WELCOME TO THE GUEST BLOG SECTION – HOORAH
Here, you will find a selection of amazing blogs from some of the most funny, feisty and at times, controversial bloggers in town.
We will be featuring some of Caitlin’s own writing but to start us off we have tasked our bloggers with writing about some of the topics inspired by Moranthology.
Unfortunately, no one is talking about Boris Johnson being a Posh Albino Fanny Hound, but they are all brilliant, and well…give it time.
So, sit back, put your feet up and take a look. If you strongly agree or furiously disagree, get commenting.
All our bloggers are happy to engage in a good old debate.
Are you a brilliant blogger and have something to add? Submit your own guest blog here: email@example.com
There’s a sense that media normality has been interrupted by the actions of Ingrid Loyau-Kennett and Amanda Donnelly and her daughter, Gemini Donnelly-Martin.
Like many others, I was impressed and moved watching how the three women responded when the soldier Lee Rigby was murdered close to his barracks in Woolwich in London last month. Their actions have prompted over 70,000 people to sign an online petition calling on the defence secretary, Philip Hammond, to honour their actions with a George medal.
Rev Jesse van der Valk, the rector of the two Anglican churches in Woolwich who organised the petition, wrote: “The fact that no other bystander was hurt in the incident is testament to the courageous actions of these women. As the people of Woolwich come to terms with what happened here – coming together to honour the heroines of that day will send a positive message of unity and peace.”
I don’t disagree that they acted heroically, but it also seems necessary to recognise that calmness, kindness and courage in the face of terrible situations, or even a more vocal, bolshy response when it’s all kicking off, shows us what human beings – including women – are like at their best.
We can’t always rely on the media to tell us about them, because somehow the idea has stuck that women are only good as case studies or victims. On the other hand, most of the authoritative voices, the experts, as well as the heroes, we hear on radio or see on TV are men.
Of course, it’s good when women are recognised. It’s the underlying notion that courageous, determined women with a sense of their own agency are a rarity that bothers me.
It’s hardly surprising that women who took part in protests across the Middle East and North Africa, and were shot at and tear-gassed, got pretty fed up answering questions about the fact that they were women.
It’s not that women aren’t doing remarkable and courageous things around the world, it’s just that what they do is rarely seen. At a screening of Pray the Devil Back to Hell, a Liberian woman pointed out she had never even heard the story about the women who took on the President Charles Taylor and all the warring factions and forced them to agree a peace deal.
In The Terror Dream, Susan Faludi chronicles how the stories of female rescue workers following the attacks on the World Trade Centre on 11 September 2001 were completely ignored by the media. The police lieutenant who dug in the rubble and helped rescue 100 people with a chunk of cement in her skull just didn’t fit the media’s preference for a heroic “Brotherhood” rescuing swooning, grateful women.
Whatever the media makes of “the three brave angels” Ingrid Loyau-Kennett Amanda Donnelly and Gemini Donnelly-Martin, I hope we recognise them as representing something that all of us are capable of. Their actions should be a reminder that we all can make a difference if when faced with something terrible we decide to act in the best way we know how.
Blogger Anna Roberts usually blogs about London but she isn’t from London, plus she is pretty short. Problem?
I have a new idol and she comes in the form of the BBC Breakfast news business reporter, Stephanie McGovern. She’s female, she hails from Middlesbrough and she knows her shit about the business world.
The first two ingredients in the Stephanie McGovern idol recipe are the main reasons why I like her so much. Society suggests being a female and being northern should hold her back in a southern male-dominated industry. But she’s up there every morning telling us in a detailed and confident manner about financial crises in the UK and overseas, for instance. Or questioning corporate CEOs on their policies with intellectual thinking behind her arguments.
I am a girl, I’m a fellow North-Easterner and I should probably know a thing or two about business, after doing a Management degree. I now live in London and I’ve done well in my career so far, a fact of which I’m proud. I want to shout this fact when I get ‘the look’. The look that says a young, 5’3” female with a northern accent doesn’t have anything important to say. I feel like I have to prove my worth in the business world of London and this is wrong.
