Stingrage. Or 'Why After Almost Ten Years Of Listening I Still Can't Decide Whether Or Not I Love 'Roxanne''

As a self-proclaimed feminist, it's not unusual for me to be found, unreasonably angered by the sort of situation that would not even register in the minds of the vast majority of the population. Take for example, the latest advert for Birds Eye, referred to as 'The Proposal'. Since the first time I saw the adverts, I have sat fuming as the banter of a supposedly average couple transforms into the everyday sexism that we as females have been socially programmed to stand. But the most incriminating line of this advert: "If you carry on cooking like this I might have to marry you." Witty, right? And of even further frustration, after this atrocity of a statement, the woman in the situation does not react at all. The theme of their adverts are The Food of Life. The most irritating thing about it is that Birds Eye is trying to make these adverts seem like normal, everyday life and in doing that, and showing the advert in between primetime shows, they are teaching young women the wrong thing to expect and tolerate. All this anger, for one line in an advert.

So, obviously, I - some might say - overreact to what I perceive to be sexist. But one might ask how I react to the sexism in the music industry. Listening to rap music from a young age, I might be immune to the crazy real sexism in that genre. But, of late, I've been noticing it in other music. And with my music basis so strongly entrenched in the past, especially the 60s, it's inevitable that it crosses my path. Yet, I am still at a loss on whether or not to stop listening to the music. Would you? Do sexist lyrics warrant that? I think, if it incites enough disgust, sure, why not. But what if it just leaves you with a slightly bad taste in your mouth? What if you just cannot be sure? The Police's 'Roxanne' is the one song that causes me the greatest problem.

Here's a rundown of my thoughts whilst listening to this song. And also the song just below:

"Roxanne. You don't have to put on the red light. Those days are over. You don't have to sell your body to the night."

The singer is telling Roxanne that she no longer needs to sell herself. She can free herself. I mean, Roxanne could probably decide that herself but never mind, Sting. As you were...

Sidenote - I would really like to hear Roxanne's side of this...

"Roxanne. You don't have to wear that dress tonight."

Uh, what if Roxanne likes that dress? What if she thinks it makes her look sexy? I don't know, I don't know...

"Walk the streets for money. You don't care if it's wrong or right."

First of all, I know this is a euphemism, but prostituting is harder than walking the streets. It really is a much tougher job.

Secondly, is it wrong or right? I think his saying this makes me wonder whether the singer - Sting - thinks that it is wrong or not. And whose place is it to say whether it is wrong or right? In my personal opinion, there is nothing at all wrong with prostitution. Being sold into the sex trade, that is a different matter. But I strongly believe that for some women, this is the best way for them to make money. So why should we demean that? Why Sting!?

"... Roxanne - Put on the red light"

RoxANNNNNNEEEEEEEE 

RoxAAAAAAAAANNNNEEEEEEE

RoxAAAAAANNNNNEEEEEEE - PUDOHWN THE RED LAAAAAIGHT

"... I loved you since I knew ya"

Ahem. Incorrect grammar.

But that's cute. How nice.

"I wouldn't talk down to you"

That's great. He respects this girl, despite the fact that he cannot seem to get over her being a prostitute. At least he wouldn't talk down to her!

"I have to tell you just how I feel. I won't share you with another man."

WoahwoahwoahwoahWOAH. Did you not just say you wouldn't talk down to her? And now you're telling her you will not share her with another man? Not that you don't like sharing her with another man (Men, by the way. Prostitutes don't just sleep with one man. If that's the case, she may or may not be cheating on you, sorry!). You are telling her you will not. How rude and condescending of you. Having just said you basically respect her, you sure are not showing it.

"I know my mind is made up, so put away your make up."

ARE YOU FOR REAL, MAN? This guy has made the decision for Roxanne that prostituting is no longer for her. He has decided. That is pretty darn sexist. 

