I've always counted myself as a feminist. I believe in equality, equal pay, and for any future husband material reading this, I think the 'Waitrose Love Life' ready-made range is the best invention since, well, the microwave. Recently though, I've found myself questioning the term 'feminism' and indeed, whether wearing my 'ain't no wifey' hat (purchased from the eccentric feminist at Camden market) is crushingly hypocritical.
With 2013 being the 100th anniversary of Emily Davison's quite frankly frickin heroic jump infront of the King's horse I haven't been short of radio talk shows covering this subject in a modern context to tune into. Women on these shows though, calling themselves feminists, I found, much to my dismay, to be more bitter and negative than inspiring. My images of women celebrating 'Girl Power' with one another, wearing whatever the hell they fancied and singing Spice Girl's anthems were inexorably fading, only to be replaced by self-important celebrities and catty remarks; recent Twitter spats between Miley and Sinead O'Connor, plus Lilly Allen's attack on young girls in the music industry in the form of a catchy pop hit, both illustrate women on women crime. How is this ok?!
Now I don't know about you, but feminism to me doesn't involve sniping at your fellow sex, making bitchy comments about your colleagues new 'unflattering' suit or that actress' 'botch botox'. To quote the masterpiece that is 'Mean Girls' - 'calling eachother sluts and whores just makes it ok for guys to call us that'.
Moving on to another of my *ehem* intellectual inspirations for this article, the treatment of Amy Willerton by some of the so-called feminists in the 'I'm a Celebrity' camp, has left me nothing short of aghast. Picking on Amy for being a Miss World contestant, for walking around in her bikini and sorry but not sorry, just for being BEAUTIFUL, is not in the spirit of feminism at all. AT ALL. If I had her body I'd wear my bikini to the shops, the supermarket, hell I'd wear it ice-skating if frost bite wasn't a looming threat. Lucy's flirtateous pinching of Vincent Simone's bottom as he paraded around in his tiny boxers, followed by catty remarks about Amy 'posing for ass camera shots' were just unnecessary, disjointed and quite frankly reeked of double standards. This is essentially telling girls they must cover-up for fear of being the object of a man's enjoyment, whilst men can sport their bodies to their hearts content and provide the nation with an innocent 'laugh a minute'. If this is feminism then I don't want anything to do with it.
All that said, I haven't hung up my 'ain't no wifey' hat just yet. I'm all for Vincent Simon's butt being on my screen of an evening, but nothing delights me more than Amy retalliating with her relentless bikini costume changes. This is equality. THIS is feminism.
Leila
