Mind the Gap

out of the window, and into the horse-trough. I am referring, of course, to today’s Guardian and the article on the perceived failures of Third Wave feminism. And firstly, when did these guys start making with the shocking pink for their women’s pages? Is it because we’re a generation of shocking young women, yet we still wear stilettos and knit? What are we going to do now, run an electrical current through a push-up bra, and bzzzztt! Take that, Patriarchy?!

Ffzzzzzzt!

Also, when did “third wave” start being in the past tense? What, now that third-wavers are approaching their late 20s and 30s, they need a batch of younger, more revolutionary-looking grrrls for the pages of their colour supplement? Okay, first things first, and let us attempt to remain calm and rational in the face of adversity. Why, exactly is this article apologetic about the continuing need for feminist activism? Yes, the author does mention that we’re only halfway to equality (if that). I appreciate the need to acknowledge the achievements of previous feminists.

But I don’t think they’re going to be terribly insulted if we actually say that in fact we’re only a fraction of the way there, if that, and attitudes towards women still haven’t changed all that much. They’ve shifted, for sure, but the question is, in what direction? The main thing that’s changed is that we’re supposed to be virtually equal now. Because we’re all so equal, you can now walk into most workplaces and hear men and women alike defending the idea that it’s okay to pay women less because they have periods and pregnancies and things. It’s also personal choice whether we choose to wear lipstick or shave our legs or not, even though it’s often impossible for women to get jobs if they don’t, and they get those jobs from agencies with names like “Office Angels” and “Secs in the City”, and they’re subordinate jobs at best. There are plenty of extremely well-paid, very responsible secretarial jobs out there, but they’re still very subordinate roles, and the “empowering” middle-class lifestyle they enable is poison for both the person living it and the rest of the world.

And lest we forget, we’re still encouraged to stay indoors at night because some dark, shadowy figure might leap out from an alley, violently seize us, and plunder our physical resources. The idea that this happens to people and not resources is obviously still problematic to some, since rape crisis centres are being closed down at an alarming rate. As for all these girls going wild and expressing themselves, sure, it’s happening, and there’s a huge amount of feminist activism around the country. But judging by its media representation, it’s nothing but a bunch of feist and sass. It’s considered rebellious that these “girls” are talking back, even though that’s what naughty schoolgirls do. Next it’ll be a feminist statement to look sexy when angry.

I guess the article sort of, in a limp kind of way, acknowledges these problems. But now, let’s get to the real problem. Oh yes, I haven’t even started yet. Consider this quote:

”What is liberating to one generation is oppressive to the next. This summer, modesty champion Wendy Shalit, author of the new book Girls Gone Mild, blames the “third-wave feminist establishment” for carrying their sexual revolution too far. Shalit maintains that third-wave feminists, among other forces, have conditioned young women to become sluts. She profiles younger girls who embrace chastity as the route to self-determination - apparently because they feel oppressed by their older sisters’ alleged equation of pole dancing with empowerment - and heralds the coming of a milder fourth wave. Which invites the question: has the third wave of feminism failed?

I doubt it. But its critics, among them a slew of journalists and some elders, including Germaine Greer, claim that the third wave has achieved little. Whereas the feminists of the late 1960s and 1970s did work (creating women’s shelters, feminist institutions and legislative change), it is now stylish to suggest that the third wave was child’s play and that - in the leap from legislation to lipstick - feminism’s focus devolved.”

Are these really the choices we have? Virgin versus whore? Legislation versus lipstick? Does anyone consider that it’s possible to have a rich variety of sexual experience, and indeed, be very positive about sex, without using a fucking pole or dressing in a thong with whipped cream over your nipples? And really, I wasn’t aware it was considered to be such an issue at all, outside of papers who want to publish pictures of pole-dancing feminists, and about half a dozen blogs. As for legislation and lipstick… sigh! Where do you even start with this? Is politics really that one-dimensional that you either care about party politics and the law or you don’t care about it at all? Is grassroots activism really only about getting some fatherly be-wigged person to approve of our zany schemes before we get to carry them out?

I am also monstrously bugged by the focus on youth. This article is all about what young women are doing, the next generation, the fourth wave, and so on. But I’m thirty. Does that mean I’m already part of the old guard? How about some 90-year-old lady with tons of life experience? Are the rights of 40- or 70-year-olds less important than those of 23-year-olds? And actually, looking at this article, I’m starting to think that there’s something else at work here. What makes me think this is mainly the third-wave feminist initiatives that are praised in the article, for instance blogging (Hi guys!) and the Real Hot 100 project.

Now, if I was hearing about the Real Hot 100 thing as an introduction to feminism, it would make me run fast in the opposite direction. I mean, look at this:

”Founded in 2005 in an effort to combat the lack of positive, strong images of young women in the media, the REAL hot 100 shows that young women are “hot” for reasons beyond their ability to look cute in a magazine. REALLY hot women are smart. REALLY hot women work for change. REALLY hot women speak their minds. And, while some REALLY hot women might look awesome in a bikini, they know that’s not all they have to offer.”

