Fifty Shades of Feminism

Daytime telly is a vice of mine. Currently in-between jobs, I have fallen into the trap of a lack of routine and my days are now filled with job applications, going to the gym and composing tweets about wanting to steal Holly Willoughby’s wardrobe. Still, whilst most daytime telly is mundane and brainless (read: Jeremy Kyle), I am clearly interested in anything that promotes debate. Today’s dose of This Morning featured a debate on popular erotic novel Fifty Shades of Grey, with Samantha Brick arguing that the book should be regarded the same way as most pornography- (ie: keeping it stocked on the top shelf rather than next to the latest biopic featuring Peppa Pig.) Erotic writer Emily Dubberley took an opposing argument, stating how many women have been enticed by the trilogy since its launch and basically brandishing it as a bit of fun.

Admittedly, I have not read Fifty Shades of Grey and therefore cannot really comment on the book itself. The plot is fairly original it would seem- a virgin graduate embarking upon an affair with a manipulative billionaire who has a penchant for bondage, domination and sadism. So far, so creepy.  As someone who composed a dissertation chapter on violence in Angela Carter’s modern fairytales, it sounds to be almost like a re-telling of her version of The Bloody Chamber with some light pornography for good measure. Perhaps this is just my inner Literature student eager to analyse and I should shut up and get on the Erotic- lit bandwagon. Still, I am increasingly put off in reading the book- be it from excerpts, the ongoing comparison to fantasy series Twilight, or the warnings from friends of the apparently appalling writing. Still, rather than a potentially damaging sex manual, Fifty Shades of Grey sounds to me like a light-hearted and fun way to spend a rainy afternoon. Surely women (or men) reading this book will be aware that it is a fantasy? Surely they will know that they still have the choice to mould and shape their own sexuality rather than be dictated to by fiction? Surely they are simply not that ignorant? Oh, but Samantha Brick doesn’t think so.

‘Degrading to women’ was the phrase that Brick used carelessly in her argument, perhaps unaware that she was making a very bold statement indeed. I scoffed into my cornflakes in disbelief. This is the woman that declared just a few months ago that ‘women hate me because I’m beautiful.’ In a double page spread in the Daily Mail, she harped on about her ‘perfect features’ and how her friends had dropped her ‘in fear that their husbands fancied me.’ Her article was a poisonous and arrogant rant about how what she considered to be her own pleasing appearance had an awful effect on her life- leaving her with no friends and jealous women at every corner. As I have said before, the ‘sisterhood’ she talks about is non-existent in her world. In fact, by labeling every woman in England as unattractive and jealous, she has degraded women more than Fifty Shades of Grey ever could. 

Have you read Fifty Shades of Grey and agree with Samantha Brick's argument? Do you think erotic fiction empowers or degrades women? 

Electra Heart- Marina and the Diamonds

As far as feminist heroines go, I have a long list of women I admire. Sylvia Plath, the late Amy Winehouse, feminist writer Caitlin Moran and Patsy Stone from Absolutely Fabulous to name but a few. This week, I have a new favourite. I was first introduced to Marina Diamandis around four years ago through the old social networking site Myspace. The welsh songstress with raven hair and distinctive voice captured the attention of many with original tracks such as I am not a robot and Mowgli's Road. She went on to release her debut album The Family Jewels two years later, peaking at number five on the UK albums chart in the week of it's release.

Marina's second album entitled Electra Heart was long awaited. She hinted in an interview in 2011 that it would be about female sexuality and feminism. Her previous album, although far more implicit in it's themes, spoke mainly about Marina's rejection of celebrity culture. I am not a robot was about the pressure of women in an industry obsessed with image whilst chart-topping Hollywood allowed Marina to share her controversial views about 'puking american dreams' and how Hollywood had 'infected her brain.' Surely, Electra Heart was going to break a few barriers and contain more of Marina's outspoken opinions?

