Doctor Who's Jodie Whittaker: Nude Photos, The Sun and Mail Online (throw them in the sea)

 This is by no means the first time the Fail and the Scum have been misogynistic shits, objectifying and demonising women. And this is by no means the first time, nor will it be the last, that celebrity women have been shamed for nude photographs or scenes in their work, as I've covered before with the 'scandal' around Emma Watson's beautiful pictures in Vanity Fair. They try to portray women's bodies as something dirty, something shameful, but at the same time something that men are entitled to objectify, ogle, and get gratification from.

 I was utterly speechless when Jodie Whittaker was announced as the thirteenth Doctor. I was sitting in the bedroom on my DS, running through Pokemon X again and trying to complete my Pokedex when Paul called me into the living room. I'd lost track of the time and didn't realise the announcement was coming up, so when I saw the video... I couldn't even make words, I just couldn't. I was so, so happy. I can't wait for Whittaker's first episode. And how do these publications mark such a landmark announcement? Well of course by making it all about her body, her appearance, and her value as a sexual object. They same way they mark any achievement by a woman.

 Needless to say I'm absolutely foaming about this. What the genuine fuck? For all the supposed 'paedo hunting' the S*n like to think they do, they are now sexualising not only the idea of nudity to children through this, but an iconic children's television character. And what message does this send to the young women who watch Doctor Who? It tells them to be ashamed of their bodies, ashamed of nudity, and that they only exist for men's gratification - if they meet the unrealistic standards that these media outlets set for them to be measured against.

But think of it this way: during his time as the Doctor, Matt Smith appeared in the BBC adaptation of Christopher Isherwood's autobiography Goodbye to Berlin called 'Christopher and His Kind'. If you haven't seen or read it then I implore you to do so; you'll laugh, you'll cry, you'll beg for more. It chronicle's Isherwood's time (played by Matt Smith) in the heydey of Weimar Berlin's underground gay scene, amidst the rise of the Nazi Party. It's both heartbreaking and heartwarming. During the filming of the sex scenes, the BBC implored director Geoffrey Sax that they had to be careful not to show shots of Smith's bare behind, as they couldn't show the Doctor's arse on telly. Sad, yes, but fair enough. They managed perfectly without doing so, despite the fact Smith has a glorious arse. Starring in not only nude scenes, but gay sex scenes. The tabloids could've had a field day with it but didn't, just a small article here or there. And I'm glad they didn't, it would've been a total violation of Smith's role, trying to slander and scapegoat him for playing an such an iconic role. It would be a betrayal of Isherwood's literary legacy, reducing his life and work to nothing more than a sex scene. So why are they doing the same to Whittaker? 

 Oh yeah, because they're misogynistic pieces of shit who don't believe women exist for any reason other than to be sexualised and objectified. By men. There's is absolutely nothing wrong with nudity, but the way they portray it in the press is sickening. So the next time you see a copy of the Daily Hate Mail or the Scum, do the world a favour and chuck them in the bloody sea along with anybody who reads it.

How I Celebrated International Women's Day: a Day of Body Positivity

 International Women's Day is by and large my favourite international day of all. Screw Christmas, New Year's, even Halloween, IWD is my favourite day of the year. I have thankfully, as of yet, not heard a single "what about International Men's Day?" or "Women are equal now, we don't need it anymore" this year (follow the link for more info on this shocking injustice). I firmly believe that anybody who tries to make these arguments should be fired. Not from their jobs but from a canon. In the wake of my last post about the folk trying to cause a shitstorm that never happened over Emma Watson's supposedly scandalous topless photoshoot, I've been thinking about ways in which I celebrate my own body. It's not exactly a secret that my body and I have a rocky relationship at best. I berate it, pump it full of chemicals, push it to the extremes without nourishing it properly; and it rewards me by getting ill and breaking down at the worst possible times. Sort of a mutually assured destruction thing.

 But I'm slowly learning to treat myself better and focus more on my body's accomplishments than the perceived shortcomings. And one way I've been doing this? A wonderful way, which has given me so much confidence, and enabled me to do things I never thought myself capable of doing...?