And apparently now that he has made this decision, Roxanne cannot wear any make up. Can you imagine this level of male ownership? A woman is no longer allowed to make herself look pretty because she has already been bought, taken off the market. Disgusting.
Wait, isn't that the point though? He wants her to stop being a prostitute because she doesn't need to sell herself? Or is it that, now, he only belongs to her? That he has bought her and taken her away? Does that not make him her pimp? I'm confused...

"Told you once I won't tell you again"

I'm done, I'm actually done. How can he even say that? As if he is her parent. "Roxanne I have told you once, I will not tell you again. You need to stop prostituting." What a dick. I'm so done...

"... Roxanne..."

PUDOHNTHERADLAAAIIIIIGHT

PUDOHNTHERADLAAAIIIIIGHT

PUDOHNTHERADLAAAIIIIIGHT

PUDOHNTHERADLAAAIIIIIGHT

So, what I am trying to say is that, as yet, 'Roxanne' has escaped my feminist boycott because it's catchy as. I love The Police. They are fantastic. Sting's voice is fabulous and their bass lines are some of my favourites in any music. But I still cannot say I love 'Roxanne'. I just cannot get past how awful this character - I am not saying it's Sting by any means - acts towards Roxanne, who appears to be his girlfriend. He is just a terrible person. I could not date such a person. He seems to be trying to save this girl but he cannot do it without being the worst human alive. So after almost a decade of listening to and adoring every musical quality of this song, I will never admit I love it. To anyone. It is just against my feminist sensibilities. Sozguise.

Xena, Warrior Princess?

When I was younger, I was brilliant at waking up early. Every single day I would be up at 5am, no alarms necessary. It was the best because I could just relax for a few hours as school started at nine and was only five minutes away. In this free time, I would grab a bowl of cereal, set up my tiny table in the dark and watch TV really quietly so as not to get caught. Obviously at that time it was slim pickings for shows. I mean, Sexcetera was still on at 5.30am. It was risky! But I always found something to watch. At first, I was a Berenstein Bears fan but when I got a bit older I discovered a new love: Xena.

Xena was amazing.

As a ten-year-old, she became my life hero. Xena was strong and independent. She had a mind of her own. In Xena's world, men were not in charge. She was. She had adventure and excitement and a hella lot of leg on show for a warrior princess. But I was ten. I hardly noticed these issues.

I hadn't watched it for years but found Xena playing on the Horror Channel (bit extreme, I thought) earlier today and began watching. It was the Caligula suicide episode and all I could think of was how much I wish a designer would use the show as inspiration for their collection. I mean, look at this breastplate! I really want this to be a dress that I can purchase... 

Alas, the world is not quite at my level yet. So I will have to make do with nothing.

*sadface*

And also I thought of how Aphrodite was an absolute hot mess. She looked like a nineties' David Lynch character. Or Drew Barrymore in that Never Been Kissed scene. 

But mostly my thoughts were that of misplaced faith. It depressed me to realise how sexualised this girl, who had been my first feminist hero, was. Xena wore battle armour with legs and arms blatantly exposed. And Lucy Lawless was clearly considered quite conventionally attractive. Why do we do this? As a society, why do we demean the strength of women that we pretend to empower?

It's a huge question and not one that can be answered simply. There are examples everywhere, from the impracticality of Wonder Woman's strapless suit for crime-fighting (girl must have some serious fashion tape going on!) to the shock of accomplished journalist Josie Geller's friends when they realise that at 25 *shock horror* she's never been kissed! 

I commend this new wave of writers taking a leaf from Joss Whedon's book. Those writing characters such as New Girl's Jess, Game of Thrones' Arya and American Horror Story's Lana are truly starting a great new movement that has the potential to inspire a generation of young women. One day I hope to contribute to the change beginning in the entertainment industry at present. I want to create characters that pass the Bechdel test without trying, characters who are as complex as I am. I want to show women as they are, as human beings and nothing less. 

A Whole New World

Yesterday was probably the last Christmas I will have with my family for a long time. It was special, but there was a sense of apprehension too. Everyone knew it would soon be over. My mother feared for how much she would miss me. My dad regretted not spending enough time with me as a child. My aunt and I worried for the future: how would my parent's relationship survive without me?