I’m not even talking about the use of the words “hot”, or “offer”, as in the master’s degrees and stuff being like the stuff in bikini cups, except, like, REALLY, totally made of brains. Hot brains.

I’m not even talking about instituting a competition to determine which women are more than just blonde bimbos, the idea that these high-achieving women are some kind of feminist ideal and that if you happen to be of a walk of life where such achievement isn’t possible, well, you don’t deserve a place in the pantheon.

But really, let’s look at the main questions of feminism as defined by this article:

(1)Whether to be chaste or be a sexual demon grrrl.
(2)Whether to obtain legislation or lipstick (or both! but here we’re through the looking glass, people.)
(3)Exactly how highly we can achieve to impress people with more than just our boobies.
(4)That it’s especially important for younger women to be achieving all of this, like women young enough to still have daddies and be just settling down with a partner.

I thought it was a given that feminism was about more than pleasing Big Daddy. Clearly, I was wrong, since this is the representation we’re dealing with here. Also, time to cut the crap with this “waves” thing. I don’t care what the fuck wave I am, or others are, we deal with things on an issue by issue, idea by idea basis. It’s not like feminism stops in between the times when the press is interested. It’s very telling that, much like with the counterculture and the hippie movement, it only becomes important when people’s middle-class daughters start getting involved.

Also, under no circumstances will you ever “hear me roar”. Got all that? No? Oh well, too bad.

Such as hell of meow

So, where to start? I have quite a good crop of “news” today, since I feasted my eyes on the wonderful Metro this morning. My excuse is that I’ve had a lot of late nights, and I’m walking around in a taurine- and caffeine-induced stupor, making my usual reading matter look about as comprehensible to me as this awesome Georges Perec palindrome.

So what are Metro concerned with? Well, there’s this highly newsworthy entry on Britney Spears: Britney gets stopped by cops, bares own arse, goes shopping, also casts shadow. I’m not actually sure exactly what they’re getting at with this. Obviously they think she’s quite unhinged, which is obviously due to something internal to Being Britney, maybe her spleen, or whatever she’s been eating lately. There seems to be a lot of prolonged equivocation over her tendency to go commando-style. Also, note that there are no evil red circles and arrows around the dimples on her bum (“Oh dear!” “Blimey!”). It’s like she’s beyond redemption.

Whatever is ailing her, it couldn’t be celebrity or money inducing this wild behaviour (you know, getting parking tickets, going shopping, casting shadows), because here is photographic evidence of Paris Hilton, also being famous and casting a shadow, and she’s doing fine. More evidence to be found in that fine thinking person’s broadsheet, The Times, which informs us that Ms Hilton is also a business genius. Of course, it couldn’t just be that being the third generation of the Hilton family, and standing to inherit a fortune of millions from one of the richest people in the world could make it easier on you than being the daughter of a building contractor and a schoolteacher, raised by the Disney Corporation. Of course Hilton is going to get away with more, and be able to take it more easily. She’s only having a few wild years, which are attracting a certain amount of misogynist commentary. Britney, on the other hand… well, the combination of amusement and disgust she attracts is really reminiscent of people laughing at “chavs”, and she can barely even get away with having babies or getting a haircut.

Moving on to the Guardian now, there is an interview in G2 with the founder of Fathers for Justice. While I find some of what he says a little far-fetched, such as fathers being treated as second-class parents, or the fact that he thinks no one would think he was a misogynist if he was gay or black, and a general feeling that he thinks political correctness has gone mad, some of what he says strikes a chord with me:

”The 1989 child support legislation prescribes along gender lines that the mother should be the carer, the father should be the parent without care, so it prescribes that the father is already absent […].”

A lot of legislation surrounding marriage actually dates back to a time when women couldn’t own property, for instance anything to do with widow’s pensions assumes that the woman will be completely dispossessed, whereas the man will be able to support himself [EDIT: a widowed man will be able to support himself. Obviously, in the case of a widowed woman, the man won't be needing to support himself. Zenobia stupid, hit head really hard on cave wall. Durgh.]. Divorce legislation would be slightly more recent, but a lot of those attitudes survive, and part of women’s emancipation is being allowed to take responsibility, and not being treated like the helpless one. Yet we’re also supposed to no longer be oppressed, since we’re now all high-powered businesswomen with shoulderpads that make us as broad and strong as The Robot Santa, and twice as deadly. Often we’re even told we rule the world, by wrapping men around our fingers. In fact, I get the impression that Fathers For Justice dude would say that. While this isn’t true, and it’s a problem with history rather than with women becoming too powerful and political correctness (arf!) going mad, maybe we shouldn’t be too quick to dismiss people who show up these types of inequalities. It also shows that gender inequality isn’t good for anyone, and a lot of men don’t like being cast in the role of the Patriarch, and having their women lose their autonomy, something that a lot of misogynist stereotypes about wives actually focus on, ironically enough.

