especially if that's just going to be one small facet of her overall personality, rather than some defining attribute. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Needless to say, I’m in my early twenties and I know women of the same age who are virgins. I just don't see them in the media very often. And what is more, they <i>want</i> to be virgins, for many different reasons. For instance:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">- Because of religion. I have had discussions with friends of various faiths who have expressed their deep, unwavering belief that sex before marriage is wrong – for them. They’ve never once judged me for feeling differently. They sure as shit wouldn’t be my friends if they had.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">- Because they haven’t found someone they feel comfortable with. Some people don’t wanna fuck, they wanna make love (“Make love, not whore”…? I’ll work on it). Fair play to them, I say.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">- Because of fear. This is, of course, not something I advocate, and a lot of us would, I hope, agree that mutually consensual sex is nothing to be afraid of. But then again, I have no idea what their prior experiences are. I’m not about to order these guys to grit their teeth and face their demons before they’re ready - why would I? For one thing, I don't have the inclination - and for another, I don’t have the right.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">- Because of any number of personal, subjective reasons that have absolutely nothing to do with me or you. And this is probably the one that we all find hardest to accept. But i</span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">t’s not always oppression, shyness or the inability to find it, guys. Sometimes it’s pure, unadulterated choice.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I’m your average <i>Sex and the City</i> kind of woman. Not that I spend utterly asinine amounts of money I don’t possess on shiny footwear, but I do go out and fuck and then gloat and/or gripe about it to my gal pals the next day. A lot of my gal pals don’t do this, though. Some of them (as aforementioned) haven’t had sex. They are intelligent, witty, compassionate women who have a lot to say, and they usually say it far more coherently than I can ever muster. They have never once criticised my behaviour, or that of any sexually active woman; instead they’re always exceedingly supportive. Why aren’t they considered a prevalent part of the feminist revolution too? Why does feminism <i>necessarily</i> have to be about open, deliberate and emphatic sexual empowerment?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Don’t get me wrong – sexual empowerment is imperative if we are to reside in a fair world. Slut-shaming is a tendency society ought to be dismally ashamed of. Any woman has the right to choose to have sex with ten, twenty, thirty partners a day/week/month/whatever, if that is indeed the choice of all involved. She does not deserve comment or diminished respect for this. No one gives a flying fuck if a man sleeps around and it damn well ought to work both ways. This is, essentially, Feminism 101.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But equally, any woman (not to mention any man, any human at all) has the right to choose to have sex with zero partners. These feminists never seem to show up on TV; they’re never given a high-profile platform through which to speak or write. The female virgin character is always striving to release her inner wanton woman-of-the-world. If it's set in the 21st century, you can bet that her virginity is never a choice, always a burden. To be a real woman, you supposedly have to do a little dance, make a little love and, preferably, get all the way down tonight. Yeah, <i>all the way down.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The tacit implication that feminism requires erotic openness suggests any woman who doesn’t want to have sex, for whatever reason, can’t be a proper feminist. It’s virgin-shaming, abstinence-shaming, and it’s as bad as slut-shaming because both suggest that who a woman chooses to have or not have sex with is open for scrutiny and judgement by the world. Who a woman screws does not build or reduce her worth, and precisely the same is true of <i>whether</i> a woman screws.</span></div>
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The Vagenda Teamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09068281916141463016noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2686696240672543287.post-63471766410729113252014-01-14T07:31:00.005-08:002014-01-14T07:37:41.737-08:00Nip/Tuck Barbie Normalises Plastic Surgery For Children <div style="text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Brace yourselves, earth-shattering understatement incoming: Barbie has never been a particularly aspirational brand for young girls. But the inception of a new app for iTunes has seen the young girl's busty, blonde icon slip straight from her pedestal and on to the operating table. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now, call me old fashioned (actually, please don't I'm 22 and sensitive to ageist remarks), but in my heyday of Mattel toy utopia, Barbie used to BE the doctor. She had the stethoscope and the glasses and the fetching white coat which barely concealed her oversized breasts. But now Barbie is the one under the knife and guess who's masterminding her nip/tuck? According to iTunes, girls aged 'nine and up.' Just in time too. Barbie might actually be able to get a breast reduction so she can fit into her white coat properly. </span></div>