It's tough not to feel daunted when you know you are soon to be moving on. Today, I plan on sending off my Common App. My only hope is that somewhere in America wants me as much as I want them. I got my SAT results this week and it really hit home that I will be gone from here soon. I am scared, I'll admit. I have no real safety net, except home. But home is not a place I want to be after September. I want a new life and a new world. I want Rhode Island, or New Hampshire. I want Boston. I want white Christmases. I don't want to go to Bristol, or UEA, or Exeter, even though I know they are all wonderful places to get your degree. I just... No bone in my body wants to remain here, except for the single vertebrae that reminds me how scary my crazy plans are and creates all these fears in my mind about the future.

I think about how big a change it will be all the time. It is constantly at the back of my mind, but I always have to remember a little something my darling Madeline once said to me: "Any story worth telling starts where your comfort zone ends!" So I am ready. Today, I will stop holding back and putting it off. I want America. And I want this future. And I am ready to make it happen.

Obsessive Compulsive Love

"OCD" - Neil Hilborn

Sometimes, the internet drops a true gem into your hands. Discovering this was one of those times.

"The first time I saw her

Everything in my head went quiet..."

So begins the most beautiful love poem I have ever had the chance to see performed. I dare you not to feel serious feelings as you watch Neil Hilborn speak of love and loss, a typical subject, granted, but portrayed in such a transfixing way. The thing that is special about this poem, though, is that the relationship in the poem is plagued by obsessive compulsive disorder. For anyone who knows someone who is obsessive compulsive, you can understand how hard it is for that person to function normally. Imagine how hard it is for you, as a relatively normal person, to develop a relationship with someone. Now imagine that you, with all your kinks and downfalls, also have to avoid every crack in the pavement, or have to repeat each motion you do seven times, or have to organise all your items in colours. 

The poem begins with the couple's first meeting, and with the girl enchanted by all his quirks. But eventually the quirks become too much for his love and she leaves him alone. The story of so much of love, but so much more heart-wrenching.

I really have no idea whether or not Neil is actually OCD, but his vision of this relationship and the illness is beguiling. Love is difficult enough as it is, which is probably why this poem is the first to almost move me to tears. Please, press play and enjoy his performance mastery for yourself.

And also, have a look at his other work. This guy is a poetry slam genius and I hope, one day, I'll have the chance to watch him perform live.

Changes

Sorry for my week-long absence... It was probably longer but, all the same, I apologise. 

I spent this last week at Soul Survivor (Week B) in Somerset with about fifteen kids from my church. It was a good week, and much better than I thought it would be. I even found myself enjoying my first time camping! I was prepared to hate my time there with intense passion and I think, up to a point on about the second or third day, I was still certain that that would happen. Yet I found myself so engrossed in it all. Recently, I had been feeling disillusioned by Christianity and my own faith. If I'm honest, I was about ready to call myself out on it and stop labelling myself Christian. And I still have many of these same issues with religion (not just Christianity - all organised religion), but this week I silently dedicated myself to Christ once again and I feel so good about it. I feel a shift in my outlook on life, as if I will finally be able to do the things I have wanted to for so long. Yes, I do fear the struggle of faith in these modern times but I sense that I really am not alone, and feeling the Spirit basically every day this week made me remember this. It was wonderful to spend this time in such a spiritual place and I am so looking forward to next year's event.