 I'm talking about Burlesque of course!! Now let me tell you the story of a wonderful lady called Pandora Foxx... (also, be prepared for some weird third person shit).


 Pandora wasn't always her name, for a while she used to go by Millie. Before that she never had a name, she was biding her time, waiting for her time to shine. Her alter ego, Lizi, had always been quite shy and for a long time wouldn't say boo to a goose. For any of you who know Lizi this must be hard to imagine; the Lizi you know now is gobby, seems self-assured, and will happily kick the arse of any man who dares to catcall her. But until she became political, started speaking in front of people and organising marches she wouldn't say anything. Maybe it was all about having something to say, who knows?

 Five years ago, Lizi's Mam took her to a birthday party for the wonderful Freelance Dance studio where she had been taking bellydance classes. Surrounded by cupcakes, lovely ladies, and watching some wonderful performances, it was a great night. One of those performances happened to be a pole dance demonstration. She was transfixed. The longstanding stereotype of pole dancing was one of sleazy men throwing money at women grinding on poles. Not anymore. Seeing such a confident and capable woman, demonstrating her strength and grace to an awesome Def Leppard soundtrack had Lizi captivated. She wanted to be such a confident and capable woman. And so she did.

 Admittedly, being only 17 at the time, she needed a letter of permission from her Mammy so she could take part in classes. Had she been two years or more younger, you can imagine the sensation the likes of the Daily HateMail would have made out of a "woman writes permission letter for daughter to learn stripping" type story. But that's so far from the truth. While it did make her feel incredibly confident and sexy, learning pole under the keen eye of the amazing Ellouise Hempstead gave her such a boost in self-confidence. Not in a "oh, I look so sexy" sort of way, but "I have friction burn on my wrists, my shoulders hurt, and I'm sweating like a bitch and need sugar... What a Goddess I am!!" way.


 It was during this time of learning pole classes where Lizi met Kristi.

 Ellouise ran a drop-in pole class on Sundays for women of all levels of pole ability, an hour dedicated to refining our techniques, strengthening our moves, and generally having a fantastic time. During her time at college Lizi would live for these Sunday pole sessions, something to break up the week-to-week stress, where she could chat with funny, confident, and outgoing women in a wonderful space where they could refine their skills. During one of these sessions Lizi met a wonderful woman by the name of Kristi. With piercings; tattoos; flowing, gorgeous red hair; and a cheeky smile that could bring anybody to their knees. She and Ellouise had chatted a little about burlesque during the class and Lizi, being the curious bear she is, couldn't help but overhear that Kristi was running classes. As they were sharing a pole during the lesson Lizi tried to make some small talk about burlesque but couldn't quite muster the courage to make a coherent with such an awe-inspiring woman. Weeks later, when she saw in the Freelance Dance Facebook group that Kristi was running burlesque 101 classes, Lizi jumped at the chance!! And hasn't looked back since.

 After thirteen shows, several solo routines, and thousands of laughs since... She couldn't be happier. And during this time the wonderful persona that we know as Pandora was born. With Lizi having a passion for Greek mythology, and a whole host of crappy mental health, Lizi couldn't think of a better name: something to describe the depth of her psychosis, how far it spirals down and how closely this affliction is guarded, leading to the whole "Pandora's Box" allegory. As for the Foxx... It rhymes with Box and she is one Foxxy lady!

 Pandora's onstage antics have given Lizi an unrivaled amount of confidence. Being eased from doing a bra peel (taking off your bra) in a dance studio with four other women as part of a dance course, to eventually having the nerve to take off that bra on a stage, in front of strangers, to a song you have chosen... It's really fucking scary!! Given the fact that during her first solo routine, Pandora (known as Millie at the time) realised that the belt that was part of her costume had gotten stuck on the chair she was using in her routine. In the first 30 seconds of the compare's introduction she would have been more than happy to run off stage, with that chair attached to her by the belt like some sort of weird metal tortoise shell. But if Kristi had taught her anything about burlesque, and in fact life, it was this:

 "If you don't feel like a tit when you're doing it, then you're not doing it right."