It certainly doesn't disappoint. The album itself was inspired by Marilyn Monroe and Madonna, with a hint of Americana and essence of bubblegum 90's pop. This is more apparent than ever in first track Bubblegum Bitch- an infectious pop tune that I've put on repeat and put odds on being a massive chart hit. The likes of Prima donna, Homewrecker and Radioactive are similarly catchy- the kind of songs you can't help but dance in the mirror to whilst there are also softer sounds such as Lies and The State of Dreaming. 


I recently read a review of the album from NME in which they were fairly scathing of the album. In true indie hipster style, they seemed to be implying that once girl-next-door Marina Diamandis had truly sold out, totally oblivious of the fact that they were missing the point. Electra Heart isn't just an album. She is an alter-ego for Marina, dressed up in babydoll dresses, fake eyelashes and bottle-blonde hair. Electra Heart is a way  for her to satirically express the way she feels about the importance of image in our society as well as a comment on the faceless people that become celebrities for no other reason than their appearance. As well as this, it is, as Marina claims herself, 'an ode to dysfunctional love.' Reminiscient of the Hollywood gossip culture of the 1930's and 40's, Electra Heart's character is cold and hard with a resistance to being seen as vulnerable. This is not Marina's sell-out album, this is Marina's comment on her resistance to sell out and her unwillingness to be just another pop puppet. A definite listen for anyone who can maintain an open mind. 

The Sunday Review

A pleasant surprise of a short week this week. Not enough gymming and a disastrous driving lesson on Thursday but apart from that, I've been focusing on relaxing a little as I've begun to feel a bit run-down lately.
Here is what I've been filling life with this week...

I have been wearing...These lovely jeggings from Dorothy Perkins. They come in every colour under the sun but I purchased the black and grey pairs. They are incredibly flattering and an absolute bargain at just £23, so pick up a pair today.

I have been buying...a lovely Revlon lip butter. I first spotted these in this week's Company magazine and was due a new lip balm so decided I must try it! I grabbed mine in the Peach Parfait shade which goes on as a lovely shimmery pink. More importantly, the butter is very moisturising and keeps my lips soft whilst also injecting some colour.

I have been listening to...What's Up by The 4 Non-Blondes. This song was featured in one of the auditions for The Voice (yes, I'm still watching it- and enjoying it actually! Ouch!) and I'd completely forgotten just how brilliant it is. A really powerful nineties hit with a front woman with serious attitude- how refreshing! Keep an eye out for her style in the video too- a little outlandish but brilliant- making me want lace-up boots all over again.

I have been reading...The Hunger Games. Yes, quite predictably I began reading it on Liam's Kindle after seeing it at the cinema. So far, I am only a quarter of the way in but I am really enjoying it- a lot more detail than they could have squeezed into the film. I know a lot of people are making their way through the books now. I just hope the rest of the trilogy read as well as this one.

Wishing you all a very lazy Sunday afternoon.

The ugly face of Beauty: Samantha Brick

I'll go ahead and say it. I was an ugly child. I improved a little, as you can see- still a bit rough around the edges and carrying a few extra pounds I'm desperately trying to shift- but a vast improvement on my teenage self. If I'm honest, my own appearance has always been something that consumes me- I think, however, that this is true of most women. If we're not tanning ourselves, crash dieting and moaning about the size of our calves, we're taking more serious measures in the form of plastic surgery or gastric bands. Admittedly, the media's portrayal of celebrities has a lot to do with it. Has anyone ever noticed that newspapers such as The Daily Mail and The Sun describe women more often that not by their dress sizes? Usually regardless of what the article is about. With celebrities plastered on the front of magazines, slated for being 'too fat' or 'too skinny', it is clear that a woman's appearance has never been more discussed.

Which is why I was shocked on Monday morning to be faced with this article. Entitled 'Why women hate me because I'm beautiful', the sensationalist headline spoke for itself. Written by Daily Mail journalist Samantha Brick, the article read like a life story one might find in the 'Tragic lives' section of WHSmith. Only Samantha wasn't claiming to be psychically abused or reviled, instead she was expressing her heartache at what she considered to be her 'pleasing appearance' and how this had affected her life- i.e: it had caused her no end of hardship.