But what I really want to write about is how I spent my free time this week. I spent a lot of time with boys this week, which reminded me how much I missed having good male friends. This is a major downfall of going to a girls' school. You lose the ability to make good guy friends, and those are my favourite type of friends! For me, a girl who has always identified as rather boyish, being trapped in a girls' school for five years and only knowing the sort of boys that are absolute twats made me feel as if I would lose that forever. You know, in primary school, I was basically only friends with boys. I played kiss chase on the boys' team, I played football with them, I created Captain Underpants sequels with my best boy friend... I even challenged them to burp the alphabet. Having male friends has always been so natural and so comfortable for me and I had been fed up of female friends and their constant bickering and desire to talk about how attractive or "slutty" others are. So this week, in which I spent the majority of my time with some awkward sixteen-year-olds and the rest with some immature thirteen-year-olds, made me feel so relaxed. For the first time in so long, I had no need to play up my adult, mature side. I danced terribly whenever I wanted, I laughed at their shamefully bad innuendo, I had used underwear thrown in my face (then threw it at others), I partook in extreme Nerf gun battles, I injured people (and myself), I played pranks... I felt like me again. It felt right.

I spent most of my time with a group of three boys, two sixteen-year-olds and a fifteen-year-old. One of those, I felt closer to than the others. It had been in my mind to make friends with him for an awfully long time, verging on a year, but this week I finally decided to make it happen. On the second day, I tagged along with him and his friends and this pattern of being ditched by my friends and having to go around with them carried on for most of the rest of the week. By the third day, he called me his friend (a requirement for me because I prefer not to assume friendship before it is confirmed), by the fourth, I was hanging out in his tent at midnight (against the rules according to the fifteen-year-old who I made incredibly uncomfortable) and by the fifth, he was laying in my lap and being asked if I was his girlfriend by an eight-year-old. In all honesty, I cannot say that that is not what I want. I do. I have been interested in him for a while. But I feel that at this point, I just want to be friends. Yet I am worried. Often, on these sorts of trips, you bond with a group and suddenly, when you get back it seems as if it never happened. You go on with life as if that week of it never occurred, as if you never shared some great moments, as if you never made any memories. This time, I refuse to let that happen. I refuse to neglect a relationship with one of the few people I have found that I am similar to. I refuse to damage a tie with someone who I already miss. I refuse to lose a friendship so good that a twenty-five-year-old said of it after less than a week, "That's love". I cannot let this connection be severed.

(But I probably will because that is what I do, after all. I am horrifyingly bad at maintaining relationships...) I am not about to sit around and wait for myself to ruin this though. I have to do something about this. I have to make some changes. And this will be my most important one...

{Undesirable} vs. Dress Codes

Yet again, this was going to be a fashion post. But my camera hates me so I guess we have to deal with it. Anyway, I guess this is sort of  a fashion post. Here's my stance on dress codes.

First of all, clothing of appropriate standard, which serve purpose both in school and out of school, is incredibly difficult to find. Hardly any item of clothing I see on a regular basis are to dress code standard. Shirts are sheer, jackets are leather or denim, shoes are creepers, trainers or Dr Martens, trousers are non-existent if not jeans… It is becoming impossible to easily purchase clothing adhering to regulation. Why must we, as students, worry about the state of our dressage when we have other concerns, namely our education to focus on? Most American schools do not have uniforms, allowing students to concentrate on their work, and whatever else may come their way. And a growing number of schools in the UK, such as King Edward VI community college in the fabulous town of Totnes (from this Guardian article), have dropped uniform allowing students to only adhere to the 3Cs rule – clean, comfortable and covered up. Should that not be the way it is for everyone? As long as you’re clothed and ready to learn, should uniformity really matter?

Secondly, on the case of bullying, I do not agree that bullying is classist. Bullying is pervasive regardless of your family background. A suit will not make a bizarre girl any more likely to make friends. If you are going to be bullied, you will be, regardless of your monetary status. And I can assure you that, in a girls’ school, though they would like you to think it, brands do not really matter. You are genuinely more likely to be ridiculed for carrying a Prada bag around with you 24/7 than for a simple unbranded one, because it will make you the abnormal one. And self-expression through clothing is honestly more likely to make you real and genuine friends. If you wear a suit, everyone is the same until you get talking. But when wearing your favourite band tees, people will come to you and ask about your music taste, say that they like the same music and socialise. Freer dress codes allow potential friends and acquaintances to be pre-filtered for you, which is especially useful for socially challenged introverts such as myself.