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Just kidding. About the breast reduction, not the app unfortunately. This is just the sort of acrid, derisory, frankly unfathomable piece of shit that has been creeping its way out of the arsehole of the media and into the minds of young girls for years. </div>
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It's not enough that from an inconceivably young age girls are hailed with an unrelenting pelting of images of photoshopped models, airbrushed actresses and augmented bodies. No, now they can be complicit in the maintenance of unrealistic standards of beauty and the vulgar ethos that no matter what you look like, a couple of hours on the plastic surgeon's table and you too can be smiling with the same tart, rigid smile of Barbie's botoxed face! </div>
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I can see it now, a shopping centre Santa saying to the little girl on his lap: 'And what do you want for Christmas little Suzie?' 'I'd like a boob job, botox and liposuction Santa!' </div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now this is the jewel in the crown, the description on the iTunes store: 'This unfortunate girl has so much extra weight that no diet can help her. In our clinic she can go through a surgery called liposuction that will make her slim and beautiful. We'll need to make small cuts on problem areas and suck out the extra fat. Will you operate her, doctor?' </span></div>
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Where do I begin with the bad? The fact that the Barbie in the picture looks no larger than average size (for a 2D animation) is beside the point I suppose. Hollywood standards for 'slim' being what they are, if you're not in danger of slipping through the seat belt on rides at Thorpe Park the you're an obese monstrosity and should be confined to a bell tower like poor Quasi. </div>
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Then there's the unsurprising conflation of the adjectives 'slim' and 'beautiful,' and the tacitly implied synonym, 'happy.' </div>
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But the root of the veritable shitload of problems with this app, is that it instils the ideology in young girls that plastic surgery is not an extreme procedure for a symptom of wider insecurities in young girls or the broken societal image of young women. This app normalises plastic surgery for children, making it seem as commonplace and necessary as choosing outfits (okay, weapons) for my dolls (okay, Action Men) was when I was growing up.</div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As long as obnoxious, mind-poison like this continues to permeate the cultural zeitgeist for young girls, the media's weight and image obsessions will never be challenged. Girls will continue to be fed this nauseating bullshit that who you are is what you look like and that can be bought and manipulated with a scalpel.</span></div>
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What they're not being told and what needs to be said is that who you are, your integrity, your humour, your wit, your intelligence cannot be found on the operating table of any plastic surgeon in the world. It's time for an Equalities Minister Barbie, stat. <br />
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</span>The Vagenda Teamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09068281916141463016noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2686696240672543287.post-50020337605308750642014-01-14T02:52:00.001-08:002014-01-14T02:59:00.657-08:00Why Cosmo's Wrong About The Thigh Gap<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Thigh gap bible Cosmo <a href="http://www.cosmopolitan.com/celebrity/news/stop-thigh-gap?src=spr_TWITTER&spr_id=1440_39551030">has confounded readers this week</a> by declaring itself anti-thigh gap. Whether or not the magazine will be embracing plumptious thighs that rub together insofar as featuring them in photographs in their magazine remains to be see, but we reckon the answer is : ER, NO.</div>
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In a piece entitled 'Why the thigh gap needs to stop immediately', writer Kendra Alvey manages to make some relatively well thought out arguments about body fascism while simultaneously shaming anyone whose skeletal structure means that their thighs don't touch at the top, and of course pointing out to all Cosmo readers that she used to be a super-hawt Hooters girl and is therefore qualified to speak on this topic. According to super buff but not thigh-gapped Kendra, having a gap between your thighs 'makes you look like a little boy in a Wes Anderson movie.' Take that, wide-hipped, bandy-legged women of the world. I hope you feel fucking great about yourselves now. </div>
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And thus, Cosmo's #StopThighGap campaign falls at the first hurdle.</div>
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As numerous people who aren't verging on brain dead have pointed out, it's possible to criticise certain patriarchal structures without being a dick to the women involved in those structures. It's called being a good feminist, and also not being a bitch to people. Hence you can think Playboy sucks a massive dong without insulting the women who get their paycheques from that very same company. However, such cognitive dissonance seems beyond churnalist Kendra, who seems to think that positioning herself as glorious saviour of a billion anorexics simply involves explaining how social media is likely to blame as it makes you well jells of all the skinny women you, sans internet, would never see, as well as how the thigh gap obsession is pointless because 'most of us aren't built that way.' 'Gee, thanks Kendra', the western world's eating disorder sufferers are all undoubtedly mouthing at their monitors, 'all I needed was some of your straight-talking snark to snap you out of my SERIOUS MENTAL ILLNESS. Now back to my Moonrise Kingdom torrent.' Seriously, F-off.</div>