Yeah, yeah you don’t believe me do you? Well here are some of my favourite quotes- some of which from friends who mean no harm:
“I was surprised your writing is so articulate compared to the way you speak.” (We do learn to read and write in the north, you know!)
“Where are you from? You don’t sound, unintelligent northern.” (So just where is this ‘unintelligent northern’?)
“I love that city. If we could just take it and put it in the south, it’d be so much better.” (I think it’s fine where it is thanks, it doesn’t need to be in the south to survive.)
Upon commenting that I don’t believe in the SAT exams and separating children into different grades so young; “Yeah but you went to school in Durham, it doesn’t matter there.” (Great, so we Durham-ers don’t deserve an education do we not?)
These comments in isolation may not be too offending, but when you are continuously on the receiving end, you start to lose patience and become overly defensive. Defensive to the point where I take any hint of ridicule of the North as a personal insult which then makes me appear uptight… and a bit crazy.
So do I keep quiet and take the comments? Because they were never said to me in a malicious way. Plus, I guess London is the capital city where a lot of the business takes place and I did choose to live here…
Except I am one of those people who can’t accept an unfair society. Discrimination against anything that doesn’t affect how well someone performs in the work place isn’t right. Just because I don’t pronounce my ‘Ts’ when ordering a latte, doesn’t mean I can’t write eloquent copy or make intelligent decisions.
So as my new idol has demonstrated, the tact is to be the best I can be – not as a female or as a northerner; just as a person. Stephanie McGovern has gotten far in her career because, simply, she is good at what she does. So regardless of what some may assume of me, I know I am good at what I do. Maybe I should take it as a compliment when they are pleasantly surprised when they realise this too.
Has anyone ever suffered from the debilitating condition known as Indecision Paralysis? You know, you’re in a restaurant, all eyes are on you, it’s your turn to speak. But you look down at the menu and everything on it is dancing around, you’re trying very hard to concentrate but you can’t because Carbs and Salad are having a wrestle in your head, and you’re waiting to see who’s going to win.
Eventually you hear a voice say, ‘I’ll just have the salad’. But then, your friend orders the pasta. Next thing, you’ve called the waiter back because you know that there’s no affliction on God’s good earth worse than FOOD ENVY. Watching your friend chow down on some cheesy carby oily goodness while you fork another smug, joyless bundle of celery-based spartanism into your disappointed gob. No, far better to clutch the waiter’s lapels, look into his eyes, implore him to let you change your mind please if it’s not too much trouble please. ‘Please sir, give me a second chance!’
You might say, why not go for a compromise – a pasta salad? There’s only one problem with this. It’s NOT a salad! It’s not going to make you lose weight, it’s just a COLD VERSION OF WHAT YOU REALLY WISH YOU WERE EATING. It’s neither here nor there, neither vice nor virtue! It’s the SPORK of the dietary world. Surely, if you’re going to get fat on something, at least let it be HOT? Not yesterday’s leftovers?
Cases of Indecision Paralysis are most severe when you’re hungover. Me, I’m off the chart. On a bad day I’ll be stood, centre-aisle of a supermarket, arms laden with carb-based joy, knee deep in pesto and hummus and multi-buy garlic baguettes, when suddenly I’ll imagine something else totally different, and I quickly become stuck, at which point a friend (or carer) will tell me to abort the mission and for the love of god, GET OUT OF THERE. No, I’ve learned my lesson. When nurturing a Grade A hangover, stick to Locals, Expresses and corner shops. Enter supermarkets or – worse – department stores at your own risk.
As a partial sufferer of what you might say is ‘quirky, endearing indecisiveness, forward slash, infuriating scattiness’, I have begun to cultivate a method of survival. I present to you, the fool-proof way to quash your IP, like a high-grade chemical moth-spray (the kind you need gloves and a face mask to administer) to an evil mega-moth. I give you… Neuroses Top Trumps.
Do we all remember the iconic eightees card game? You know, where you’ve got a pack of cards all based on a theme – aircraft, dinosaurs, ninja turtles. Each card has some geekily compiled numerical data on it. The aim of the game is to try and out-trump one another’s cards. It feels pressing to mention at this point that this was way back in a time when the word ‘trump’ didn’t have another meaning synonymous with eating too many baked beans. I won’t lie, Top Trumps was never the most exciting game, but it DOES make for a fun way to make decisions in the noughties.