Inexplicably, this woman seemed to think that it was her 'attractive' appearance that led her to have little or no friends, rather than her unpleasant manner and shocking arrogance. It is not surprising that the feature was inundated with comments- most harshly directed at her- and that even twenty-four hours later, her name is still trending on Twitter. Even celebrities and well-known names have directed their anger at her- with Lauren Laverne tweeting ' Why do people WRITE articles like this?'  and Derren Brown stating that 'I wish I had such an inflated view of my looks!' 

I think it is fair to say that British women are notoriously self-deprecating. Tell the most beautiful woman in the world what she really looks like and she'll refuse to take the compliment, muttering away about her imperfect thighs or the fact her eyelashes are shorter than she'd like. From this angle, it could be thought that Samantha Brick's perception on her own appearance is refreshingly positive. She works out, looks after her body and is confident in herself. However, whilst confidence is attractive in anyone- arrogance is not. Whilst Samantha is entirely obsessed with her own appearance, she seems to have a very low opinion of others. Yes, she is delusional (for someone claiming to be the most beautiful woman in the world she leaves a lot to be desired), but that is by the by. What is really important is that the 'sisterhood' that she so frequently rants on about is almost non-existent in her world. Because she doesn't behave in a sisterly manner whatsoever. Perhaps instead of harping on about her perfect appearance, she ought to gain a sense of perspective and become a little more down-to-earth. If she's lucky, she might even gain herself some friends. 

Loose lips

One of the main features of being unemployed is the large proportion of your day that is filled with daytime telly. Some of it is good- who doesn’t want to watch rich cretins trying to buy a house on a limited budget or Phillip Schofield interview a transgendered murderer? Whilst these shows are usually given a bad name, they certainly fit under the ‘entertainment’ umbrella. Some daytime telly, however, simply drives me mad.

It isn’t surprising that at half past twelve every day; many people switch off their televisions. Yes, I’m talking about Loose Women. For those who aren’t aware of this programme, where have you been? Ultimately, it is an hour-long soapbox for opinionated and misinformed women, sandwiched between half-hearted interviews with old eighties pop stars and cast members of The Only Way is Essex. Reminiscent of a middle class coffee morning, these women like to discuss anything from benefit cheats to weight loss, putting their own spin on issues that they clearly know nothing about.

A few weeks ago, I watched an episode for which their chosen topic was about the importance of marriage. One of the women, the occasionally sensible Lisa Maxwell, is unmarried with children and has been with her partner for fifteen years. Cue: the other panellists harping on about why she should tie the knot as swiftly as possible. Janet Street Porter is very much concerned about the sanctity of marriage. Shouldn’t children be bought up in a solid relationship consisting of man and woman? She says, forgetting her own four divorces. It isn’t long before Carol Vorderman pipes up about the legal ramifications of not being married. It seems to have slipped her mind she has also been divorced twice.  Do I sense a pattern here? Of Course, it wasn’t too long until Andrea McLean and Denise Welch’s faces were splashed all over the gossip magazines with their stories of divorce too. It’s the new getting married, don’t you know?! Any excuse for a party.

The point is, the Loose Women give feminism a bad name. I’m all for sisterhood and waving your arms in the air shouting about how free you are, but these women seem to want to attack anyone and anything with male genitalia. Utterly shameless about airing their dirty linen in public, they feel the need to share everything about their male partners- from cheap innuendos about their sex life to how much body hair they have. Perhaps it’s time to shove five men on a panel show so they can talk about the women in their lives with such disregard? Somehow, I think there would be uproar. 

How to be a Woman

These days, sexism is a bit like Meryl Streep in a new film. Sometimes you don't recognise it straight away. You can be up to 20 minutes in, enjoying all the dinosaurs and the space fights before you go, oh my god. Under the wig. THAT'S MERYL!"

Caitlin Moran, How to be a Woman

I first spotted this book in Waterstones, months before compiling my Christmas wish list to Santa. Naively unaware of who Caitlin Moran actually was, I was unashamedly drawn in by the book’s title and the fact that the authoress had white blonde streaks in her hair and a face that clearly meant business.