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Some might say that Cosmo's #StopThighGap campaign is a step in the right direction. To which I say: bullshit. It not only betrays a serious misunderstanding of how pro-ana works by assuming that eating disorder sufferers will simply snap out of it if they see how silly they're being/how gross they apparently look, but it also manages to insult a whole load of women who might just have both wide hips and healthy lifestyles. It's quite an achievement, and, from the looks of the Facebook comments, Cosmo readers call bullshit. </div>
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It's a shame that, as per usual, a serious point about access to pro-ana content being limited ends up obscured by body shaming lingo. If Cosmo wants to address the thigh gap and the issue of eating disorders, it needs to stop using shaming language such as 'nuts', it needs to stop positioning itself as a voice of reason in an image-obsessed world when it itself is a major part of this world, and it needs to have an honest conversation with its readers about how its pages and pages of bikini detox and cosmetic surgery advertorial have contributed to this clusterfuck of a situation. It needs to ditch the patronising 'fairy godmother' tone and stop asking questions such as Kendra's inane: 'Do you really think women like Tina Fey or Beyoncé care one single bit about a thigh gap? I bet they don’t. I bet they’re too busy being cool, talented and incredible.' And it needs to stop fucking implying that people who suffer from eating disorders and body dysmorphia are 'lame' or stupid. ('Ignore the lame and revere the intelligent', says Kendra.)</div>
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Enough, already, Cosmo. You're no longer the voice of a genaration, you're no longer arbiter of what's cool and what isn't, you're just another female-focused content peddler screaming into the abyss of the internet, and nothing exemplifies that more than the fact that you've managed to launch an attack on a worthy target - namely female-focused body facism - but for ALL the wrong reasons. </div>
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</span>The Vagenda Teamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09068281916141463016noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2686696240672543287.post-70720197426661395122014-01-13T07:28:00.001-08:002014-01-13T07:50:41.074-08:00Here's How I Know That A Baby Will Cost Me My Promotion<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I hit 27 and my womb woke up. </span></span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">All sorts of words and objects have sudden new meanings: cycle, thermometers, folic acid, sex. And I actually want to talk about them in a 'baby' kind of way. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My poor boyfriend has had to watch my ‘sad unfertilised egg’ routine three months in a row, and I’m not joking. I know I’m not helping the feminist cause with these hysterics, but it’s true. My mum was exactly the same; 26 years and 11 months and babies were like, whatever - but one month later, BROODINESS ALERT! Nowadays, I’m genuinely concerned my IUD will be disarmed by my womb’s super-sized appetite for sperm.</span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It’s OK, though - I’m actually quite excited by it. The aforementioned poor boyfriend is happy to inseminate me when the time’s right; we've talked it through. And somehow, the years of repulsion and 'vom’ remarks about vaginal birth have transformed into excitement at splitting myself in two and welcoming a brand new person into the world. </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So far, so sickeningly hunky-dory, right?</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But there’s a problem, and it isn’t with me and my turbocharged uterus.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It’s that my boss took me out for lunch last week, dangled a “supersonic promotion” in front of me, and then said in an oh-so-nonchalant manner, “But are you going to have a baby soon?” </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>Arsehole</i>, I hear you cry. Yes! - especially as the sphincter in question is female herself. But sisterhood stops at the office door, apparently. I’ve climbed the corporate rungs and she wants to check that I’m not about to slide back down by doing the dirty and, you know, continuing the human race and whatnot. Sure, this is sexist bullshit, but I have another problem with it too: it’s fucking personal. Did I enquire about her bowel movements? No. Has she asked how the colony of candida albicans in my pants is doing? No (itchy). So don’t ask me what my plans are for my fucking ovaries, unless you want to share tips on the perfect angle for fertilisation. Sorry, my turbocharged uterus wrote that last part.