Back to first person here, I honestly don't know if I'd be the plucky and strong woman that I am without Kristi's teaching, Ellouise's discipline, or the strength of the many incredible women I've shared a stage within the past four years. Honestly, every woman I've met through burlesque have given me something inspirational to add to my life: body positivity (Whatsername the Rocket Queen), being brave in the face of trauma (Bunny Boudoir), if you aren't enjoying yourself then what's the point? (Felicia Flutterby), and take care of yourself and go at your own pace (Hannah Hendrix).

 It's a very powerful feeling, just standing in front of a mirror after coming off stage and knowing that you've done something incredible. Something that's gotten a crowd to cheer and yearn for more. On days when you wake up and feel like (for lack of a better word) utter, utter shite. Those days when you don't want to get out of bed. The days you don't want to take your meds. The days you don't want to see *people* or have anything to do with another human being. The days that all you want to do is lie in bed, watch a crappy film, and drink wine. These days can be both crappy and beautiful at the same time. Or even if you don't have the strength to reach for the laptop and a DVD, or your phone to call a friend, you're still surviving.

 IWD has become somewhat bittersweet for me. The past three years I have went to my friend's memorial tree, sat there and written her a letter, leaving it in a little hole at the base of the tree. This year I couldn't manage a visit and while I was so determined to hate myself for failing to keep our appointment I knew for a fact that it's something she would totally understand. She wouldn't have held it against it that I spent the time that I would have spent visiting her in my bed, crying my eyes out, wondering why I can't get my shit together. It was something she was very familiar with. And I know that she knows I spent the day thinking of her, gazing at my tattoo and wishing she were still here. Anyway, I digress...

 These are just some of the innumerable women who have inspired me and given me strength, I honestly don't know who I would be without The Blue Belles and House of Trixie Blue. They've given me so much and my life wouldn't be the same without them. I know that that's a phrase that gets thrown about a lot but these women are often the difference between me spending a day not leaving the house, or one leaving and coming home in a better mood than I could imagine. So I want to use March 9th as an International Women's Day "Boxing Day" where I spend the time thinking of all the women that made me the person I am today. And I can't love you all enough.

Strength and Solidarity, Sisters <3

Emma Watson Topless Picture Scandal!?! ...Calm the Fuck Down

 So I read on the Independent today that people are kicking off about Emma Watson's allegedly topless pictures in Vanity Fair. Apparently this is sparking feminist debate. Surely as a Harry Potter fan and a feminist I should be drawing up an angry placard and protesting outside of her house about now, right!? But really... What's the big deal? Let me break this down:

 Firstly, countless female celebrities have posed topless for some publication or another, and when has the media ever prompted us as feminists to take up our pitchforks (or broomsticks, your choice)  to go and be annoyed at them? None that I can recall. 

 It is precisely the tabloid type newspapers now that are telling us we should be angry at Watson - read: The S*n and the Daily HateMail - that when she was still a teenage posted news stories about alleged topless pictures that turned out to be photoshopped. I really hope that they can see their own hypocrisy in this. Then again, right-wing tabloids admitting they're wrong... I don't think they have a font size small enough for that yet. The Scum for example ran a piece many years ago which was a countdown to her 16th birthday and therefore legal, so their editorial team could perv over her in print without public outcry. At the same time however, it is the same publications which are crying "child star turned harlot!!". So... In other words you're quite happy to sexualise her as a child, but when it comes to her trying to express her sexuality as an adult woman you're outraged? Am I right? Yeah... Just a little fucked up. 

 Secondly it's that whole rhetoric that because she was a child star for one generation she should therefore find one thing and stick to it, for news purposes. In this case she has chosen to be a feminist, so she can't appear in any sort of 'sexual' way in the media. Who are they to say that the two are mutually exclusive? Hell, I'm a fierce-as-fuck-feminist who does burlesque on a weekly basis (a post on this is to come!), and who is the Daily Fail to say I can't shake my tits on stage and still be a feminist? While they were so excited for the countdown for her to be legal, they are the same ones now chastising her for being "too adult". Sooo... They were happy to sexualise her when she was a child, but are outraged and try to infantilise her as an adult? I'm not the only one who thinks that's a little fucked up, am I?

