Someone recently asked me if I identified as a feminist. “Nooooo!” I said, waving them off with a casual hand gesture and a giggle. “I wouldn’t say I was a ‘FEMINIST!’”
And I’m not alone here. The results of a recent survey
showed that only 29% of American women and 42% of British women identify as feminists. So most of us are in agreement that we’re not…right?
I was promptly introduced to the world of feminist
non-fiction – and just in time too. In the words of the very smart, funny and
talented (and happily married, btw) Caitlin Moran in her book, ‘How to be a
Woman’:
“What do you think feminism IS ladies? What part of
‘liberation of women’ is not for you? Is it freedom to vote? The right not to
be owned by the man you marry? The campaign for equal pay? ‘Vogue’ by Madonna?
Jeans? Did all that good shit GET ON YOUR NERVES? Or were you just DRUNK AT THE
TIME OF SURVEY?”
I realised that, to live as a functioning modern woman who
expects equality, to go off to work and demand as many opportunities as any
man, to own the right to slope off to the co-op for fags without shoehorning
myself into a corset and summoning a chaperone, I HAD to be a feminist. It is
an intrinsic part of living in the culture that has become second nature to
myself and most people I know.
So now I realise that I am, in fact, a feminist (29 years
after I was actually born as one – better late than never I suppose) there are
a lot of things I’m seeing differently. Things that, once they’re seen, really
can’t be unseen.
Things like horrific supermarket adverts that joshingly show mums
being run ragged whilst dads piss around with water pistols or computer games. People,
both male and female, saying things like, “That’s just how it is”, when you
apologetically point out something outrageously sexist. And men. I’m seeing men differently. Yes, sorry guys – most of this is going to be
about you from here on in. But the good news is, if you also believe in
equality for women – YOU’RE A FEMINIST TOO! Congratulations!
We ladies shy away from calling ourselves “feminists”,
basically because we want to avoid being tagged as bra-burning, hemp-sack
wearing lesbians. And by the by, I know heaps of gorgeous, smart and talented
lesbians, who – shock revelation – actually wear clothes other than hemp sacks.
They even manage to put on a bra in the morning to go about their daily
business. Because guess what boys – and I don’t expect a man who has never had
to run for a bus with his boobs jiggling about to understand – bras are not for
you; THEY’RE FOR US!
And it is this point that, even in our modern society, still
doesn’t quite seem to be getting across. We women all think we don’t belong to
men. And the men know they don’t own us. But deep down, in the darkest depths
of their subconscious, do they all REALLY know that?
Before I go any further, I want to point out that I know a
lot of clever, lovely, beautiful, respectful and brilliant men. I’ve also met
plenty of outrageously atrocious women in my time. And I’m not a bra-burning,
hemp-sack wearing lesbian, although sometimes I wish I was.
This blog is about one tiny slice of one side of one story.
There are a million slices of a million stories out there, but I only get a
certain amount of free storage space on my blog, so this is the slice you’re
getting today.
Maybe I’m just getting old…but some of the behaviour I’ve
been witnessing from men of late seems to have hit a new low. And really, this
isn’t actually about men and women at all – this is about humans, treating
other humans with an ounce of decency.
A (smart, gorgeous and completely non-fat) friend of mine
had one of these vile pieces of pond scum burst into her life for a flash
moment last night, throwing himself like
a steam train into the path of her celebratory night out by proclaiming she was
a “fat bitch”. Apparently, she had offered him some chips.
Raise your hand if you’ve been there. It’s happened to me
plenty of times. I’m overweight. But I’m
not a monster. I’m not expecting a pitch from Channel 4 anytime soon, asking me
to partake in a hour long Bodyshock special, documenting how, “Britain’s fattest
single pre-30 year old still dances to Beyonce in underwear” or similar.
But overweight or not, the fact is, I am fully, completely
and acutely aware of my own body. And boys - you can take that as a given for
every woman on this planet you have ever, or will ever meet in this lifetime
or the next. You might think it’s helpful to point out our problems with your
constructive criticism, but there’s really no need. We’ve got this.