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It is a truth universally acknowledged, apparently, that a woman of child-bearing age and in a loving relationship is a corporate liability. The more I hear about the Machiavellian planning undertaken to avoid bosses’ pregnancy antennae, the more incensed I get. One friend has figured out a four month window in 2015 when she can conceive: it means her maternity leave will fall in between promotions and she can keep on climbing right after she pops. Another already-pregnant acquaintance is working 60 hour weeks to maintain her chances of making partner by 35. A colleague cried for hours after the little blue line appeared because she was terrified of telling our boss. It’s snakes and ladders for a woman out there, and it’s not helped by other women feeding the snakes. I can’t even count the number of times I’ve overheard women talking admiringly of those who’ve carried on clutching their smartphones in the stirrups. New policies like shared parental leave, effective from April 2015, won’t address this cultural crap; it’s up to us, and especially any bosses-with-vaginas out there reading this. </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Earlier this year, Facebook COO Sheryl Sandberg published a book called<i> Lean In</i>, essentially a guide for women who want to succeed in business. She says we’ve got to ‘take our place at the table’ and not be afraid of aiming high. She reckons that aside from the institutionalised, sexist bullshit which means that<a href="http://www.internationalbusinessreport.com/Reports/2012/women.asp"><span class="s2"> only 21% of senior management roles</span></a> are held by women globally, part of the problem is women’s ‘internal voices’ telling them they can’t succeed. I can't help but think that we're right back to Eve and her goddamn penchant for apples here, aren’t we - the 21% is being dumped right on our front doorsteps like a stinking social turd.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But here’s a stark truth for you, Sheryl, and I doubt I’m alone in this: my internal voice says I can succeed. I can go all the way to the top or near enough. I can be 'the boss' by name. I can interrogate my female underlings about their plans for their ovaries. But guess what? I’ve got better things to do than play snakes and ladders. That game’s for kids. </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As I look at my 2014 calendar for the umpteenth time, and do the conception maths of months and weeks and maternity rights, I’ve given up caring what the answer is. I’m not going to slip off my engagement ring for interviews, or lie to a boss who should be on my side, or mechanically plan the most precious act of my life in accordance with when Project X ends and Project Y begins. </span></span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I think I’m better than that - and I think we need a system better than that, too.</span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></div>
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The Vagenda Teamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09068281916141463016noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2686696240672543287.post-42749668719754790952014-01-09T06:07:00.000-08:002014-01-09T06:07:03.861-08:00Ten Things You Didn't Know About Your Bikini Line, You Disgusting Hairy Beast<div class="p1" style="text-align: justify;">
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The end of an old year and the beginning of an old one is traditionally a time for introspection and reflection, and nothing epitomises this more than those 'Year in Review Years' that thankfully, we've just about seen the last of. And thank fuck for that. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Unfortunately for me, just as I thought I was rid of this scourge, I happened across one in particular that made my blood boil. It's from the Marie Claire website, last month, and is presumably tailored towards those poor unfortunate souls who are wringing their hands over how to keep up with the latest fur trim fash. Yes, it's <a href="http://www.marieclaire.co.uk/blogs/544826/11-things-you-didn-t-know-about-your-bikini-line-in-2013.html">Ten Things You Didn't Know About Your Bikini Line in 2013. </a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">From festive décor to how-to-make-your-legs-look-longer-by-trimming-your-pubes-into-a-flattering-strip (apparently this is a thing), they've really raided the crazy bin in their attempts to guide you on pruning your lady garden in a sociably acceptable way. 'What were women really doing with their bikini lines in 2013?' asks the blurb. 'We investigate...'</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Hopefully not too closely. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So here's the 411 on the vag:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="s1"><b>Made up factoid #1. 'Bikini Waxing Follows Seasonal Trends'</b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">'The heart Brazilian is always very popular on Valentine's Day,' chirps Chloe Scriminger, Salon Trainer at the not-at-all sinister sounding Ministry of Waxing. 'Whereas at Christmas time we get a lot of requests for Christmas trees. One of the most popular shapes will always be an initial though, whether that's their's or a partner's.'</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There you go. If you haven't got Santa Claus/the Easter Bunny/a Jack-o-Lantern (delete as appropriate according to season), you're not short of options. You can always whip off your knickers to reveal your lover's own initial artistically carved onto your fanny. Because that's not at all creepy.