 Months later, I received the book from Liam for Christmas and read it within a week. It certainly didn’t disappoint. The initial chapters are perhaps some of the best. Writing about her experiences as a teenager, Caitlin explains what it is like to grow up as an overweight girl in an overcrowded house in Wolverhampton. She guides us through the angst-ridden trials of growing up- from how Jilly Cooper’s Riders was her main source of sex education to her turbulent and also hilarious relationship with her sister, Caz.

From the beginning, I was hooked. Like any good book, the great thing about How to be a Woman was that it was easy to identify with. Aside from that, it is hilariously funny and refreshingly honest. Moran approaches subjects many women choose not to talk about- from what to call your vagina to how much childbirth really hurts. On the issue of weight, she simply states that we should be ‘human shaped’, instead of indulging ourselves either with an excess of cake or an excess of aerobics classes.

The best chapter for me is on the topic of female role models in which Moran writes about Katie Price. Recalling the interview she had with Price, she describes her frankly as a “mimsy quisling fuck.” Honest as ever, she goes on to explain her dislike of someone who unashamedly courts the press’ attention with little talent to back it up.

I have read many reviews on this book and many critics have been far from complimentary about how ‘feminist’ the book really is. My opinion is that Caitlin Moran is not pretending to be Simone de Beauvoir. Although there are explicit references to Germaine Greer, Moran is clear there is no comparison. These are academics that have inspired her. However, she is also inspired by Lady Gaga, Jilly Cooper and Lily Allen.

A fantastic read for women of any age and a great take on feminism in the 21^st century. Give it a read.

Take me out (and shoot me)

It was an unwelcome and peculiar moment when I switched on to ITV last Saturday evening. Usually, I’d expect to be greeted with a old repeat of You’ve Been Framed or one of those quirky new game shows hosted by Davina McCall that involves running through different rooms whilst having fifty pound notes stuffed in various body orifices. Instead, I was faced with a man from Bolton, what looked like a handful of transvestites and a programme that I can only describe as an amalgamation of Blind Date and The Only Way is Essex. I know, I know. I’m incredibly late jumping on the bandwagon. One of the biggest game shows of last year, Take Me Out regularly reached 5 million viewers and became the twitter trend of Saturday nights. So am I wrong in saying that I just don’t get it?

In my very humble opinion, this show is less like car crash telly and more like a pile up on the M6. Some of the ‘women’ could easily audition for a stint in The Ladyboys of Bankok and the men seem to lack both personality and brains.(Hardly a winning combination.) The premise of the show is that one single man, usually still living with his Mum, has to try and impress thirty single women. Each woman has a light which she can turn off if she is unimpressed by the man (and then curse herself when she later finds out he’s the son of a millionaire.) So far, so awful.

If that wasn’t bad enough, Patrick ‘I used to be funny’ McGuiness attempts to enhance the experience with his own kooky use of vocabulary. ‘Let the shepherds see the pie!’ he yells, grinning like he’s mentally ill. ‘Let the belly see the button!’ Let the onion see the bhaji!’ ‘Let the plum see the jam!’ BY GOD, PADDY, WE GET THE POINT. Whilst those with an average IQ of 12 might think that shouting ‘No likey, no lighty’ is part of some incredibly witty dialogue, I’m not impressed. You came up with something that rhymes, Paddy? Congratulations. I’m sure there are toddlers out there who have been more creative with language.

As well as the fact that this ‘entertainment’ programme is utter drivel, it clearly isn’t doing anything for feminism either. A gaggle of desperate women fluttering their false eyelashes in order to get picked for a date? I bet Emmeline Pankhurst is spinning furiously in her grave at this shambles! And wait, there’s more. Whilst the male’s application form invites them to reveal their educational qualifications, the female’s simply asks whether they have any ‘special talents’ they would like to share. You know, like the ability to be able to roll your tongue or look good in a bikini. A programme consisting of cheap gags, arrogant men and blatant sexism? Needless to say, for me it’s more of a case of no likey, no watchy.