There are lots of real-life scenarios where you can play it – from house hunting, to shopping, to choosing what the heck to eat. All you have to do is, work out what the different things you’re currently stewing over, and what are the factors you’re weighing up. Then, give each one different values of importance. Then, try and picture them as little cards in your mind, then let the buggers trump each other out.
For example – in the mealtime scenario above there are various common neuroses at play. First up, the DIET card – a vague awareness that you should have a salad, or vegetable themed dish. Then, distinctly at odds with this, the FINANCES card, which rears its head to remind you that unhealthy food is always that bit cheaper. Then there’s the FOOD ENVY card, and we’ve seen where that can go. But trumping the ass of them all, there’s the HANGOVER card that tells everyone to fuck off and demands fat and carbs immediately.
Another sometime hurdle is when someone else is controlling the purse strings. Then you’re dealt the GUILT card (a.k.a. FINANCES BY PROXY) to boot. Recently my sister who lives in Zurich took my mum and I to a local Swiss spa. It was bliss. But taking us to a rooftop spa with a view of the Alps was not enough; she then said, here, have a drink and a snack, anything you like. So on top of all the usual trump cards I had the whole ‘Oh we’re somewhere fancy, wouldn’t it be lovely to have some Prosecco (The PONCE card), battling with the ‘Oh I’d better just have a tap water’ (The SPARTAN card). Suffice to say, my mum is just as remedial at decision-making as me, and this was all taking place Pre the-Top-Trump-revelation, so it took ruddy ages for us to decide and almost began to ENTIRELY undo all the good of the amazing spa. Ridiculous.
Anyway, so there you have it. Neuroses Top Trumps. Quite possibly, the modern day cure for being an indecisive fucktard. Hurrah.
So next time you’re over-analysing incessantly about whether to get the bus or the train, just turn it into an Eightees card game and have a play.
Donna Amey, creator of blog Thoughts On Mainstream, writes about the need for more nakedness and asks, is scrapping Page 3 a good thing?
Page 3 is irritating for two reasons. Firstly, all the girls look exactly the same, with the exception to hair colour. Secondly, most readers are under the impression that they are the only people to understand the irony of ‘News in briefs’. Unfortunately it’s not one of those things that get funnier every time you hear it.
However, where else do we see naked people? Growing up, there are few places for young people to see real life nudity. Unless you have particularly liberal, naked loving parents, the ways you’re going to get a glimpse of what your body is about to transform into are pretending you’ve fallen asleep on the sofa then watching late night Channel Five, taking all the clothes off your Barbie, or communal changing room staring.
Of course the most realistic glimpse into your future is the changing room option, but unfortunately this can make people feel quite uncomfortable. Although these glasses could be useful, and also look pretty cool.
Late night Channel 5 unfortunately isn’t famed for representing real looking women either, you would be just as well looking at a particularly slim courgette lying next to two grapefruit.
As for Barbie, she wouldn’t actually be able to stand up if she was a real person and the closest thing to her actually looks pretty weird.
So is scrapping Page 3 a good thing? A regular place to see naked people can’t be a bad thing – especially as Brits are famously prudish about our bits (most of us don’t even use the right terminology; hence ‘bits’).
You only have to visit any naturist venue or gym changing room to find that people of all shapes and sizes not only like being naked, but will walk around naked for an uncomfortably long amount of time.
Surely it’s not only readers of The Sun who have an interest in breasts? Would it hurt The Lady readers to see the odd bottom, or for Horse and Hound subscribers to catch a glimpse of a normal looking ball sack every now and again?
The argument for The Sun’s Page 3 encouraging eating disorders and objectifying women seems largely to be because they all look exactly the same – and not what most young girls will eventually turn into.
Would removing the page and creating mystery around the human form actually help, or could we actually encourage healthier body images by having more designated nudity?
It’s not only flawless, barely-legal young girls who’ll stand in front of a camera in pants: there are both men and women of all shapes and sizes who will happily show off their wares. Why hide them away just because their bodies aren’t ‘perfect’.
