Mad Women

Feminist in adland

Jul 25

THICK ROBIN


I’ve listened to the song Blurred Lines 17 times.

I’ve listened to it on the overground in the morning. I’ve listened to it in the morning getting ready. I’ve listened to it at my desk as I work.

And in all these locations the listening has been accompanied by happy wiggling in my seat, hypercool shoulder brushing and mindless singing along.

I was talking to my boyfriend about the song and saying:

"I don’t get why everyone is so uppity about this particular song. I mean it’s not unusual for women to be in their underwear in music videos with suggestive props, it’s not right but it’s hardly surprising, why is everyone going so cray about it?"

After he’d stopped LOL-ing at my finger being so wide of the popular music button he then showed me the naked version of the video.

But, that still didn’t shock me.

Yes, it’s gratuitous. Yes, it’s degrading. Yes, the flesh coloured thong is entirely redundant.

Whilst I’d like this kind of video not to be made it doesn’t shock me. The mechanisation and banalising of porn has seen to naked flesh no longer being deemed shocking anymore.

But the more I listened to the song, the more I stopped doing my chair dancing. I stopped singing along. I stopped brushing my shoulder.

You see what disturbs me the most is the “she was asking for it” central conceit of the song. 

Even when the LADZ shout “you’re the hottest bitch in this place” it doesn’t fill me with the same bile as the insidious undercurrent of a girl not wanting to have sex with a man being deemed as a case of “blurred lines”. 

It’s not that tricksy really Robin and Pharrell and T.I. 

It just means that particular lady doesn’t want to have sex with you. 

Even if she grabs you. It doesn’t mean she wants to get nasty. 

She probs was trying to get past you for a lady wee and to make sure her lipstick hadn’t smeared into her philtrum and she grabbed you by mistake. 

I’m going to listen to the wordless karaoke version from now on.


Jul 23

Get with les times Lynx


I hate sodding gamification.

I hate that it is the buzzword on the lips of all Cannes attending CEOs and ZEITGEISTY marketing blogs and that it’s heralded as THE ANSWER to a question I never knew needed solving. As far as I can see gamification doesn’t sell more shit, it just gets people to interact with a shallow and repetitive bit of code for 37 seconds and then forget all about it.

My hatred of gamification isn’t the reason I hate this example though.

I hate this latest one because it’s just another archaic and shit vehicle in the seemingly never ending Lynx misogynistic marketing cavalcade. 

You don’t get girls to sleep with you by saying something innocuous or provocative to them in their mother tongue (THEY DIDN’T EVEN DO A GOOD LOL AROUND THE PHRASE MOTHER TONGUE FOR GAWD’S SAKE!) And you don’t get points for sleeping with people of a different, or even the same nationality as you.

If you download this app you are undoubtedly a virgin and doomed to remain so as long as you rely on personal hygiene brands to imbue you with irresistible sexual magnetism. 

WE LADIES ARE NOT FOR THE GAMIFYING.


Jul 22

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.


Jul 2

Jun 26
MEGA BOUDICA BABE OF THE WEEK: WENDY DAVIS
13 hours.
No wees.
No water.
No leaning.
So Texan women won’t ever have to hear “NO ABORTIONS FOR YOU, YOU SCARLET WOMAN. HERE’S A RAPE KIT*” (FYI these kits don’t work the same as an abortion you absolute biological n00b Jodie Laubenberg)
Heart and womb swells of pride to be a woman today.
OUR WOMBS ARE NOT FOR THE TURNING.

MEGA BOUDICA BABE OF THE WEEK: WENDY DAVIS

13 hours.

No wees.

No water.

No leaning.

So Texan women won’t ever have to hear “NO ABORTIONS FOR YOU, YOU SCARLET WOMAN. HERE’S A RAPE KIT*” (FYI these kits don’t work the same as an abortion you absolute biological n00b Jodie Laubenberg)

Heart and womb swells of pride to be a woman today.

OUR WOMBS ARE NOT FOR THE TURNING.


