My life is a spiritual void into which Vogue breathes life each month. (Or something like that.) Beautiful clothes, beautiful models, intelligent interviews with cultural icons and excellent writing; I'm always full inspiration after guzzling it up. However, this month it let me down. Luke Janklow's article, 'Food of love?' left me with a bitter taste in my mouth.
The argument of said article can be reduced to: 'Men have a very visceral reaction to music' where 'Women respond to the melody, the story, the beauty'. What Janklow is really saying here when you scratch the surface is, 'men experience music in a deeper, more important way than women.' They experience it physically, primitively where women experience it at the obvious surface level of pretty tunes and sad lyrics. I hope I'm not alone in taking umbrage at this assumption (which seems to be based purely on the different musical tastes held by him and his wife.) I also hope I'm not alone (as a woman) in my love of shouty, stompy, raw music. I really don't think that I am.
My favourite thing to do when alone is to stomp, stomp, stomp to my favourite songs and believe me, there's nothing beautiful about it when I get going. The soundtrack for this apparently male behaviour is usually growly, shouty, filthy and frankly ugly. Garage rock, Riot Grrrl and anything else dirty and loud always provokes a physical reaction from me especially when I'm getting dressed. At these moments when I'm in a partial state of undress (personal favourite: tights/vest/mega-heels combo) I'm not thinking about the beautiful story that the lyrics are telling as Mr. Janklow would assume. I'm not really thinking much of anything to be honest. I'm just stomping. (Although sometimes it occurs to me about how gosh-darn sexy I look doing it.) And it doesn't just happen in my room either, I flail about in clubs and get goose-bumps at gigs and I don't have any control over any of it. I know I'm not alone in this. I see women throwing themselves about on dance floors with abandon whenever I go out. They're not thinking, 'These lyrics are so moving. And the melody? So beautiful!' They're thinking '??#!!£@??!' All of these women are experiencing music in the visceral way that Janklow attributes to men.
I just don't understand how this article slipped through the editorial net with it's outdated, easy assumptions about gender. How can somebody write and believe such nonsense in 2008 when we're confronted with images of gender subversion on a daily basis? It's probably more comfortable to think that we fit into neat little gender labelled boxes. More comfortable for somebody who's frightened to think that perhaps women aren't ethereal beings, devoid of physicality and who's too scared to confront the fact that he wants to wear his wife's knickers to work.
(For legal reasons, I have no proof that Mr. Janklow wants to wear his wife's knickers to work.)
Monday 31 March 2008
Monday 24 March 2008
Growing up.
I hate growing up.
I know that everybody hates growing up, but you must indulge me for a minute or so. I've been thinking about growing up a lot lately as I come to the end of my second year of a three-year degree. In an Arts subject. I have a lot of decisions to make next year and it's time to be honest with myself.
My love affair with London began at an early age. Once I had moved here I knew that I'd never, ever want to leave. I decided that I would stay in London after I finished my degree and become a writer. It's a lovely idea, but what are the chances? The reality is that most people with an English degree and aspirations of the journalistic or literary variety will end up working in marketing, PR or a bookshop. Growing up means having to be realistic; can I really pay rent, buy food, go out, and just survive in London with no money? With just my notebook and pen? The answer is no, absolutely not. Other questions: Do I really want to make tea, send emails, bitch by water-coolers, work a till and wonder how all this relates to my degree, just to earn a crust? A thousand times no. Do I want to have enough money for Christian Louboutin shoes one day? Yes! Yes!
Weighing all of this up, I did the ultimate grown-up thing. I decided on a compromise: teaching. My parents are teachers, I'm an English student, I love books, I love packed lunches; becoming a teacher was inevitable. Becoming a teacher is definately something that an adult would do. It's financially secure, there's a lot of paperwork, you're better than children and it's 'worthwhile'. Don't get me wrong, there's no way I could ever be persuaded to teach anybody under the age of 11 or anything other than English. And I'll have to save up for the Louboutins. But this way I can afford to stay in the city I love, (eventually) own fabulous shoes and in the long holidays, I can pretend to be a writer and wipe the dust from my notebook and pen.
Teachers can wear stilettos can't they?