Creator of The London Scrapbook, blogger Anna Roberts writes about the new era of dating and commitment…
I didn’t foresee this coming. A couple of years ago, I had a different vision of my future and attitude to life. I didn’t imagine I’d be co-habiting with a boyfriend, certainly not one I’d found on an online dating site.
I’d envisaged that I wouldn’t settle down until at least 30 and that I’d be completing my twenties as the decade of “fun”. I was at the start of my career and thought getting into a relationship would slow me down. Marriage seemed like nice idea for a party and small humans would definitely not be popping out of any of my body parts.
But I found a change of heart as I approached the 25 mark. Coinciding with when I entered the London dating scene. The ‘young professional’ lifestyle in London often means that the only time available to meet the other sex is when you’re unwinding (also known as getting pissed in a sticky-floored Clapham pub). I realised I didn’t want to just snog the ‘reem-haired Bristol graduate who’s landed a top notch banker job in the city’ on the dance floor. I didn’t want to meet incompatible suitors who thrived off their bachelor lifestyle, leaving me feeling like just another girl in the big city.
In defiance, I ventured online to shop for boys. Boys who were looking for a longer-term thing. Particularly in large cities like London, online dating is the thing to do and is certainly not a taboo like it once was. It’s quite an addictive pastime; chatting online like teenagers and wondering who is checking out your profile. And then, of course, I found my boyfriend and all that mushy stuff happened. So here we are in our little pad and contrary to what my younger self thought, it seems I’m still having fun and getting ahead in my career.
That brings me on to…marriage! My attitude has changed to the idea. Maybe I’m simply maturing and happy that I’ve completed my stint of the London nightclub dating scene. Or maybe there’s a new era emerging.
Traditionally, couples got married to make a commitment to their religion and a promise they’d procreate. The responsibility of the daughter would be handed over from the father to the husband and her life was set. Women then rebelled against this. And today? Marriage is BACK!
It’s taken a while but modern-day women can choose to do their own thing. They might decide to delay having children until they are ready, or maybe not at all. Some women…dare I say it…may question why marry at all?
This summer I will be attending three weddings, all in their mid-twenties, all making their own rules. This has forced me to ask, why not marry? If you’ve found your life partner at 26 and you’re not ready for babies, then that’s fine. You’re not just marrying to have babies. If you’ve found your life partner at 26 and are on track for promotion, then that’s fine too. Sharing your life with someone else isn’t a symbol you’re losing your independence. You’re marrying because you just freakin’ love your partner and because you chose to.
From my observation, Londoners definitely lead the way in new approaches to dating. Yet, it seems to be us, the twenty-something women who are leading the way in new approaches to marriage.
So, we have a new era of dating and a new era of commitment. My advice? Have fun, snog random people in pubs, go on pointless dates, be promiscuous online – I recommend it all. When, and if, you find the person you want to be with forever – make your own rules.
As a feminist this is probably like shouting ‘YEY the Patriarchy ‘but hear me out…
Sat on the bus one morning reading my Guardian app (see by choice of newspaper I AM a feminist)
I read the following article: ‘The Chris Brown iPhone app: resistance is useless’ which discusses the newly developed mobile app which harnesses all that is Chris Brown into one useful place thus improving the lives of all Breezy fans.
Upon finishing the article, even though it wasn’t necessarily vicious, the familiar feeling of sadness came over me once again. It’s been happening frequently when reading about this man and I’ve kept it quiet for fear of being pelted with heavy objects.
As the media perpetually poke him with sticks, sneer and scorn him for anything that he does I want to WANT join in. “KILL THE PIG” the Lord of the Flies children might shout. He deserves all he gets the low life. Rehabilitation? Bullshit. Just hang him high and kill him.
Oh, is that too harsh? Well that’s the message we are sending.
Look at how we treat Rihanna. She witnessed domestic violence as a child and subsequently became a victim herself. Now she, so oversexed when she actually has to wear clothes she chooses a t-shirt with a woman masturbating and the words DIY on the front.