Next, The F-Word brings glad tidings of an online lingerie purveyor who have minimal photoshopping policy when it comes to their models. In a feat of one-upmanship, I can go one better with this online T-Shirt shop, which actually features (drumroll) the odd fat model. Although actually, I think they’re regular people (i.e. not models who aren’t regular people but models) who have sent in their pics wearing the merchandise, which is also designed by a jury of their peers: you can send in your own designs, people vote on them, and the best ones get made into T-shirts. Admirably democratic! Though judging by the pictures, it mainly appeals to white hipster types, who also wear a variety of fake beards, funny hats, and so on. Really, I’m not sure I can take that amount of ironic posing. And of course, one fat model does not make a feminist website. Besides, it all depends who you’re selling to. Hipsters and people who can afford $300 lingerie can get away with more than the women who buy celeb mags, who still have to be told to attend to their cellulite and wear anonymous little black dresses, god-dammit.

And finally, while we’re on T-shirt designs, take a look at this lovely piece from French designer Parra.

I think it needs no further comment. I just thought there was no reason for me to be the only one crossing my legs.

Anyway, I think that’s about all the news I can take for now.

Lately the right-of-centre (and downright right-wing) press seems bent on celebrating the great achievements of feminism, in a “you’ve had your feminism, you’ve got your rights, now hurry up and bury the damn thing, sit down and shut up” kind of way.

The Times’ Magnus Linklater elaborates on this “feminism was good now you’ve got it so shut the hell up” sentiment (via The F-Word). And I’m sure that this article provides an accurate representation of the views of the cited feminists, who are obviously representative of the whole of the feminist movement, and thus what they say is proof of The Collapse of Feminism. Either way, I certainly wasn’t aware that things were so great for women these days. We just have retail therapy and chick flicks, which we theoretically choose rather than being coerced into them, but it’s not much of a choice when not choosing them means you find it harder to get a job (in the case of clothes and make-up shopping), or you can’t convince anyone that, thank you very much, but you would not want to shag Mr Darcy, nor would you care to marry him for his money and live in a creepy cavernous mansion in 19th Century England and wear a frilly dress.

Yet, last week, a crumpled copy of Metro I found on the bus informed me of the lasting effects of Girl Power, ten years after the Spice Girls took the world by storm, and how they’ve really made things so much better for most women. Here was I thinking the main effects of the Spice Girls were pigtails, platform shoes, slight loss of dignity, and the embracing of Mrs Thatcher as some kind of feminist ideal. Oh, and attempting to objectify men (the quote whereby Tony Blair’s politics aren’t all that but his hair’s all right), and everything that, basically, took women’s rights to playground level, proclaiming that “the girls are better than the boys”. Only with the spice intact, but the sugar replaced with sass. And lipgloss. And such soundbites as “I may look sweet, but I wear leather underwear! Don’t judge a book by its cover!”.

So, all of this may make women feel more empowered, while they go about still being second-class citizens (because we all know the reason women were oppressed in the first place was because they felt wrong, it was all in their heads). And men may feel more like the downtrodden ones, which is presumably why they have to be sold T-Shirts marked “Female Body Inspector” and football shirts with lager brands printed all over them. Although, arguably, this could just be an excuse to slap that bitch when she nags too much. So, people feel better about being oppressed, basically. And it all happened faster than you can say “cultural hegemony”. Remember, when you celebrate Girlpower, you also celebrate the lads’ mags you may well be writing angry letters about this very minute. It’s no coincidence they rose virtually at the same time. After all, you need two sides in a playground fight, and you know the grown-ups are there to break it up and send you back to the classroom when playtime’s over.

Lately, the views on rape and violence of some of my feminist “sisters” are making me feel like I might be adopted. So I feel like I should distance myself from some of these views a little.

Firstly, I have seen, on the part of people who I otherwise respect and often agree with, calls to revoke habeas corpus when dealing with rapists in Court, and more recently a call to replace trial in a court of law with personal harassment, naming, and revenge.

There is one other thing that I wouldn’t mention if it was just coming from other bloggers, because it just seems nonsensical to me (but hey, it’s obviously important to someone I guess) but there are actual real-life picket lines involved, and it’s likely to get a lot of publicity. So here goes: I don’t agree with demonstrating against Tarantino’s new movie, or characterising him as someone who advocates raping women or getting entertainment from the raping of women.

In the first matter, I agree that the way rape cases are handled in Court most often carries on the humiliation of the victim that started with the rape, and in any case doesn’t help much at all. I don’t think just putting rapists in jail is going to help, as I have mentioned before. In fact, I don’t think a punitive approach will work at all. I think we need to address the roots of the problem, and make sure the victims get the help they need, not more victimisation. In relation to this lovely news story and others like it, it’s doubly important to remain rational and calm and consider what to do. In fact, considering that part of the problem is that women are considered to be irrational, and feminists in particular, it’s doubly important to remain rational. After all, baying for all rapists’ and potential rapists’ blood in one way or another just makes all feminists look bad. And, you know, you can’t really blame feminist detractors in this case.

