In which I consider sex

Posted on May 21, 2012 by Ashley

Screengrab from Blokely.com

A couple of days ago, I read a piece on Blokely* (a man-website which I am quite fond of), which left me feeling a little cold. ‘I can teach you how to get a woman into bed’ tells the story of Kezia Noble, a 28-year-old pick up artist (PUA), whose career is based around teaching men how to “have one night stands, bed strippers and blag threesomes”.

The phrasing is deliberately provocative – it begs you to jump up on a feminist soapbox and decry misogyny. Indeed the first line of the piece is “many women may hate the fact I teach men the tricks of getting women into bed but I don’t care”. Oh, sweetie.

She claims to be the only female PUA, a fact which she emphasises through her constant reiteration that women hate what she does. She’s inviting angry blogs from women. She wants the publicity for her business. Anyone will read a headline if it contains something juicy. It’s horribly deliberate. But I also imagine her own insecurities play a role in this over-confident peacocking – the constant reminder that she is the cool, edgy, sexy girl that will get you laid. By the time she brags that her book, 15 Steps to Becoming a Master Seducer (*snorts*) has been quoted as being “The book women do not want men to read and I know women will hate,” her whole act is just starting to feel… desperate.

But the funny thing is, I don’t hate Kezia for what she does for a living. I don’t care that she teaches men how to approach women. Let’s face it, some men (and indeed some women) really do need the help – even if it’s just to boost their confidence. I am not a prude – sex is great fun, whether it’s a fleeting one night stand, that amazing few weeks when you’ve just started seeing someone new, or with someone you’ve been married to for 20 years. I am definitely pro sex. And hey, if you want to go out and shag someone new every night of the week, that’s your prerogative. I will toast to your multiple orgasms and mad sexual adventures with gusto.

The thing that irritated me is that she’s put women in a box. Not only does she earmark strippers as a particular sexual target (more on that later), she seems to think that the key to getting women into bed is to trick them into it. The ‘push/pull’ method of being nice and then cold to a woman apparently has a very high success rate. She knows this because her sulky ex-boyfriend made her really horny with his moodiness. “If my ex tried it on and I said I wasn’t in the mood, instead of trying to convince me, he would freeze me out and just turn on the TV. I suddenly felt rejected and not sexy enough to keep him interested. Before I knew it I was climbing all over him, desperate to prove to him that I was hot and horny!” What a brilliant message.

I’m sure in this instance it was all very playful, and that the anecdote is something that shouldn’t be read into, but she finishes the story with this: “If a woman feels rejected, she’ll try her hardest to prove herself – and in this case, she’s very likely to jump into bed with the man in question.” The treat ‘em mean, keep ‘em keen routine is one of the oldest tricks in the book, but when taught as an actual step, it just seems a little… sinister. It’s essential that you jeopardise her self-esteem so she has to prove her self-worth by sleeping with you! Bravo, chaps. Tally ho!

Back to the stripper thing. There’s a whole paragraph about bedding strippers. Strippers, it seems, are not women. Not really. They are literally stripped of all other characteristics and are defined solely by their sexual characteristics. They are not mothers, or daughters, or sisters, or wives (more of this in our super  blog from earlier this year). Stripping has reduced them to a state of walking sex – the available yet unavailable conquest. So naturally, Kezia suggests “heightening their insecurities”. That way, you can “go home with the stripper of your choice”. Oh em gee. Who knew it was that simple! Had I known that, I would have picked up two strippers last week with my Tesco shop! I’ve known some strippers in my time, and most of them would eat you alive. Their business is horny men – do you really think the cheap backhand compliment is going to get you laid? Oh, Kezia. I almost want to hug you.

And the funniest thing of all is that sex is so much better than she makes out. She talks about getting laid and having one night stands, but she doesn’t seem to really get it. Through all her rules and tricks, she implies that women don’t actually want to have sex. They must be cajoled and persuaded and manipulated. God forbid a woman might actually want to get laid. Woman has no agenda – she is a passive barfly, waiting for you to insult her into bed with you.

Part of the fun of sex (in my opinion, anyway) is that there are no rules. We are all as weird as each other. Every single one of us has sexual hang ups, fantasies, fetishes, and skeletons under the bed (perhaps literally, if that’s what you’re into). Kezia reduces sex into a quick and dirty night with a stranger you’ve manipulated into bed. Is the woman who is sleeping with you to prove she’s sexy going to be the best shag of your life? Probably not. Is the stripper you’ve miraculously taken home going to rock your world? Not if she’s been straddling 15 other desperate wankers that night. Nope, sex should be a LOT more organic than that. It’s supposed to be fun. You can’t create that sort of spontaneity through a set of rules. And if you’re looking for something more long-term, you probably aren’t going to be creating solid foundations if you’ve had to make her cry first.

So, Kezia, I salute you. You are a lady pioneer in the field of pick up artistry. It is always good to see a woman making her way in a male-dominated environment. And good for you for running a successful business. But please keep your douchebag puppets out of my knickers. I don’t have anything to prove.

