Wednesday 2 April 2014

Food and Feminism...

It's a typical Wednesday night, I'm tweeting a selfie, debating what flavour pesto would best compliment my salmon, and BBC news is on in the background (because there's only so much 'Friends' a girl can watch). Hmm let's see, there's like, gallons of pollution dust all over England, (apparently- can't say I've noticed), conducting an orchestra is too physically demanding for women, Holly Willoughby's preg.. Wait, hang on, go back one? Suddenly distracted from hashtagging my selfie I rewind. And yes, it seems I did hear that correctly.

On prime time TV, in the 21st century, TWENTY-FIRST FOR CRYING OUT LOUD, women conductors are being told they're just not 'strong' enough to hack it. The fact that they're perfectly qualified and talented in the art does not seem to distract classical music's resident chauvinists from the fact that they have a vagina and are therefore obviously incapable. Did I mention we were in the 21st century? My stomach is turning - rather like Emily Pankhurst in her grave, I'd imagine.

Granted, Bruno Mantovani composing some sort of positive correlation between conducting talent and physical strength is downright ludicrous (stick to composing music mate). But he did not make me want to be sick on myself quite like Vasily Petrenko did, his comment rendering me uncharacteristically speechless: 'A sweet girl on the podium can make ones thoughts drift towards something else'.
Fucking. Pervert.

This notion of a women's sexuality hindering her ability to conduct an orchestra strikes me as bullshit of the highest order, projected as a viewpoint in order to detract from Petrenko's obvious inability to deal with a women in charge.  Truth of the matter is, no matter how much we preach equality, no matter how many token females we place in the House of Lords, no matter how many women are judges in the highest court in the land (which us girls should shut up and be grateful for by the way, so I've been told), there's clearly dicks still out there with the audacity to voice their outdated opinions - not a hint of embarrassment, no explanation necessary.

Yes we can wear short skirts and have pre-marital sex yada yada yada, but we're sure as hell not equal. Not yet, anyway.

Feeling rather dejected by the realisation of my previous naïvety, my mind wandered back to food (as it often does). At least the pesto conundrum was solved. I put my salmon back in the freezer replacing it with a big old pizza. Because SOD MEN I CAN GET FAT IF I WANT TO.
And I'm having a Yorkie bar.

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