As for Mr Tarantino and representations of rape in popular culture in general, rape is a fact of life, it says a lot about gender relationships, and it’s very important that it should be represented, and in many different ways, in all its facets. And it’s also important that people should be able to do so without sticking disclaimers all over it, too. I can’t say this enough, but there’s far more to culture than just entertainment. Also, those movies may be gory, but they’re not snuff movies, and those aren’t actual rapes and murders that people are watching, they’re stylised representations of rape and murder. Sure, they’re not often feminist, but they don’t have to be.

Besides, as feminists, we’re not supposed to be the side who’s afraid of ideas. We’re supposed to be the ones demanding the right to discuss them openly, to sort out the huge fucked-up muddle of gender relations. This is especially important because men and general very fierce bad people don’t have the monopoly of rape fantasies. Women also have them, which doesn’t mean they want to be raped, or even rape anyone. Only, attempts to discuss this are more often than not prevented, usually by feminists. Likewise, I think it is important to get accounts of rape from actual rapists. If these were then made into movies where the abuser in question was glamourised or treated as some kind of hero, I would find that problematic, and heavily criticise it, but I wouldn’t demonstrate against the screening of the movies, or against the directors entering the country.

It’s also far from the first time such demonstrations have taken place. Years ago, Steve Albini’s band Rapeman came to the UK to do a gig and was met with similar reactions, purely on the strength of the band’s name mind, no mention of the contents of the lyrics or music. Here is an interview with Steve Albini, so you can get the side of the supposed advocator of sexual assault (scroll down a little). This quote, in particular, is interesting:

“The really annoying thing was that the majority of the people on the picket line were precisely the kind of people that we would have liked at the gig, people that politically basically think like we do.”

Interesting, isn’t it? Only I guess people would mistrust his reaction, since as people whose work is to fight sexism, we feminists tend to believe that all men are inherently untrustworthy.

Or at least, that’s what it looks like, when censorship campaigns get all of the publicity, and all other feminist work goes unnoticed, maybe because there isn’t a cool movie poster for the papers to print next to the article or a big name to attach to it.

You may like to make sure you’re not eating your breakfast right now, but I had this really icky dream last night, which probably stems from me feeling kind of flabby and unfit lately. So, I had this gigantic pimple on my belly, and decided to squeeze it, and these great gobs of a substance midway between patisserie crème and butter cream came out. Like, huge handfuls, leaving my general abdominal area all lumpy and uneven.

Perhaps the worst thing about it was that my initial reaction was “I’d better buy some baggy clothes, I can’t wear my fitted tops now”, followed by “Hey, at least the weight’s gone, maybe if I squeeze around here I can even it out a little”.

Seriously, worst body-related dream since that one with the dangly facial pimples about eight years ago. You really don’t want to know about that one. And most bizarre dream since that one of Carol Cleveland flying a plane, constantly refuelling it by pouring petrol from a small watering can through the dashboard, before crashing it into Budapest.

Yes, I think a change of diet is in order.

Since I’m bored, I guess it’s time for another news roundup.

First of all, the Times urges us to “be an autumn warrior”. This, of course, is another bemusing fashion article on the new trend for power-dressing, complete with instructions on how to choose your battle dress and wear it appropriately. I find this whole power-dressing thing pretty weird. Why wear full armour just to go to the office? It strikes me there’s something a little fascistic about releasing your inner she-warrior symbolically through the use of shoulder pads and so on. And even Xena Warrior Princess wouldn’t go out onto the battle field dressed in this stuff, and she basically wears a steel bra and leather hula skirt, which probably isn’t too practical either. Also, I’m seeing the word “gladiator” bandied about a lot. As anyone knows who’s seen Spartacus and Gladiator, gladiators were basically slaves who had to fight to the death for the entertainment of spectators. This makes the whole power-dressing thing a little more interesting, now, doesn’t it? And actually, it makes it feel a lot less powerful. Anyone care for a cat-fight in the staff room? Maybe we could trade some wonderfully bitchy dialogue which culminates in a slap followed by a theatrical exit. Or how about some mud-wrestling?

The Times also speculates as to whether anorexia is the female Asperger’s, since obviously, women can’t have Asperger’s and men don’t have eating disorders. Well, the actual article is about whether you can be genetically predisposed to anorexia, and the similarities it has to Aspergers, which doesn’t actually have much to do with the headline. Still, the headline itself isn’t too surprising, considering the media trend for mothers waxing about how special their sons with Asperger’s are, and, as Professor Janet Treasure says, “The view [30 years ago] was that [anorexia] was an illness that mainly affected middle-class, intelligent, white girls and was little more than an awkward phase of adolescence.” Well, yes, except it still kind of is now. In fact, both disorders are used in the media as something to prove that middle-class white kids are special, so special as to make them more vulnerable to the pressures of society.Whereas, when working class kids have personality disorders, they’re ASBO fodder and generally a social problem, as opposed to an enrichment and the pride and joy of their mothers. Maybe in this sense, anorexia is the female Asperger’s. But I think this says more about the media’s representation of middle-class white mothers than anything else.