After being beaten by Chris Brown fearful of becoming a victim/her PR seeing an opportunity – she releases the song S&M, refers to herself and all her female friends as ‘bad bitches’ and perpetually thrusts at passers by.
I get it; she is gaining empowerment through her sexuality. I’m not criticising, I bloody love Rihanna but I sometimes feel like as a fan I am somehow reinforcing that she needs to be a ‘bad bitch’ and constantly tweet pictures of herself topless for me to respect her.
There is always an undertone of sadness attached to Rihanna that makes her loveable. She ‘just wants to be loved’ she sings and I, I just want to show her love to fix her! As do the rest of the media world “Poor RiRi” we wail…then we pat her on the back for behaving like a sadist sex-fanatic- stand back and watch her spiral with enjoyment.
I recognise we are treating her badly and she is in no way deserving.
However, when it comes to Chris Brown we/the media take it to a higher level. He will forever be known as a monster. This ‘monster’ was a child once. He was a child who was abused by his Step-Father. He witnessed the abuse of his mother and was a child star thrown into the overly sexed hyper masculine world of R&B/Rap. He too is reinforced by the way the media treat him. The worse he behaves the more attention he gets. The higher his record sales go.
It’s not just us, it’s him. He makes it so easy to have a crack at him. He just lowers his head into the stocks. On and on it goes…
What frustrates me though is the way my most admired friends and idols, the media and in the past, ME, treat him. What do we expect to happen to him? He did something horrendous. He experienced something horrendous but is he an unequal victim of the patriarchy because he is a man? Well that’s not very equal.
Once he served his time and got on with his life were we supposed to open our arms and forgive him? No. We will never, ever forgive an abusive man and he knew that. He has been quoted saying he will never forgive his Step-Father so will he ever forgive himself?
My stomach turns as I hear him still behaving like a violent, womanising fool as I ask ‘Are you not fixed yet?’ Yet I see no harm in ROFLing with my pals as we share another ingenious slamming article that condemns him, his music and anyone who listens to him. KILL THE PIG!
Let’s say he can’t forgive himself and we won’t forgive him how does he come back and earn our respect? Be quiet, repenting and distraught forever?
Well there is no money in that. To the media, it’s boring. Wave bye -bye to your career.
We need to decide what sort of punishment is appropriate for someone like him. Do we kick him off the planet onto a more fitting one with all the lost boys?
Why is everyone so shocked that he seems to have got worse rather than better when we treat him like a piece of shit? Tell someone they are worthless scum long enough and that is what they will become. I don’t need to tell anyone this. It’s an understood snippet of pop psychology, so why are we so surprised?
Now I know what the impending response to this is, what he did was unforgivable but we have to stop standing back and pointing the finger at all these lesser people. We must take responsibility for what our patriarchal society does to men as well as women or we will never win.
If there is no way back to ‘purity’ in the eyes of western people then there is no point in him trying. We reinforce his detrimental, self-destructive behaviour and ignore any attempts to right his wrongs. We send the message at scale that forgiveness will never, ever happen.
I don’t have the answer but I know that applauding ourselves and those who take the biggest kicks is shameful and I am ashamed.
Blogger Holly Peacock says its ok to be jealous! @HollyAlexandraP
Ever get the feeling that when something is going well or when you have achieved success that utter catastrophe is around the corner?
Perhaps it’s because we are battered round the head with ‘what goes up must come down’ theology as though it’s gravity that will inevitably humble us with a reminder that our achievement is not as good as we think.
Alas, I’m here to tell you. It’s not gravity or God. It’s them and quite possibly, you. The insatiable desire some people have to infect you with their own self-doubt and the expectation that jealousy is a bad, unmentionable thing is just plain silly.
Sometimes, in life people are good, are better than you or are just plain luckier but hitting them with a metaphorical, or very real, stick won’t improve your chances of winning life.
Isn’t it better to just be honest? An honest voice of “OMG I am so jealous I need to go and be sick so I can return and be thrilled for you” will probably make everyone’s life a whole lot better.
Now admittedly, this is a lesson to be learnt. There have been times where I have NOT been thrilled or told said ‘life winner’ I wanted to be sick/poke them in the eye…but I like to think I’m growing.