(edit: I found my ambition again, no more PGCE for me. What was I thinking?!)
I know that everybody hates growing up, but you must indulge me for a minute or so. I've been thinking about growing up a lot lately as I come to the end of my second year of a three-year degree. In an Arts subject. I have a lot of decisions to make next year and it's time to be honest with myself.
My love affair with London began at an early age. Once I had moved here I knew that I'd never, ever want to leave. I decided that I would stay in London after I finished my degree and become a writer. It's a lovely idea, but what are the chances? The reality is that most people with an English degree and aspirations of the journalistic or literary variety will end up working in marketing, PR or a bookshop. Growing up means having to be realistic; can I really pay rent, buy food, go out, and just survive in London with no money? With just my notebook and pen? The answer is no, absolutely not. Other questions: Do I really want to make tea, send emails, bitch by water-coolers, work a till and wonder how all this relates to my degree, just to earn a crust? A thousand times no. Do I want to have enough money for Christian Louboutin shoes one day? Yes! Yes!
Weighing all of this up, I did the ultimate grown-up thing. I decided on a compromise: teaching. My parents are teachers, I'm an English student, I love books, I love packed lunches; becoming a teacher was inevitable. Becoming a teacher is definately something that an adult would do. It's financially secure, there's a lot of paperwork, you're better than children and it's 'worthwhile'. Don't get me wrong, there's no way I could ever be persuaded to teach anybody under the age of 11 or anything other than English. And I'll have to save up for the Louboutins. But this way I can afford to stay in the city I love, (eventually) own fabulous shoes and in the long holidays, I can pretend to be a writer and wipe the dust from my notebook and pen.
Teachers can wear stilettos can't they?
(edit: I found my ambition again, no more PGCE for me. What was I thinking?!)
Tuesday 4 March 2008
An Introduction to Drivel.
So I've got myself a grown-up version of Livejournal, good for me.
I dislike A LOT of things. If you read Drivel, you'll begin to understand the extent of my vitriol. It's not really my fault though; if things weren't so boring and rubbish, I wouldn't have to hate them. It's not indiscriminate hatred, it's only directed towards that which, in my view, deserves scorn.
The main categories of things that I dislike are as follows:
1) Mind-numbing lad-pub rock. (Artic Monkeys and their ilk.)
2) The publications that champion the above. (NME.)
3) Overly successful for apparently no reason children. (Theo.)
4) Student nights. (Club Sandwich.)
5) Stupid fashion trends. (Where to start?)
6) Fruit and vegetables and anything that comes in a sauce. (Except cheese sauce. Not a real category I know.)
7) Post-Feminism. (VICE, American Apparel.)
8) Music snobbery. (Uffie may be crap but she's not 'The worst thing to happen to music in the last ten years.')
9) Right wing politics. (I'm not a Marxist but how can you be a genuinely good person if you vote Tory?)
10) Everything else boring, pretentious (in a bad way), ugly (not people), trite, unfair, sexist, racist and generally terrible.
I'll try to include things that I like and enjoy too. If there's room.
I dislike A LOT of things. If you read Drivel, you'll begin to understand the extent of my vitriol. It's not really my fault though; if things weren't so boring and rubbish, I wouldn't have to hate them. It's not indiscriminate hatred, it's only directed towards that which, in my view, deserves scorn.
The main categories of things that I dislike are as follows:
1) Mind-numbing lad-pub rock. (Artic Monkeys and their ilk.)
2) The publications that champion the above. (NME.)
3) Overly successful for apparently no reason children. (Theo.)
4) Student nights. (Club Sandwich.)
5) Stupid fashion trends. (Where to start?)
6) Fruit and vegetables and anything that comes in a sauce. (Except cheese sauce. Not a real category I know.)
7) Post-Feminism. (VICE, American Apparel.)
8) Music snobbery. (Uffie may be crap but she's not 'The worst thing to happen to music in the last ten years.')
9) Right wing politics. (I'm not a Marxist but how can you be a genuinely good person if you vote Tory?)
10) Everything else boring, pretentious (in a bad way), ugly (not people), trite, unfair, sexist, racist and generally terrible.
I'll try to include things that I like and enjoy too. If there's room.
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