(Also, if you scroll down a bit, you’ll notice a link to an article about jelly recipes entitled Jah Wobble. It kind of made me giggle to see the name of erstwhile PiL bassist, purveyor of pretentious quotes and album sleeves, and Holger Czukay collaborator, in such a context. I guess they have some music nerds working on their website or something.)

On to the Guardian, Naomi Campbell is pursuing the laudable aim of fighting racism in fashion. But how’s she going to do it? By opening a modelling agency in Kenya. Er, can no one else see what’s wrong with that? Besides, in the case of fashion, as seen above, I think we can deduce that racism is but one worm in a whole writhing can of various ugly beasties. I can definitely see the odd millipede and hookworm in there too. And other nematodes. And other stuff that Ms Campbell will probably encounter when she goes to open that modelling agency in Kenya. Fashion is sometimes also known as David Attenborough’s Breakfast (er, yeah, whatever, I’ll go and stand in the corner now). Therefore, I think fighting fashion is the appropriate route to take (or at least, you know, relocating it to its appropriate ecosystem), rather than fighting racism in fashion. Then again, I’m not Naomi Campbell.

Finally, you will be thrilled to see that G2 has an article on the upcoming Bristol Ladyfest. Now, I don’t know what it is, but something about the Guardian’s coverage of feminism is seriously beginning to make me retch. I think it’s the feeling that they’re trying to portray a single-minded youth movement of beehive-sporting, vintage-corset-wearing, lipstick-applying, madly-knitting indie ladies in fishnets, which, you know, feels like they’re squirting lemon juice straight from the page into my eyes. You can’t tell from the website, but in the actual paper, the page is illustrated with cute little pictures of high-heeled shoes with bows on them, lipsticks, kitty masks, and knitting paraphernalia (huh, you’ll notice I’ve started using the expression “knitting paraphernalia” in the way that the Daily Mail might say “drug paraphernalia”). And they only ever interview female musicians with whacky stage names. Imagine if all male musicians had to be called stuff like Buck Turgidson or Dong McPenisface to be interviewed? Arrgh. Of course, I’m sure this is a gross misrepresentation of the actual event. Also, notice how the little blogwar over the Leeds Ladyfest made the article? That’s what’s great about being a UK feminist blogger: accidentally insert your vibrator sideways, blog about it, and it could be national news, because it’s Web 2.0 and there’s lipstick and fishnet sales in it. Small country I guess.

Anyway, that’s quite enough snarkiness from me for one morning.

Since I’ve been reading the feminist blogosphere, I’ve come across the idea several times that you can’t laugh about rape, and it can never, under any circumstances, be the subject for a joke. This is actually slightly puzzling to me. It’s not that rape is something particularly light-hearted and funny, in fact quite the opposite, it’s nasty and fucked up. Yet so are a lot of other things we laugh at. So what makes rape any different or worse?

Let’s first take a look at some of the other things I (and many other people) have laughed at in the past:

Grievous injury

Ever sat through a Warner Brothers cartoon? Ever tried to imagine what Wile E. Coyote is going through? Obviously, it’s a bit hard to feel his pain when he gets up and walks around afterwards. So maybe try Calvin and Hobbes. How many times does that kid drive his cart off a cliff and land in a twisted heap? How about any amount of physical humour in Charlie Chaplin movies?

Depression

Some of you may be familiar with the brilliant Achewood and the clinically depressed Roast Beef Kazenzakis. It’s far from his only dominant character trait, but it’s certainly a prominent one, which makes the character both more poignant and funnier.

And then of course there’s Charlie Brown, who gets cruelly disappointed so many times that you’re sorry for him even when he’s not, and actually some of the other Peanuts characters are pretty tortured too. What about Linus and his blanket?

Torture

Well, you’ve seen the Life of Brian, yes? Although admittedly, torture is the least you have to be worrying about when you’re being crucified next to Eric Idle. Which is a very effective way of laughing directly at torture, really.

Nuclear Armageddon

As in the end of Dr Strangelove, when that douche in the cowboy hat rides the atom bomb. Sure, he’s a douche. But what about all the millions of invisible people who die in the series of nuclear explosions at the end? There’s no suggestion that Kubrick thinks they’re all douches. In fact the worst douches probably survive somewhere and get to repopulate the planet (and since they’re all men, I dare say there may be a Nobel Prize in it for them as well). Yet, the world is fucked and it’s funny. Scary as well, yet still funny.

Human trafficking

Where do you think Private Eye’s Polly Filler gets all those au pairs, and where do you think they go after she sacks them for crying over their dead parents / putting Toddler Charlie’s nappies in the dishwasher?

Now, let’s look at rape in comedy. I can think of two examples.