Jun 21
TODAY THE SPECIALS ARE: RAMPANT MISOGYNY WITH A SPATTERING OF HE MAN WOMAN HATING
The Australian Liberal party must have been listening to The Beatles’ “Julia” on repeat. 
"Half of what I say is meaninglessBut I say it just to reach you, Julia”
And they really do Jules, they really, really do. 
The size of my breasts and thighs have NADA impact on my ability to do my job. The only way they would is if my boobs were so big they caused me back pain, for which I’d need one of those SUH-WEET support pillows, or, if my thighs were so little that I couldn’t walk unaided and would require help walking around the office.
But not many women, blessedly, have those problems. We get along ok with our boobs and our thighs and our menses. 
In fact, I rarely notice them. Days can go by where I don’t marvel at my possession of breasts and thighs and the ability to menstruate. 
I sort of, you know, just get on with the job.
Let the ironically named Liberal LADZ mock you and use the imaginative anatomical etymology of a 4 year old Jules.
You’re the lady boss of the whole of Australia, don’t play with little boys in the dirt of the political playground. 
Go hang out with the big girls and boys who either have tits and thighs and wombs or couldn’t give a flying fuck about whether you do or not.
 

 
 

 

TODAY THE SPECIALS ARE: RAMPANT MISOGYNY WITH A SPATTERING OF HE MAN WOMAN HATING


The Australian Liberal party must have been listening to The Beatles’ “Julia” on repeat. 

"Half of what I say is meaningless
But I say it just to reach you, Julia”


And they really do Jules, they really, really do. 

The size of my breasts and thighs have NADA impact on my ability to do my job. The only way they would is if my boobs were so big they caused me back pain, for which I’d need one of those SUH-WEET support pillows, or, if my thighs were so little that I couldn’t walk unaided and would require help walking around the office.

But not many women, blessedly, have those problems. We get along ok with our boobs and our thighs and our menses. 

In fact, I rarely notice them. Days can go by where I don’t marvel at my possession of breasts and thighs and the ability to menstruate. 

I sort of, you know, just get on with the job.

Let the ironically named Liberal LADZ mock you and use the imaginative anatomical etymology of a 4 year old Jules.

You’re the lady boss of the whole of Australia, don’t play with little boys in the dirt of the political playground. 

Go hang out with the big girls and boys who either have tits and thighs and wombs or couldn’t give a flying fuck about whether you do or not.

 

 

 

 


May 10
HOOT IF YOU LOVE YOUR MUM
There is a Hooters in my hometown.
It’s by the train station and every time we drive past it my Mum does a great LOL and says “ANYONE HUNGRY!?” 
For Mother’s Day this year I got my Mum a bouquet and a card which I’d had personalised to say exactly how many days she’s been my Mum for (9096 days).
If this offer had been around outside the US though I would deffos have taken her to Hoots for lunch.
When I was growing up my Mum and Dad always told me that I could be whoever I wanted to be and that the world was my oyster.
So, what better way to celebrate my Mum than by taking her to a titty bar where girls are forced to walk around with their arse out and their tits bared as they serve food?
It’s not only sexist, it’s unhygienic. 
Let’s imagine the conversation between Hooters’ biggest pair of tits, its marketing department:
"HEY, you know how everyone hates us because we fired that girl who got too fat? Well, we sell food with a side of boobs so, Mums have boobs too so wouldn’t it be great if we showed how non-fattist we are by letting Mums eat for free? BOOBS EAT FOR FREE!”
I’ll stick to the flowers and heartfelt sentiment ta.


 
 
 
 

HOOT IF YOU LOVE YOUR MUM


There is a Hooters in my hometown.

It’s by the train station and every time we drive past it my Mum does a great LOL and says “ANYONE HUNGRY!?” 

For Mother’s Day this year I got my Mum a bouquet and a card which I’d had personalised to say exactly how many days she’s been my Mum for (9096 days).

If this offer had been around outside the US though I would deffos have taken her to Hoots for lunch.

When I was growing up my Mum and Dad always told me that I could be whoever I wanted to be and that the world was my oyster.

So, what better way to celebrate my Mum than by taking her to a titty bar where girls are forced to walk around with their arse out and their tits bared as they serve food?

It’s not only sexist, it’s unhygienic. 

Let’s imagine the conversation between Hooters’ biggest pair of tits, its marketing department:

"HEY, you know how everyone hates us because we fired that girl who got too fat? Well, we sell food with a side of boobs so, Mums have boobs too so wouldn’t it be great if we showed how non-fattist we are by letting Mums eat for free? BOOBS EAT FOR FREE!”

I’ll stick to the flowers and heartfelt sentiment ta.

 

 

 

 


Apr 25

REAL BEAUTY SCHMALTZES


Forensics is about figuring out how somebody died.

