Feminist in adland
THE MISOGYNISTS OF SUMMER
Dear readers, much as I once addressed my inanimate blue, fluffy, and most crucially, lockable diary from the years 1999-2000 I address you now my dear (hopefully animate) readers.
It’s been quite simply too hawt to blawg. I’ve been barely sentient enough to lift my hot head and look both ways when I cross roads let alone SMASH THE PATRIARCHY BRICK BY HE MAN WOMAN HATING BRICK.
But, I was getting the overground the other day and I was nestled in between two strangers, which is admittedly bad but not as bad as Mary MacGregor who had the infinitely trickier situation of being torn between two lovers, when I heard something.
I heard something so shocking that I stopped using my personal hand fan (which in these tropical times is as dangerous as eating a fillet steak with impunity in public during times of famine) and I turned to listen.
I heard a man shouting at a lady he didn’t know. He was shouting “MOVE IT FATTIE! IT’S BAD ENOUGH IT’S SO HOT WITHOUT BEING SQUEEZED IN HERE WITH YOU”
And I thought just as riots historically happen in summertime because the heat draws out all of a country’s ire much like fires used to be used to draw out fever, so too does the heat draw out misogyny.
You see, in Summer us lady women have to wear fewer clothes so we don’t end up melting into a fetid pile of 40 denier black tights. That’s science. Ask Brian Cox.
And us wearing fewer clothes means that men are justified in saying, well, whatever they like to us really. They can deign to be benevolent and compliment our CRACKING TITS or SEXY LEGS. Or, if they’re feeling less magnum-inous (ITHANKYOU) they can shout about our FAT ARSES or tell us to PUT IT AWAY LOVE.
Can it be that what some British men really want is a return to Edwardian mores and standards, meaning our exceptionally erogenous ankles are never exposed?
No. That’s not it.
Can it be they find our exposed flesh irresistible and have no way of controlling their reaction to it?
No. That’s not it either.
It simply means this: that it only takes a slight atmospheric change for some men to forget that we are equal. A small rise in temperature is all it takes to fug their fetid brains and make them remember that which they’ve always known, that we women exist solely as objects of male scrutiny. That we are the proverbial trees in a wood. That unless a man passes comment on us we don’t really exist, have never really existed and cease to exist once they’ve stopped passing comment on us.
And to you dear readers and to that poor lady on the overground the other day I say this:
You are not a tree.
You are not an object of male scrutiny ladies and men it is not your right and purpose to pass scrutiny on ladies.
If you walk down a street without being commented on you won’t cease to exist.
You’ll probably just bop along quite happily listening to ABBA Gold and nip into a corner shop to buy a calippo on a summery whim.
Let’s put out a cigarette in the the arid forest of rampant misogyny and watch it burn.
STAY COOL KIDS.