First, in A Clockwork Orange, where Alex beats and rapes a woman while singing “I’m Singing In The Rain”. Actually, come to think of it, he does also bludgeon a woman to death with a giant ceramic penis. I’d guess from the context that Stanley Kubrick is trying to get the viewer to analyse his reactions with those scenes. But there is definitely more than just an element of comedy. Oh, and then there’s the scene where Alex harvests a brace of twelve-year-olds from the local record shop, takes them home, and has his evil way with them, all at double-speed with equally sped up Beethoven in the background. Gruesome, sure, but funny nonetheless.

The second example is from from Chris Morris’s Jam. So in terms of disturbance and shocking content, I guess it’s cheating a little. A couple is arguing in profile behind a screen door. The woman thinks the man has cheated on her. She thinks he was seen kissing another woman. He explains it isn’t possible because he had his hand over her mouth, and was raping her. The woman is incredibly relieved, forgives all, and tells the man that she loves him. Admittedly, this wasn’t a full-on rolling on the floor type hilarity fest. If anything, I was thinking more along the lines of “Go Chris Morris for exposing the moral double standards of so-called decent marital relationships”.

As for all the examples of comedy I’ve mentioned above, you will have noticed that they’re all by men, mostly about men. Except, that is, the rape-centred ones which are about rape of women. Why is so much comedy male-centred? And bear in mind that rattling off a list of all the female comedians you can think of is not an acceptable reply. Are there really certain things women can’t laugh about, even though we can still laugh at death? Isn’t this something we should examine and call into question, rather than treating the male laugh as a type of penis, and condemning every instance of someone laughing at rape as an endorsement? Sure, it’s good to examine how these themes are dealt with in movies, but it’s equally important to examine our own reactions to them.

There is a great post at Oh No a Woc PhD about the way that often, big brands that are advertised as ethical, fair-trade and organic, actually have less than ethical business practices. Those of us who live in the UK will have noted that Green & Black’s founder Craig Sams apparently has no problem with Tesco’s business practices, which is presumably why he signed a contract with them a couple of years ago.

Then again, it should be immediately obvious from the advertising that something is awry. As Prof Black Woman notes, looking at Aveda’s advertising:
If you go to their website, you will see tons of pictures of smiling indigenous peoples up against wind mills & kitchy handwritten environmental sayings, natural haired, light skin, black women smiling out at you, and even an Asian model on the home page (never mind all those blue eyed white folk on every page, with their chiseled features out numbering all the other images).
This instantly reminded me of another advert I found pretty problematic, the one for Divine chocolate:

So, basically this photo says that you would prefer your chocolate to be offered to you by a comely young Black woman, maybe one of the ones who harvested the beans for you, with a happy, fainly suggestive smile on her face. Then there’s the fact that the photo makes the woman look like she’s made out of the product in question.

It seems to be a recurring theme in these companies’ advertising, none quite so much as that Divine advert. Green & Black’s photos from their website are too big to post here, but they mainly represent pairs of brown hands showing you how great and natural the product is that they’ve harvested, offering it up for your approval.

Not being familiar with Aveda products, I thought I’d do a quick search for some of their advertising too, and found this:

Which is just as bad as the Divine advert, really. Not only is this woman offering up fruits of her land that she’s presumably harvested, she’s being offered as a fruit herself. In fact, she looks like she’s offering herself up. Compare these images to the notoriously advertising for French cocoa drink Banania, and:

Not much difference, except that he’s done in a much more 19th century style, he’s a little more caricatured, his French grammar is less than perfect, and he’s generally pretty terrible, but at least he gets to be enjoying a bowl of cocoa (although probably pre-branded, in its innocent, indigenous state), as opposed to offering up the product of his hard labour for your inspection, and smiling as he does so. Because really, the message of all of this advertising is that brown people in exotic locations enjoy all that hard labour, specifically because they want to offer a great product to the white consumers. That’s what they were born to do. It’s like they popped out of the Amazonian soil themselves and, kazam, offered you a handful of cocoa beans or a load of mangoes and papayas, as you drift down from the heavens.

And do they also enjoy the fruits of their labour? Well, everyone knows the idea of a South American farm worker being able to afford a bar of Green & Black’s or a pot of Aveda cream is a bit of a joke. Mayas don’t actually get to eat Maya Gold. Accordingly, the people consuming the products in the ads are overwhelmingly white, or at the most a little off-white. Green & Black’s actually offer little in the way of visualisation of their clientele, though they do have a couple of pictures of (white) pairs of hands breaking chocolate into squares on their website, and a search reveals quite a few pictures of smiling, rich, white entrepreneurs who are involved in the company.

And Aveda? I guess Oprah Winfrey counts as advertising. Otherwise, there’s this:

And there’s plenty more where that came from, though most of it way too big to post here.