The reason this has spun my head of late is that I’m realising it’s actually a very female trait to contribute to the “people hate you when you are good” situation.
Guilty. I will admit that personally, I thought it was impolite to be chuffed with your self.
If you put down your own achievements then quickly call your mum to declare “Mother. I’m mint” then you have gone some way in being both humble and singing your own praises, right?
Unless you speak up no one will actually know how good you really are. There ARE exceptions to this rule. The one nice boss everyone is afforded in their lifetime might actually drag out your colours and fly them for you or you might be the lucky person that is SO GOOD that they can float through life bashfully dismissing any compliment that comes their way.
For the rest of us, we have to try and learn that being good is great and when your rummaging nervously in your ‘I am awesome’ bag, toes curled and bum clenched, trying to awkwardly drag out your colours post flying and some envious douche bag pulls your pants down and laughs…just turn to them and say:
“I know you are so jealous you want to be sick. I feel like that too sometimes. Now go vomit so you can return and give me the congratulatory hug you REALLY want to give.”
Guest blogger Lori Smith talks about meeting her hero…if you liek what she has to say visit her blog or follow her on @lipsticklori
People often say that you should never meet your heroes as, inevitably, that wonderful mental image you have of them will be shattered into a million tiny pieces when they appear to be less than perfect. The thing is though, it’s not them who I’m worried about being less than perfect. It’s me. I’ve met very few famous people in my life and those encounters have usually been somewhat awkward. I was hoisted over the shoulder of an ex-Blue Peter presenter once, while he was dressed as a viking, so the thought of meeting a celeb I really like just makes me worried that something that embarrassing is going to happen.
I once had a dream that I bumped into Simon Pegg in a pub. I spouted a daft line from Spaced, he laughed and bought me a pint. In real life, if I bumped into Simon Pegg and said “get off me you bummer!” I think he’d probably run away. Very quickly. A bit like Colin Baker did when my entire primary school class started speeding towards him shouting “LOOK! It’s Doctor Who!” (Yes, I am that old.) These days, celebrities are people I would usually go out of my way to avoid – just so that there’s no way I can accidentally ruin their day – but that all changed last month.
Back in the late 80s, I had a couple of must-see television programmes that I made a point of sitting down to watch every week. One was Top Of The Pops – with its cheese-tastic Radio1 DJ presenters and really-couldn’t-give-a-shit style of miming from the acts – and the other was The Clothes Show. With the glamour/camp duo of Selina Scott and Jeff Banks at the helm, this was appointment viewing for my fashion hungry younger self. Just hearing the theme tune makes me tingle, even now. Yes, I was that obsessed.
I watched the show, bought the magazine, and travelled to Birmingham to spend all my cash at The Clothes Show Live every December. I think that was the first time I got to see a professionally organised fashion show. Mind you, I was more excited about getting to touch a Vivienne Westwood corset. I still wish I’d had the money to buy one. To be honest, they might’ve made me buy it if I’d fondled it for much longer. If I’d had a mobile, I could have called my mum and asked her if I could have it for Christmas.
I digress. One of the reasons I was so completely obsessed with fashion back then, was because The Clothes Show proved that it wasn’t just for douchebags and airheads. And how did they do that? They got themselves another presenter, who was probably the single coolest person I’d ever seen on television (who wasn’t a pop star). Caryn Franklin had been the Fashion Editor and co-Editor of i-D Magazine, a publication at least 100 times more stylish than anything I’d ever spent my pocket money on. She was uh-may-zing.
Caryn showed me that fashion could be about individuality rather than following the herd into Topshop. She showed me where my clothes were made and how collections were designed. She gave me a more rounded view of the fashion industry and ensured I loved it for something more than the latest shiny twattish trends. That, and I was sure she’d probably beat Jeff Banks in a fight too. TV needed more of this kind of woman.
Fast forward to 2012, and I found myself in the audience for a debate about how fashion can be used as a force for good. I wanted to go anyway but the fact that Caryn Franklin was on the panel made it even more unmissable. After the discussion, we all got up to leave and then… I decided to go and say hello. For the first time in my life, I walked up to someone I only knew from a television screen and I said hi. And, do you know what? I didn’t ruin her day. Sometimes you meet your heroes and they really are as bloody brilliant as you thought they’d be. Caryn Franklin, I salute you!