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Made up factoid #2. Belfies are causing hairy crack anxiety because, anxiety</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It's not enough to strip your front-bottom of nature's fluff. You now have to worry about your disgusting hairy arse. According to Marie Claire, the rise in the 'belfie' – in which s'leb Tweets a snap of their own shapely behind – means that bum waxing is on the rise (HOW SHOEHORNED IN CAN A TREND BE? - Ed.) Apparently a glimpse of a </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">rogue hair nestling between your buttocks when you're taking pictures of your arse in the mirror to post on Facebook is now something we all need to be worrying about now. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Made up factoid #3. Men are shaving their balls because, Olympic</b>s</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It's alright! This totes isn't a sexist piece! The men get waxed too y'know! Ever since the Olympics, men have been wandering into waxing salons demanding 'boyzillians'. Chloe Scrimager is quoted again. 'They (WHO?) choose to remove all of their body hair', she raves. And yet, men's short and curlies seem to be present and correct, as per. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Funny that. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Made up factoid #4. You need to wax everywhere because, Gwyneth Paltrow </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">'The effect of celebrities on society is becoming obvious', they say, under a piccy of Gwynnie in a sheer panelled dress. </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Oh Marie Claire, you Einstein of the glossies. It's not obvious here what you're trying to say at all. Does Gwyneth shave her hips or something? Is that what you mean by 'well groomed from head-to-toe'? Are you advocating the naked baby look? I am so confused right now. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Probably-not-made-up-but-not-exactly-interesting-factoid #5. Technology exists. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Guys! Waxing salons are like, so with it now you can book your sesh on Facebook! 'And we use iPads to show our clients videos and past campaigns of our treatments,' tells Chloe. Hopefully they asked their customers' permission before filming a close up of their vaginas and bumholes being stripped of all hair by a ruthlessly efficient beautician. Thems some videos I never want to see.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Made up factoid #6. Bikini Waxing Can Be More Slimming than Control Underwear! </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">That's right laydeees! When the time comes to unpack your shrink wrapped self from its girdled cloisters, in other words, when it's time for lurve, he'll never notice your big fat belly of yours because your flattering bikini line will make your legs look really, really long! Oh what? You didn't know that your average man about to do the bad thang was actually looking for the next part of your imperfect body to judge? You do now. And you can be one step ahead of the dunderhead by tearing it all off. But before you do, take it from me: the only thing that a brazilian might help look slightly thinner is probably your snatch. Look out , trend forcasters, for 'fat vagina' is hotly tipped to be the new 2014 body anxiety of choice. </span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Made up factoid #</span><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">7. Television shows control your vagina</span></b><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Everyone knows that Kim Kardashian is a great role model for everyday, attainable, un-airbrushed, non-manipulated image maintenance. Duh. So when she got her entire body lasered on TV, fans decided they too must lose every unsightly hair that dared to emerge from their skin. Plus there's TOWIE and their infamous vajazzles – because your vagina's just not quite twinkly enough without a tasteful sprinkling of Swarovski. “We are getting more requests for 'completely hair free, with a bit of bling',” confirms Chloe, proving that when it comes to fashion and sex, there's nothing quite like revealing what appears to be a Faberge egg when you pull your pants down. How many women actually <i>do</i> take their fanny maintenance guidance from reality television is, of course, not mentioned. </span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Made up factoid #</span><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">8. Your bald cootch is recession-proof</span></b><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Did you know that despite having fewer pennies to spend thanks to that PESKY RECESSION WOTSIT, us girls are actually spending <i>more</i> on beauty treatments? I'm not sure what poll Marie Claire consulted for that little fact, but apparently now beauty is 'affordable, accessible and makes people feel good, and confident about themselves'. So how come this article isn't making me feel good or comfortable about myself? And how come anal bleaching costs so much? Even the MyPinkWink Cream anal bleaching home kit costs $38! I don't have that kind of money. Even if it does, according to reviews, 'make your anus glow in the dark.' </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>No-shit-duh bonus factoid #9. You might not actually know about the correct whereabouts of your own fanny hair, and therefore need someone cleverer to show you</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now ladies. Did you know that <i>your inner labia doesn't actually grow hair?! </i>Madness! It's your <i>outer </i>labia that does the naughty sprouting of fur, you poor hairy, ugly fool! So you're best to leave it to the 'intimate waxing experts', who know these things, and pay a large amount of cash to make sure you don't try and traumatise your sensitive inner labia with a dollop of the hot stuff only to realise <i>there was no hair there in the first place. </i>What would you do without us, eh? Stop breathing, probably. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">(What this has to do with the year 2013 is anyone's guess. Perhaps that year saw an outbreak of inner labia alopecia and we're just not up to date enough.)</span><br />