The slight consolation I take is the realisation that
actually being overweight is a mere coincidence, as these men throw out random
insults from their repertoire to women of all shapes and sizes, like some kind
of vile lucky dip. What’s it to be tonight, ladies? “Fat bitch”, “stupid cow”, “ugly
fucker” or “slut”? Take your pick, there’s plenty more where that came from.
But whatever. We’ve heard it all before, right? Happens all
the time. That’s just how it is.
Ermm nope. I’m not sure at what point our culture
dive-bombed into this horrific parallel dimension where it became completely
acceptable to have a couple of drinks and then be absolute cocks to each other,
but let’s all just stop for a second and realise – THIS IS NOT OK! We are the
most intelligent creatures on earth, the top of the food chain, living in one
of the world’s most developed and privileged lands and the best we can do is
spend our weekends running around hollering, “Fat bitch!”, at each
other?
If anyone reading this – and I’m talking to guys and girls
here - ever has the time or inclination to throw random insults around, just
think of this: that person’s mum might literally have died today. You have
absolutely no idea what is going on in that life. And you have zero right to
enter that life uninvited.
Perhaps the most perplexing part of this culture we seem to
have got ourselves tangled up in is the calibre of the men doing the insulting.
They’re not all lookers you know. I’m not sure which beauty god resigned and
put the spotty guy from the taxi queue outside
Wetherspoons in charge, but they really need to take a look at their
recruitment policy.
And even away from the shitshow of the Saturday night pub
scene, it seems things aren’t quite adding up for a lot of women at all stages
in the dating cycle anymore. As I steadily trundle down the slope to thirty, I
hear of a new long term relationship or marriage break-up on almost a weekly
basis. Everyone has their own reasons, but the general thing I’ve been hearing
a lot is that they’re just not happy anymore as a couple. Nothing went
earth-shatteringly wrong. But, at the same time, nothing went
earth-shatteringly right.
This conversation raises a lot of pity smiles and
understanding nods and declarations of “aw, he’s a ‘good guy’”. I’m as guilty
of this as anyone. I go around awarding the accolade of “good guy” to basically
any man who has managed to avoid beating his partner or shagging her sister.
But really, does that not just make him a “guy”? Not doing
bad things doesn’t automatically make you good. We women tend to have a habit
of placing the title of “good guy” on men we don’t really know that well, just
because they’re fulfilling the most basic requirements expected of normal human
beings.
Men behaving in ways they damn well should be does not
constitute a congratulations. This is the bare minimum; the plain beef burger.
We really need to start seeing a bit of cheese and bacon on there before we go
handing out awards.
So what’s the general consensus here ladies? Are the split
relationships, the random insults and the ogling eyes in bars our fault because
we’ve allowed that behaviour and rewarded mediocrity?
I hear a lot of women dissecting the problems of troubled
relationships, saying things like: “Well he’s acted that way because she’s
allowed it for so long.”
No. It’s most likely he’s acted that way because he’s a
selfish, self-indulgent prick. This is a grown man. He’s been to school. He has
a job. He has interacted successfully with humans in the past. He knows how to
act correctly. And he’s chosen not to.
This isn’t about woman allowing men to act in a certain way.
This is about women allowing themselves to act in a certain way. Women allowing
themselves to accept below-par behaviour and brush it under the carpet. Women
allowing themselves to make excuses for the men in their lives who have not
treated them correctly because they just don’t bloody feel like it. Women who
are standing in bars, allowing themselves to be hit on and offended
simultaneously by whoever feels like pushing themselves into their lives, and
not speaking up and saying, “are you actually KIDDING me?!”
Girls – your choices
are your own. And your bad choices are your fault. But the bad behaviour of
men, is most definitely, their fault.
Demand the respect you deserve. And dish out that same
respect to people who deserve it. Like it or not, we are all feminists now. The
next time a man makes you feel uncomfortable, ask him calmly what the hell he
thinks he’s doing. Ask him why on earth he thinks that’s ok. You’ll probably
get called a bitch. But that’s fine, you can handle it. Because the next time
he wants to shout a random insult at a woman who is simply going about her
life, he might just think twice. And
that, my fabulous female friends, is how we’ll slowly change the world.