 And finally, yes, out of curiosity I looked up the pictures. What can I say? BUT! If you look at the rest of the photos from the shoot then you'll realise that it's a transitional piece; mimicking basically what I said above: her transition from child star to leading woman. A child to a woman. Celebrating it not in the way that scummy tabloids chose to but in her own way, using her body as a canvas in the process. Plus! Once again in that photo shoot I spotted a topless man twice! Where is the outrage over this dude who was probably a kid once, posing for a picture without a vest on? Disgraceful!! If MRAs want something to complain about then here it is: why is nobody protesting about that poor man being photographed topless, the objectification of men, showing more nipple, won't somebody think of the children!? 

 Yes, this is exactly how the tabloids complaining about these pictures sound to me, and hopefully you. So to sum up: nice tits, Granger, you look lush*; and please find another scapegoat tabloids. Maybe research into everybody who has ever voiced a role in a Disney film to see what they have ever done to maybe corrupt the kiddies.

*I hope all of you will realise that I mean this in an entirely Geordie and friendships of women way mean. I do not mean 'nice tits' in an objectifying way, bit in a "lady, I love you so much and you look like a Goddess" way. As she played the role of somebody so significant to my formative years I feel a rather close bond with Emma, and like to think that in some way - as a fellow badass woman she may be some sort of friend**.

** Yes, yes, okay; I sound like a creepy stalker. What I mean is that I didn't have many friends as child so I made friends with my books. Happy now!? Jeez, you guys are dickeads.

Smashing the Patriarchy... But I want to keep this bit

 Yo readers, it's been a while. To follow up from my last post, where I was lying in my bath at 3 in the morning convinced I was dying because of medication withdrawal... As you probably guessed I didn't die - hooray! - yes, I'm glad too. But it was a pretty horrible experience. Tonight I'm starting a similar medication instead of that one, so understandably I'm a little anxious. So I thought I'd wrack my brains for something I'd wanted to write about ages ago to take my mind off of the anxiety. Anyway, here goes.

 Long-time readers will know that this started out as a wedding blog, My Big Fat Feminist Wedding. As a throwback to this blog's roots then, I thought I'd share a ridiculous, sappy piece because - fuck everything else - it's something to keep me distracted.

 While I was younger I didn't always picture myself getting married, I was pretty torn on the issue. Long story short, I am getting married, and I couldn't be happier. But after I got engaged I started thinking what in the 21st century could be considered 'classic' traditions; not always observed but still mentioned and/or joked about. Like the groom throwing the bride's garter etc. Three years ago I posted about the petition to get the mother's name on marriage certificates. And while it's yet to come into action it's another detail which shows us that marriage is an innately patriarchal institution. But we can always change this. My plan is for my mother to walk me down the aisle along with my father, not because they own me or I'm 'their property' to give away but because hell, they did a damn good job bringing me up and they should be allowed to show off what a good job they did to friends and family (if I do say so myself). Plus I'm a little iffy in front of lots of people so it'll be nice to have some buffers. 

 Getting to the point, one thing I've been asked a fair bit about. Several people have said "oh, you're a raging feminist type, you'll never do this". Then they've always been surprised when I've said it's something I've wanted to keep. 

 I want to have a dance with my Daddybear at my wedding.

 Yep, it doesn't sound totally ridiculous written down. But some people have questioned me for it. It's it prioritising him over your Mam? Patriarchy, blah blah? He's too short for you to dance with! 

 Let me answer those in reverse: I'll bring shoes especially for it, his height is however an endless source of amusement. Patriarchy... Not exactly, not if I'm choosing to do it. And as I know my mother so well I know that she can be quite shy, and me dragging her up in front of hundreds of people, all looking at her, could be pretty nightmarish for her. Dad on the other hand... Well, he's the one that I got the "I don't give a fuck" gene from. Plus, given the fact that I'm the one who proposed to my husband-to-be, he's having two best women, and I have a bridesbee, we're not exactly sticking to the gender norms.