I’d like to do some forensic analysis on the death of the “Real Beauty” campaign.

I’m all for real ladies appearing in adverts instead of models. And yes this campaign was cute and, you know, FEEL GOOD in its first manifestation.

But now this “Oh my gawdddddddd I’m so purdee even though I don’t look like a model” shit’s just getting boring.

I think my main problem with this campaign is the blonde woman, Florence, in it.

She’s a prize idiot/a real unconvincing actor.

"I didn’t know what he was doing at first" Did you really not know Flo? Did they blindfold you as you approached the elaborate, transparent, 4 foot wide curtain shielding you from his Oz like magnificent omniscience?There’s an easel. You can hear scratching noises. GET A CLUE.

When the sketch artist does the BIG REVEAL of Flo’s portrait it’s shocking. Did she describe herself as having hair like PUBES? Body dysmorphia is one thing but seriously, if you actually have pube like hair I feel for you. That shit should be on the NHS.

Then she really annoys me.

When she wangs on about how important how you look is for EVERYTHING EVER IN LIFE. 

It’s responsible for the “friends we make, the jobs we apply for, how we treat our children”.  

Now, I’m not a fool. I know how you look is important and it influences your life. I just don’t think it’s responsible for every single choice we make.

These women aren’t the Elephant Woman (smashing literary gender constructs, KAPOW!) They’re attractive, normal women. Why Flo’s hair impacts how she looks after her kids I don’t know. Maybe Flo needs to get a life and play hopscotch with them instead of thinking about her face all the time.

Feeling confident in your own skin is important for everyone, not just women. 

We don’t have the monopoly on not liking things about ourselves. 

And, yes advertising perpetuates the airbrushed myth of woman.

But, the important thing we need to educate women about is that how we look doesn’t matter half as much as everyone makes out. And instead of getting women to realise that they’re “more beautiful than they think” we should be saying “Hey! You’re real good at Maths!” or “You are the best in your specific field and also a really nice person!”. 

Why do we have to derive confidence purely and solely from our looks?

CHILL THE FUCK OUT LADIES AND DON’T SHAVE YOUR LEGS TODAY AND MAYBE READ A BOOK INSTEAD. 

 


Apr 15

Apr 8
IRON AND IRE
Before anybody starts virtually shouting “TORY SYMPATHISING WANKER” at me this isn’t a political post.
The only socio-political lens this post looks through is a Feminist one.
Like her or not Margaret Thatcher was our ONE AND ONLY female Prime Minister.
The thought of a lady being elected Prime Minister today makes me laugh.
Who would it be? Harman? Dorries? No ta.
Only 22% of the House of Commons are women. 
That’s a shitty statistic.
A lot of people have good reason to say that Thatcher fucked the country.
Is that why nobody trusts women in politics anymore?
Because that’s silly.
The actions of one shouldn’t condemn all, let alone a whole gender. 
And just because you don’t agree with her politics that doesn’t mean you can’t simultaneously appreciate and recognise that it was fucking aces and important that she was elected Prime Minister 51 years after universal suffrage was granted. 
I can’t wait for the day when our next female Prime Minister is elected.
And I hope she isn’t likened to any kind of base metal. I hope by that point it’ll just be ok to refer to her by her full name like we do for the male Prime Ministers.

IRON AND IRE


Before anybody starts virtually shouting “TORY SYMPATHISING WANKER” at me this isn’t a political post.

The only socio-political lens this post looks through is a Feminist one.

Like her or not Margaret Thatcher was our ONE AND ONLY female Prime Minister.

The thought of a lady being elected Prime Minister today makes me laugh.

Who would it be? Harman? Dorries? No ta.

Only 22% of the House of Commons are women. 

That’s a shitty statistic.

A lot of people have good reason to say that Thatcher fucked the country.

Is that why nobody trusts women in politics anymore?

Because that’s silly.

The actions of one shouldn’t condemn all, let alone a whole gender. 

And just because you don’t agree with her politics that doesn’t mean you can’t simultaneously appreciate and recognise that it was fucking aces and important that she was elected Prime Minister 51 years after universal suffrage was granted. 

I can’t wait for the day when our next female Prime Minister is elected.

And I hope she isn’t likened to any kind of base metal. I hope by that point it’ll just be ok to refer to her by her full name like we do for the male Prime Ministers.


Page 1 of 5