This fabulous post was re-blogged from blog Fuller Figure Fuller Bust check it out!
There seems to be some sort of unwritten rule on social media sites that in order to accept yourself as a larger woman you have to put smaller women down.
“Real women have curves.”
“Only a dog likes bones.”
“I want to look like a WOMAN, not a BOY.”
I see this all too often. Slim women pitted against larger women in images. Smaller women modelling items and being accused of not meeting the demands of those who want to wear them. Petite women being labelled as ‘curvy’ and being met with torrents of abuse from larger women – “If SHE’S curvy then I’m a sphere! She looks like she’ll break!”
I am so sick of those comments.
I have seen some women insinuate that slimmer women deserve the hate they often have poured upon them. One lady told me that she had had enough of being attacked by the mainstream and media and it was time to fight back – and that seemed to mean slagging of smaller women and heaping verbal venom upon them. She mentioned how she had been bullied by slimmer girls because of her size, and therefore wanted to turn the tables and give them a taste of their own medicine. I was baffled.
Did she think that pulling one (no doubt innocent) slender lady apart was payback for her own personal hell? That inflicting body snark upon another would end her suffering? Did she not stop to think that it would make someone else’s begin? And at what point had she come to the conclusion that slim women were so physically unattractive that they needed to be taunted with cruel words and phrases?
These ideas that slim women are not curvy, not real, going to snap, have eating disorders, are not attractive to men – they are disgusting stereotypes that seem to be muttered by every other plus size woman who uses social media to express herself. I understand that some people might not like to see images of slim women for whatever reason, but why tear them down like their feelings don’t matter and they are worthless? It is just as bad as calling all bigger women fat, lazy, diabetic unattractive pigs. It won’t undo any name calling, it will just drive an even bigger wedge in between women. You can pretend that you are concerned for that person’s health til you’re blue in the face – but the fact is that you are pandering to stupid stereotypes that don’t resemble the truth in 99% of cases, and that is plain malicious.
I mean, we all have our preferences and opinions. We wouldn’t be human without those conscious and unconscious desires and thoughts. So why present those opinions as potentially hurtful facts, often designed to make yourself look better?
“How can a woman that size be curvy – I’M curvy.”
I see comments like this so often. And every time the abuse of the word ‘curvy’ boils my blood! Firstly curvy is a shape, any women with any dress size CAN be curvy, just as larger women can be more straight shaped. That is a fact that we can see walking among us every day! And secondly, why do people see images on the internet, process a negative thought and then post that reaction as a hate filled comment on the image for everyone to see? It literally makes no sense!
I, for example, cannot stand Louis Vuitton handbags. All those L’s and V’s make me cross eyed and to my mind the items scream ‘Look at me, I am designer!’ So when I see said bag in an image that is not asking for my constructive criticism, I keep my thoughts to myself as no one wants to hear them and that is not why the image is there. If I were being invited to let my thoughts be heard I may politely say that I don’t really like Louis Vuitton bags but I like the shoes the model is wearing – I like to balance the bad with the good! I see no point in tearing something down just because it is not to my own personal unique and possibly solitary taste.
I wish more people, particularly women, would realise that being intolerably rude about someone they don’t know or know anything about is bullying, and that is the only truly ugly thing to be found in situations where abusive derogatory terms are spewed out from behind a keyboard. It makes them look bad, jealous, rude, spiteful. Grotesque emotions that blacken the heart and twist the soul. And guess what? There’s more to life than looks and whether or not someone ate all the cheeseburgers or needs to eat a cheeseburger.
I will never hate skinny women. Do you know why? Because I am not at war with anyone but myself, and I don’t need validation in the form of abusing others over the internet with my words of hatred and my cruel assumptions.
I do not want to give what I hate to receive – an opinion of a single snapshot that does not impact my life and will not make me a better person.
Let’s end the body snark war, together, once and for all. Let’s end it by realising that every woman has the potential to be perfect in the eyes of someone else.
Fuller Figure Fuller Breast