Categories: Personal, Women | Tags: , , , , , , | Leave a comment

On (finally) realising I’m a grown up

Posted on April 19, 2012 by Ashley

Image from someecards.com

Last week, I finally started to feel like a grown up. And it wasn’t because I’d moved out of home (9 months ago), it wasn’t because I started nine to five life (13 months ago) and it wasn’t because I’d finally figured out how to wear bronzer without looking like an orang-utan (2 weeks ago. Shh.). No, last week the big event that woke me up to being an actual functioning adult was this: my Nectar card arrived.

Ok, let me preface this post by saying that this blog has not been sponsored by Sainsbury’s, or the Nectar card people (though guys, do feel free to throw some dollah or some free brioche my way). Nope, I’m writing it because getting my Nectar card genuinely made me realise I am actually an adult. A useful(ish) member of society. A real, working person. An grown up, capable of earning her own moolah, running a business, and (one day, hopefully) making other mini adults.

Woah*. Woah. It only seems like yesterday that I was playing Stingray in a muddy backgarden** , when my biggest fear about growing up was that I wouldn’t know how to pay bills. I guess I never quite envisaged the having-a-job bit of adult life, but still. Now I pay about ten different bills every month. By direct debit. On time.

I suppose being an adult has been creeping up on me for a little while now. Everything I’ve done up till now has just felt like the next natural step. There was never a moment where I lept off the barge labelled ‘childhood’ and landed on the iceflow of ‘young adulthood’. I don’t know what I was expecting. We’re not the sort of culture that parties at your first period, so there’s never been an opportune moment to say oh hai, you’re an adult now.

So yes, the Nectar card. As someone that now shops at Sainsbury’s, I get asked on a weekly basis if I have a Nectar card. I have always said no, and waved it off casually. A couple of weeks ago, the same happened but I suddenly thought, NO. I don’t have a Nectar card, but I could have one. And I asked the man how to get one. It had never occurred to me that I could actually have my own, probably because none of my family has ever had one. And it was this moment that made me realise, WOAH. I am totes my own person. I am totes an adult with her own independent means and financials. I am totes capable of having my own Nectar card without first asking for the advice or permission of an elder. YE GADS, I am going to take this Nectar card and I am going to RULE THE WORLD.

Ok. Perhaps a slight exaggeration. I mean I coped just fine with my Boots card, obtained aged 14 (thank you Boots, for keeping me in Lancôme). I have coped just fine with debit cards, credit cards, railcards, library cards, that little card that tells me my NI number. But I think the Nectar card, being brand new Fryer territory, had just eluded me. Shrouded in mystery, it remained something I’d never really considered getting. And yet now, as a normal (!) functioning human, I have claimed my right to go where no Fryer has ever gone before.

So I’m finally starting to realise that I’m an adult now. An adult that enjoys Disney movies and owns High School Musical socks, but an adult nonetheless. And it’s kind of marvellous. I’m not ready to have a house and 2.4 children, but I’m ready to poke my nose into the real world. Who knows, I might get a pony or a Vespa next.

~

*’woah’ is actually a common mispelling of the exclamation ‘whoa’, but I think that looks funny, so I’m sticking with my version.
**not a euphemism. Behave.

Categories: Childhood, Personal | Tags: , , , , , | 13 Comments

Women: the undisputed queens of the Twitterverse

Posted on March 8, 2012 by Ashley

It’s no secret that funny women have fairly poor representation in the mass media – but not so on Twitter. On Twitter funny women are queens. Twitter is a new world, a microcosm of society in which there are fewer rules, greater freedom and no oppressive history. The voices that are coming through, from the Caitlin Morans and India Knights to the @NotRollergirl’s and @peachesanscream’s, are the free thinking, intelligent (and often hilarious) voices that need to be heard – and Twitter is listening.

I don’t know what it is about women, but there’s definitely a wavelength, and most of us seem to be on it. We’re all wildly different, with our unique idiosyncrasies and whathaveyou; we’re not all friends, we don’t all believe in the same things, and we don’t all like each other, but it’s there. Women have a certain je ne sais quoi that makes being a woman something of a shared experience. Was it the centuries of oppression, inequality or second-class-citizenship? A shared sense of humour over the boatload of biological crap sent our way? Could it be a hormonal or evolutionary thing? Or is it something else? Whatever it is, throughout history women have categorically stuck together in a way that is quite different to men. The female relationship has been a core element of the human race since the dawn of time. And now it’s permeating the Twitterverse faster than the latest animal flu.

I sometimes wonder if Twitter is particularly great for women because for the first time, it doesn’t matter at all what you look like, what you sound like, or what do you. It’s a whole new generation of media, defined by the thoughts and opinions of those we choose to listen to. We don’t have to hear what Cameron has to say, we don’t have to follow The Sun, or Piers Morgan or Justin Bieber. We can select exactly which voices we want to hear. The women who are making noise on Twitter have something to say. We’re all talking to each other. We’re making each other laugh. The experience of womanhood (which, let’s face it, is no picnic) is no longer something you write about in your diary, by torchlight, under a duvet – it’s writ large in 140 character soundbites, offering humour, wisdom and real consideration. It’s sort of magic.