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<b style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">No-shit-duh bonus factoid #10. </b><b style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You can't trust some people to tear a trip of your pubes</b><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Double dipping. The hazards. Not everyone who's qualified to wax your pins is trained enough to whip the ugly stuff off the underside of your vag. That bit requires a true artist. So be careful who you book with and take them to task if they double dip their wand in hot wax.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Or, y'know, you could just...not? After all, according to alternative list <a href="http://nymag.com/thecut/2013/12/9-signs-bush-was-back-in-2013.html">New York Magazine's 9 Signs the Bush Was Back in 2013</a>, you needn't have bothered. Wait...what did I just read?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">- HM</span></div>
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The Vagenda Teamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09068281916141463016noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2686696240672543287.post-57377766599374453132014-01-09T04:51:00.003-08:002014-01-09T05:18:03.108-08:00My Friend the Feminist Who Won’t Call Herself a Feminist<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2FEU6mMQmtSPX1YThTSf_E8m2jENKLpv7CAzEZmI1s9PF9TbBQHoUtdpONFy_Bp2lqKQNnqCOYw2NdbUFgNVeb-10Q6cGe3Lo5PCts6TINKyLDyMxbq6x3Tn0TDE3eY2Nkv5tBtYffEQT/s1600/Katenash.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2FEU6mMQmtSPX1YThTSf_E8m2jENKLpv7CAzEZmI1s9PF9TbBQHoUtdpONFy_Bp2lqKQNnqCOYw2NdbUFgNVeb-10Q6cGe3Lo5PCts6TINKyLDyMxbq6x3Tn0TDE3eY2Nkv5tBtYffEQT/s1600/Katenash.jpg" height="277" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US">It doesn’t take long these days for me to slide the fact that I'm a feminist into a conversation. I feel as though I have to let people know this upfront, because a.)</span> I don’t shave my head but I do shave
under my arms and b) my bras might have holes in them but I’ll be dammed if I
burn them before I get a good 6 year use out of them. As I fail to exhibit any of the obvious 'clues' (so-called by the male dominated mainstream media), I think it’s fair to let them know so that, if in conversation, they're ill-informed enough to ask if the victim was drunk, they're forewarned of the tirade
that shall be a’coming their way.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US">I have a friend who I have known for donkeys
years. We both thought more was more when it came to applying glitter for the
year 6 disco, we were both quite late for the whole boyfriend thing, and we're both prone to forget the dangerous effects of Jaegerbombs on a bi-weekly basis. </span>A few years ago, we both trundled up north
to University, her to study Law and me to study English. She then spent some time
traveling in Oz whilst I hopped from job to job at home. Recently we found
ourselves back in our home town for a while and spending every weekend at the local.
And here is where I discovered that she isn’t a feminist.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But she is. </span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She is in the terms that I define my own
feminism. She believes in equality. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But that’s all I know about what her views
on the subject. When pushed, it transpires that she sees feminism as a dirty
word, something that still means you hate men. </span></span></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">‘But
wouldn’t<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>you be pissed off if you
joined a law firm and started to work your way up, but at the same time there
was a guy, same age, same qualifications, same time working up the ladder but
he got paid more than you?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">‘Yes,
but that doesn’t happen anymore.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">‘Yes
it does.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">‘Fine,
that’s not fair but I’m still not a feminist.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I’ve lent her my copy of ‘How to be a
Woman’ as sort of a gentle introduction, but I’m pretty sure it’s collecting
dust in her bedroom. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Should it bother me that she won’t call
herself a feminist? Surely it is just a word, and actions should speak louder
than any label?</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But it bothers me. She is clever,
bright, academic, witty and wins many a debate in the last 5 minutes before
kicking out time in the pub. Why wouldn’t she want to describe herself as something
that embodies her beliefs? </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My mother also doesn’t call herself a
feminist. 7 years ago she reluctantly took over a Girl Guides group in our
town. Within weeks they had done away with the singing around a toadstool and
now they go swimming and bike riding and also do an Eco Beach clean once a summer.