So what exactly is the ethical stance of all these companies then? What exactly does Divine mean with its slogan “Eating Poverty History”, when its advertising still manages to endorse glaring inequalities between the manual labourers producing the goods and the people consuming them? Simply that people should be kept out of poverty enough to sustain their farms, so they can keep producing, for our financial gain and enjoyment? Is that really meant to be enough? Because other than that, there seems to be a tacit (or maybe not quite so tacit) agreement that some people are in their place harvesting cocoa beans so someone can make them into Maya Gold chocolate, and they can become all grizzled and picturesque for when they pose for photos in bright ethnic dress, while others of us are meant to enjoy the fruits of their labour, because we’re worth it.

And this is revolutionary how exactly? If you were transported back in time to Arthur Balfour’s government and you got to be a fly on the wall as they debated over business in the colonies and the place of the brown person biblically speaking, this is the kind of stuff you would be hearing. Oh, there would be much more talk of God and whether or not to administer floggings, that’s for sure, but the basic narrative would be the same. After all, it’s in the interest of any company to keep its staff in full working order. There were plenty of people who thought indigenous people in the colonies shouldn’t be mistreated back then too, mostly for that reason, but not mistreating someone doesn’t mean you think they should have equal rights to you or Sam Craig of Green & Black’s (not to target the guy whose name I happen to know at the expense of equally large scoundrels or anything).

And what, exactly, do “faitrade” or “organic” mean? What do we have to go by? Mainly, the advertising blurb on the packet. Can we trust it? Hrm. Let me see. Judging by the pictures of “Pedro” and “Bonita” smilingly plying us with sacks of oranges, I’d guess not. Do we get to see the “definitions” part of these guys’ contracts, where the terminology would presumably be legally defined? No. It could mean anything. You just give them the benefit of the doubt because they might be slightly better than Nescafe, Cadburys, and L’Oreal. And maybe the products taste slightly better, on account of them not actually being made entirely out of wood shavings and newts’ eyebrows, since they’re slightly more expensive. That’s it: luxury and peace of mind.

As Prof Black Woman concludes,

”So the next time you let some product line, especially one that is selling you a modified beauty standard, tell you that they are saving the planet one brown person at a time . . . remind yourself that consumption does not a revolution make.
If you think I am judging unfairly, let’s go discuss it at Starbucks, they buy organic now too . . . or Wallmart, we can meet in the organic section.
Or you could go find something locally produced, using sustainable methods, in recyclable packaging, and only buy it if you actually need it. While you are at it, if you can afford Aveda, buy two local products, and donate one to the local shelter.”
Although the problem with that, of course, is that you’ll be hard put to it to find a local shop, since they all get driven out of business by the huge chains, whose trading practices are apparently judged completely fair enough by all the fairtrade brands they carry.

We haven’t had one of these in a while. By “news”, of course, I mean amusing little entertainment-related tidbits, or “I was reading the Guardian on the bus this morning”.

First, via the F-Word (which I seem to be leeching off for material quite a lot these days, hope you don’t mind ladies), I found this quote from Matt Damon:

“Bond is an imperialist and a misogynist who kills people and laughs about it, and drinks Martinis and cracks jokes.

He doesn’t have the support of gadgets, and he feels really guilty for what he’s done”

Yes, Matthew, but that’s not really any healthier, is it? And “serial monogamist”? I thought only killers could be serial. Really, I find the whole trend of male leads with dead girlfriends, who seem to spend their time going down on their knees and going all trapeze-mouthed as they scream (Waaaaaaaaaargh!), then doing really desperate things because they’re tortured, really creepy. I’ve just never known a real bereaved person to act like that.

As opposed to James Bond, who is, as Mr Damon correctly points out, a complete psycho, horribly sexist and imperialist, but who has the narrative function of the virtuous hero, which is pretty cool really, especially in the earlier films where it’s quite knowing. Of course, in the later ones, where they take the whole Bond thing terribly seriously, it’s a lot more disturbing.

Even so, if you want some real sexism, imperialism, downright racism and any other kind of ism you can name, try Fu Manchu. For a lighter dose, the movies. If you want some of the strong stuff, go for the books. Then again, as far as sexism goes, I’ll take a plucky Fu Manchu leading lady, even if she has the odd fainting spell, over a fretting, whingeing 21st century FBI agent’s wife any day. If I ever have to hear another cry of “But this is about you! and! me!”, I think I will eat my own face off.

Speaking of eating, the latest Beth Ditto column in the Guardian (designated on the website as “a matter of life and Beth”, boom boom) is about how to cope with breaking up with the love of one’s life. And what did she suggest as an ideal remedy?

… Can you guess?

… That’s right, eating about 45 bars of chocolate, and some Nutella to boot.

Now, not that I need the advice at the moment, but if I should ever need to self-medicate thus, I am already taking chocolate for a variety of ailments, including: high blood pressure, low self-esteem, mood swings, drunken profanity syndrome, deficient femininity disorder, and the always delicate pre- (and post-) menstrual tension. Please, no more!

Care for a wafer thin mint, Madam?