Finally, with a disallowance of “skirts longer than 10cm above the knee”, “satin” and “tops with straps thinner than 5cm”, it seems that the dress code targets mostly females for indecencies. Dress codes are often innately sexist, not giving women the freedom to wear short skirts, in particular. Why? Is the view of my upper thigh suggestive? Does the sight of my exposed shoulder attract males? As a feminist, I refuse to alter the way I dress to save lustful boys from temptation. Rules like this perpetuate the classic rapist defence, “Her skirt was too short. She was asking for it.” I refuse to condone that. I refuse to adhere to regulations set to place the responsibility of sexual attraction on the female alone. In the 21^st century, this should not be the way women have to live.

On a recent vote taken throughout our school, I was with the year eights, talking to their form tutor who is also my biology teacher. On the question “Do you agree with the proposed dress code?” There was a box to tick for yes, and another for no. He drew in another box, saying to me, “That’s going to piss them off.” I turned to see “jeans” written next to it. Jeans... I concur.

Feminism Ain't Dead!

The idea of feminism being irrelevant and antiquated is one purveyed throughout society, from the mass media to the naïve students at the high-achieving girls’ school that I attend. That is not to say that these people do not want gender equality; they just refuse to accept the fact that feminism is still necessary in today’s society.

A few months ago, a friend came to me, asking for “feminist help”. Happy to educate someone new on the importance of gender rights, I agreed. His responses to my texts, however, were incredibly alarming. Often he would return with, “But women have their equal pay now. Shouldn’t they just get over it now?” This infuriated me (just to clarify, he was not representing his own view and rather trying to make a balanced argument on the relevancy of feminism for a school project) and at the time I had no real rebuttal to give except that equal pay was not yet a reality and that there is SO much more to feminism than that.  According to the European Institute for Gender Equality’s Gender Equality Index, even the UK is only three quarters of the way to economic gender equality. So how can feminism be out-dated if it has not even achieved what it set out to do? 

Well, you see, the issue with feminism is that it has one fatal flaw: its name. Feminism, as a concept, was first began to give females the same rights as males, a noble cause. At its core is still this desire for men and women to be equal, but with this seeming equality in the Western world, the use of a pro-XX word seems wrong and obsolete. What is required to revive feminism is gender-neutrality. As a self-professed feminist, I don’t care for the “girl power” of the 90s; what I want is equality. I want to see young girls encouraged to be footballers and rugby players, and I want young boys to be comfortable with the idea of being hairdressers and nurses. I hate the chauvinism that exists in male-dominated professions. I want things to get better for females, but that does not mean it has to get any worse for males, and I think the fear of it getting worse is what puts most men off of feminism.

Another thing that puts not only males, but also females (myself included!) off of feminism is their perception of feminists and feminism. When I first started reading up on feminism, the only feminists that I knew were all what I like to call “militant feminists”; I had heard horror stories of some going to anti-abortion protests and shouting in the faces of pro-lifers, telling them that their beliefs, even their beliefs in God, were all wrong. That was not the sort of person that I wished to be perceived as, and I think a huge proportion of potential young feminists do not identify as such because of this. You do not need to believe that men are unnecessary for the continuation of the human race and all that crazy stuff! So many people I know think that! And unfortunately, I think even more young girls believe that calling themselves feminists will make them less desirable to males, a saddening reality both because it should not do and because, in my opinion, you should believe what you think is right, not what you believe will make you more likeable to others.

In my honest opinion, feminism is just as relevant today as it has always been. Feminism is needed because there are still more women than men working against domestic violence and rape culture and numerous other gender-related issues. Males and females must be seen as equal to discourage wage discrepancies, to obliterate rape culture, to stop FGM, to end stigmatisation of LGBT communities, to stamp down on gender-related violence, to normalise “house-husbands” married to working wives, to kill body-shaming culture, to allow people to be themselves and to be happy, regardless of how they are.

Yes, I am a feminist and I will be until the day that I die. You should be too.