They host talks from women who are in careers that are typically thought
of as men’s professions. A surgeon, an engineer and a politician from the Welsh
Assembly all came to talk for an evening about their careers to a group of
girls between 11 and 14 years of age. That, I think, is a great Monday night
and an active fight against the slow and subtle sexism that these girls might
experience in school. But my mum says she's not a feminist. </span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US">Should it matter then that these two women
actively disregard the word ‘feminist’. Is it just a label? The belief in the
fight for equal treatment is </span>surely what truly matters? So does it matter if they
actively avoid the word?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Is the fight less valuable if it is fought
on individual terms? The same values still exist, headway is potentially still
being made, we are united in our goals, just not our proclamation of the word.
Looking at the outcomes of the #fbrape campaign, it is again proof that it
takes people coming together, standing up together and saying together that
something isn’t right for it to have an effect. We’re stronger fighting for our
sex, not just ourselves. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US">Should I be berating for her to realise
that the word has changed? That it can mean what you want it to mean. Feminist
is how I describe myself, but every feminist argument does not define my own
thinking. Occasionally I admit I find the word headlining a fight I don’t
believe in. I think body hair is your choice and that’s all we need to say
about it. Louise Mench needs to realise she may want to be a role model, but
she’s not a model that most of us were built on. Feminism to me is
a dynamic word. It holds people together through movements that can lead to
change, and argues against FGM and 14 year olds subjected to abuse on crowded
buses.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> With violence against women still going on, it </span></span>angers me that someone could be embarrassed by a word that is used by those campaigning against these atrocities. But does it matter? As long
as they are against what is happening in the world, should we care what they
call themselves?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">With more and more women in the public eye cautiously hopping around the word feminism, and young girls
verbally abused in schools for daring to proudly label themselves as feminists,
should we be surprised the word attracts a mixed reaction even from those who
believe in the principles of feminism?</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I realise that I haven't answered any of my own questions. Perhaps you can. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">- BG</span></span></div>
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The Vagenda Teamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09068281916141463016noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2686696240672543287.post-85000064127020039342014-01-08T08:14:00.000-08:002014-01-08T08:14:01.416-08:00Urban Outfitters are High Street Trolls: Why Are We Still Shopping There?<div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvHn0GpnZe7K7PnnsKMSoPbRYOURhakir3spNQgTImeHRz5z2dvZXSwrllt0XmHKS2ahUJKY43exwPBN96KZhLBS8Dt99Pg6vLX0kx69Gg3qMCu5_vK9yCHpruG4_958RgcW_nG11ShFPd/s1600/UO.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvHn0GpnZe7K7PnnsKMSoPbRYOURhakir3spNQgTImeHRz5z2dvZXSwrllt0XmHKS2ahUJKY43exwPBN96KZhLBS8Dt99Pg6vLX0kx69Gg3qMCu5_vK9yCHpruG4_958RgcW_nG11ShFPd/s1600/UO.jpg" height="316" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span id="goog_1383366034"></span><span id="goog_1383366035"></span><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Like a dog that vomits and then eats its own sick, Urban Outfitters are at it again. This week they’ve been forced to pull their “controversial” (read: “insensitive posturing dickbag”) Depression crop top. [pictured] Yep: DEPRESSION. All over your tits! Who wouldn’t want this? I mean, probably not people with depression, because if you’d had depression, or are depressed], you know it’s not an accessory. And probably not people who’ve known someone with depression because they know how sad it is to watch someone you love struggle with depression. That's quite a lot of people who won't be wearing that top. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So, aside from the aforementioned posturing dickbags, who exactly would want this? Well, apparently everyone. After Urban Outfitters issued their non-apology (<a href="https://twitter.com/UrbanOutfitters/statuses/419939636949954561" style="color: #1155cc;">“Hey everyone, we hear you and we are taking the shirt down from the site”</a>) Urban Outfitters immediately changed the page listing to “Sold Out”. And perhaps it did. Who knows? It might crop up on ebay now for thrice the retail price. Either way, nothing says contrition like bragging about how much money you’ve made from being a professional troll. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I’m using the word “troll” because I'm becoming convinced that riling people might be their entire marketing scheme. A couple of years ago they “got in trouble” for having T-shirts emblazoned with the slogan “Eat Less”. That was the latest in a long line of offensive products which had been accused of being, to varying degrees, racist, sexist, culturally insensitive, and transphobic. Now we can add glamourising mental illness to that clusterfuck list. As I type this I imagine their design team are brainstorming yet more ideas, probably by typing “offensive shit lmao” into google while singing “troll-lol-lol-lol-lol-lol”.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It’s the repeated guzzling of their own vomit that really cements Urban Outfitters troll status. It started about ten years ago with 'Ghettopoly', the 'black version' of Monopoly they were selling. It had an angry black man waving a gun in the middle, instead of Mr Monopoly, and Park Lane was replaced with a peep show. The racism it exhibits is almost of a “can’t see the woods for the angry black men” variety. It’s so blatant and so offensive that you actually take a second look to check that you haven’t misunderstood. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">At the time, Reverend Glenn Wilson said that it was in fact so racist that “the only way to take it was to say that the people had racist intent in marketing it”. It's not 'funny and accidentally' racist, it's just racist. And in the ten years since that board game was created, Urban Outfitters have remained staggeringly loyal to this policy. From trucker caps with the slogan “Irish Yoga” on them showing a drunk stick man throwing up, to a T-shirt with a Star of David on the pocket which mimics the stars Jewish people were forced to wear during the Holocaust, to a complete misappropriation of Native American culture, <a href="http://jezebel.com/5905291/a-complete-guide-to-hipster-racism" style="color: #1155cc;">brilliantly taken apart here</a>, by Jezebel. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But it’s not just those who don’t look, feel or live the way Urban Outfitters' white hipster demographic who are in the line of attack, they also don't seem to like women. For anyone who’s recently gone shopping on a UK high street, that’s not news. Coats that don’t button or have pockets? Crop tops? Skirts so tight and cheap you’ll produce enough yeast to brew your own beer? It’s all there.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In 2011, Urban Outfitters decided to take it that one step further and <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2011/08/19/urban-outfitters-model-lawsuit_n_931090.html" style="color: #1155cc;">feature the crotch shot of a 14 year old model, without her permission, on the front of one of their T-shirts.</a> Women in handcuffs, women with their tits out, women’s shirts with “I Drink You’re Cute” written on them - all they care about is your money, basically. In 2012, they produced a transphobic card which included the phrase “Jill was a closet tranny”. It showed them for the playground bullies that they are, a massive company that picks on people who already spend their daily lives tolerating frequent abuse. Behaviour like this can have devastating effects. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We need to stop rewarding a marketing strategy which seems to involve trolling everyone who's not exactly like them. Yesterday, Urban Outfitters' shares increased in value from $50.00 to $55.00. They have worked out a profitable way of making money out of racism, transphobia and sexism. It doesn’t matter how many times they get told to remove these products because chances are they'll just go away and dream up some new one about date rape or addiction or they’ll steal a young designers work (all things they have already done in the last few years).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You may say, that by writing about this, we're just providing them with clickbait, but lots of non-US readers seem to be unaware of how gleefully trollish Urban Outfitters can be. We're not going to link to them. So here it is. DEPRESSION! All over your tits! Were YOU lucky enough to buy one of their sellout crop tops? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">'Each collection is presented as a black comedy based on medical themes, and some titles of their men's, women's and shoes collections include AW12 'Plastic Surgery' and AW13 'Dysmorphia', reads the bio for the top's designers. In case you didn't manage to snap that one up, there's always next season's 'Life Support Machine' and 'Massive bereavement' ranges.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Quite frankly, I am DONE. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">- BD</span></div>
The Vagenda Teamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09068281916141463016noreply@blogger.com3