At this rate, I may not even live as long as Lindsay Lohan. Yes, your eyes do not deceive you, a tabloid newspaper in the States has actually carried a story on how long various celebrities have left to live. I just hope Britney doesn’t read too many celeb mags or google her name too much (I wouldn’t if I were her), because if she does she will find out that she has five years to live (which is one more than wild child Lindsay Lohan, apparently). Not only that, but she is a really terrible mother, who apparently makes out in front of her kids with men who may not be their biological father, and if the quote on the front of the mag is to be believed, told them both they were mistakes.

Now, on the one hand, no one should have to read this kind of crap about themselves, especially not a starlet with an already fragile ego.

And on the other hand: hey, stop press, mother makes out in front of kids. Kids may find out that babies originate from their parents, fucking one another. How many kids are warped precisely because they find out, later on, that their parents actually have sex, when the messages coming from the media and general middle-class values is that fucking is dirty and no good parents would do such a thing? As for the rest, hey, lots of mere mortals do that shit too, not just starlets. Then again, celeb mags aren’t renowned for their love of mere mortals, aka The Great Unwashed, aka Anti-Cellulite Cream Ad Targets.

And last, (cause this is getting kind of long), in yesterday’s Guardian, Hadley Freeman brought us shocking news of the new trend for fetish fashion: apparently, it’s out with the flouncy tunics. Which is good news for a lot of us. I tried on one of those things that’s tight just above the chest and then loose all the way down the other week, and basically, my female promontories acted as tent poles in the structuring of what appeared to be a circus tent, and my stomach felt like an elephant balancing on a beach ball. So is the logical next step comfortable yet stylish yet practical clothes? No. The next step is some really uncomfortable-looking shit, apparently designed for “real grown-up women” (I’m just off to get myself certified as such by the means of some rather painful hallmarks on my bum). In other news, fashion designers quite fucked up in their relationship with women’s bodies. Next we’ll be hearing that Marc Jacobs whispers “The world shall hear from me again!” into his shaving mirror every night, and that Giorgio Armani has been spotted wearing a mitre and shitting in the woods.

Stop press! This just in from the F-Word(again), UNESCO ambassador, Nobel Peace Prize winner and Guatemalan presidential candidate Rigoberta Menchú has been turned away from a hotel in Cancun for trying to enter in traditional Mayan dress. As Louise Livesey notes,

”Now let’s just pause here – the wearing of ethnic dress is assumed to mean you are dispossessed and penniless.”

Well, considering that colonialism and imperialism has, in fact, dispossessed many indigenous peoples and rendered them penniless, you know, the main surprise here is that the hotel were so obvious in pointing it out.

Once in a blue moon I visit George Monbiot’s website, and I’m never disappointed. For instance, today I found this article on ethical consumerism.

Obviously, I’ve made no secret of my own position on the matter on this blog. However, I’m not exactly an authority on climate, economy, or indeed anything much, so it was pretty cool to read the following from someone who knows something about it:

”Green consumerism is becoming a pox on the planet. If it merely swapped the damaging goods we buy for less damaging ones, I would champion it. But two parallel markets are developing: one for unethical products and one for ethical products, and the expansion of the second does little to hinder the growth of the first. I am now drowning in a tide of ecojunk. Over the past six months, our coatpegs have become clogged with organic cotton bags, which - filled with packets of ginseng tea and jojoba oil bath salts - are now the obligatory gift at every environmental event. I have several lifetimes’ supply of ballpoint pens made with recycled paper and about half a dozen miniature solar chargers for gadgets I don’t possess.”
…

”Ethical shopping is in danger of becoming another signifier of social status. I have met people who have bought solar panels and mini-wind turbines before they have insulated their lofts: partly because they love gadgets, but partly, I suspect, because everyone can then see how conscientious (and how rich) they are. We are often told that buying such products encourages us to think more widely about environmental challenges, but it is just as likely to be depoliticising. Green consumerism is another form of atomisation - a substitute for collective action. No political challenge can be met by shopping.
The middle classes rebrand their lives, congratulate themselves on going green, and carry on buying and flying as much as ever before. It is easy to picture a situation in which the whole world religiously buys green products, and its carbon emissions continue to soar.”
…
”Challenge the new green consumerism and you become a prig and a party pooper, the spectre at the feast, the ghost of Christmas yet to come. Against the shiny new world of organic aspirations you are forced to raise drab and boringly equitable restraints: carbon rationing, contraction and convergence, tougher building regulations, coach lanes on motorways. No colour supplement will carry an article about that. No rock star could live comfortably within his carbon ration.
But such measures, and the long hard political battle required to bring them about, are, unfortunately, required to prevent the catastrophe these floods predict, rather than merely to play at being green. Only when they have been applied does green consumerism become a substitute for current spending rather than a supplement to it. They are harder to sell, not least because they cannot be bought from mail order catalogues. Hard political choices will have to be made, and the economic elite and its spending habits must be challenged, rather than groomed and flattered. The multi-millionaires who have embraced the green agenda might suddenly discover another urgent cause.”