 I've always had a good relationship with my Dad. Sure, we had the typical teenageer-parent troubles, lots of shouting and screaming, "you're a dick, you're a dick" "you're grounded" etc. But at the same time he nurtured my love of good music, good books, and history. Without him doing this, as well as not hiding politics from me, I doubt I'd be as tuned-in as I am; or at least I probably would be doing a Sociology degree. And given how gregarious and outgoing he is I don't think he's pass up an opportunity to show me up in front of friends and family!! And I wouldn't want it any other way.

A Belated Happy 2016...and smashin' those Gender Norms (TL,DR: getting a bloke flowers)

 Happy New Year dear readers! We're only what, two weeks into it so this is quite good timing for me. I've been trying my best to keep busy around the house so for once it's in a fantastic state, I'm rather proud of myself. Depressions and anxiety can really get in the way of keeping your living space tidy, you don't want to get out of bed let alone do anything productive yet at the same time you panic about getting everything done, what people will think of the state of your home, how miserable it's making you being in such an untidy environment...it's a vicious cycle. But since New Year I've felt fantastic, staying on an up-spell for a whole fortnight does come with the panic of "when will I be back to being miserable? oh dear, oh dear", but I'm doing my best not to think that way and just enjoy the positivity. It's the happiest I've felt in about six months.

Clear house, clear head!

 Now, down to business...

 My relationship seems to be the best it's been for a while too, probably to do with me feeling better about myself; I love Paul unbelievably but I'm sure many of you with similar conditions also find it hard to appreciate your partner when you feel awful about yourself, and generally feeling not much fun to be around. So since I've been feeling better about myself I've started putting more work into my relationship. It got me thinking too: What little romantic gestures would really make me smile? Then it hit me.

 I've only gotten flowers twice in my life, once from my Dad and once from Paul after he scared me; we'd just gotten the landline installed and he rang up after he finished work, putting on a creepy Gollum voice. It really freaked me out and I may have cried a little bit, so I rang his mobile in hysterics to tell him about the creepy guy that'd just been on the phone. Bad Paulo! But these were totally unprompted, no scaring involved, and I made a cute little card later in the week which I slipped into his jacket pocket before he left for work the next morning. 

 It can be hard to keep a relationship fresh after nearly five years. You can both get a bit lazy, it's something Paul and I are both guilty of but we're both working to turn that around. We're working on having at least one night a week just for the two of us, sort of a date night. Simplicity is a good starting point too, a hug and a 'how was your day?' to a coffee and a cuddle and small acts that build towards bigger things and keep that bond strong.

 Now, going back to the flowers. Out of interest I thought I'd google "getting a guy flowers", just to see what the current status-quo consensus on it is. Two of the top results were 'What gifts for men are equivalent to flowers for women?' on Reddit and 'Help! What's The Man-Friendly Equivalent of Sending Flowers?' from Glamour.com, containing the quote "Of course you can send guys flowers, but I just feel like they don’t appreciate them the way the ladies do." and a link to a delightful sounding article titled "Want to Know What Blow Jobs and Flowers Have in Common?. To save your poor face from the palming it would get I've read the second article for you: apparently you're not allowed to ask for either. *pause here to make a cuppa and calm down/shout to your partner/housemate/pet about how stupid this is*. 

 Just NO! No on all of those fronts. The look on Paul's face when I gave him the flowers was one of gratitude. Other articles I've looked at seem to say that the only acceptable time to send a man flowers is as a Get Well Soon or other non-romantic gesture, why?? They look nice, they smell nice, they really brighten up a room and draw the eye away from any clutter lying around. If a guy likes flowers why not send them? There's nothing 'feminine' about things that look or smell nice, and even if there was then what's wrong with feminine things!? It doesn't make them weak or soppy, in my eyes if you dismiss and dislike something on the grounds that it's feminine then you really don't have much respect for women.

 And as for asking I don't see what's wrong with that either, I asked Paul if he'd maybe get me flowers sometime and he asked the same from me - reciprocation is necessary in relationships! How else will you know what your partner likes?

 And yes, please apply the above advice to blow jobs too.


UPDATE:

 Just thought I'd include this as proof that I'm not putting words in Paul's mouth ;)

 And I'm very angry at this God bloke at the minute too, he really needs to work on his aim. He can't keep going after every 69 year old until he gets Trump. He better stay the hell away from Tim Curry! RIP Alan Rickman <3