AWOT is living, breathing proof, that the female relationship, or at least the female dialogue, is alive and well. I, like most Twitter addicts, follow a few hundred people (both menfolk and ladies). But more often than not, it is the women who’ve provoked a reaction. It’s the women in my timeline that are having the interesting conversations (just google #presleepliedown) and it’s the women who are building actual relationships. That’s not to say I don’t love and respect the male presence on Twitter too – I do – but the female conversation on Twitter is just different. It feels more real.

Take for instance, this story from Lauren Bravo, who more or less rescued a fellow lady from a man harassing her on the street. Lauren acted out a whole charade of female friendship with a complete stranger to get rid of a creepy man, in an act of solidarity that goes above and beyond the usual call of duty. There’s a real message there, about women and (though I loathe to say it), the sisterhood. It exists, people. It always has. So it makes sense that the relationships that were once built over years of socialising and time-spending, are now built online in 140 characters or less. Twitter is enabling conversations and women are owning that shit.

No one IRL sends me pictures of ferrets in tuxedos, no one else writes the thought-provoking posts that stay with you all day, no one else can champion the hashtag  #cheesecoma with such joyful abandon. So this International Women’s Day, I raise a gin and tonic to the wonderful women of Twitter. It is OUR day.

I will see you gorgeous ladies this evening! Roll on the gin!

Categories: AWOT, Women | Leave a comment

A Woman’s Right to Hair

Posted on December 22, 2011 by Ashley

Yesterday, Jezebel posted a brilliant piece, titled, ‘Is pubic hair coming back into fashion?’ (NSFW). If you haven’t, go read it now. To summarise, this year has seen a handful of models pose with actual pubic hair. Which is apparently totally shocking, in an age where we watch programmes with (fictional) prime ministers, er, assaulting pigs.

The post naturally sparked some bush chatter on Twitter, with some expressing disgust and others welcoming the idea. There is, and has always been, something of a divide on the subject. But what irritates me is that we shouldn’t be shocked to see a neatly groomed lady garden. We shouldn’t be pointing and staring at something so natural. We should be totally unaffected. After all, a full bush is nature’s way of keeping your goodies warm.

But alas, mainstream culture and pornography have put the naked vagina on a pedestal and here we are: surprised at the sight of something ‘Other’, which 99% of adults naturally possess. Almost all modern pornography (I, er, imagine) depicts women (and in many cases men) with no public hair whatsoever, and the knock on effect (described wonderfully by Caitlin Moran in How to be a Woman) is that women are forced to buy back their sexuality with expensive and painful waxes. But how much of that is our fault?

This song makes a fantastic point and it’s totally brilliant. Watch.

It’s not a secret that women are particularly susceptible to body issues and insecurities. Both sexes are inundated with society’s picture perfect idea of beauty – the women are all ultra slim with disproportionately large breasts and the men all look like Ryan Reynolds. But is the pressure to wax away your love rug coming from men, or from society at large? Just who are we waxing for, and why?

When I tweeted about the magical muff yesterday, I was surprised to receive three DM’s from male friends, extolling the virtues of the vagina naturale. Had I been wrong all these years? Did men really not give a shit?

“If someone *likes* being completely bare, that’s fine (and despite the fact it doesn’t do it for me, no guy who’s not a dickhead will actually complain to you),” says one of my male Twitter amigos. “But the idea that it’s every man’s fantasy is just so, so wrong. From my perspective, a guy in his early 20s, I don’t care what you’ve done with your pubic hair. I don’t anything with mine, so why should I expect you to? If you want to then go ahead, but I’m not going to insist you do anything. That’s not out of some sense of chivalry; I just don’t care. I’ve never slept with anyone who’s been clean-shaven, and I don’t want to. It just looks pre-pubescent and creepy.”

As I mentally tallied up the precious pounds and hours I’d spent in waxing salons, I started to wonder if we’d been duped all along into thinking our vaginas are only attractive when they look like this. Why do we feel the pressure to be hairless if the people who actually see our ladyparts don’t give a shit?! [insert conspiracy theory about waxing salons and marketing campaigns]

Of course, the most important thing here is that it is a woman’s right to choose how she styles herself. Waxing is absolutely a personal choice. What I find irritating is that we’ve been sold the idea (thank you Carrie sodding Bradshaw et al) that our vaginas should be waxed. And now we’re getting our knickers in a twist over pictures of pubic hair in magazines. And yet clearly, not every man has been pre-programmed to expect vaginas to be hair-free, shiny and made of diamonds.

If the bush is back, I’m all for it. I really hope the fashion and porn industries can embrace a little lady fluff. Style your lady gardens however you want to – but remember – nine times out of ten it’s only you that cares.

Categories: Women | Tags: , , , | 2 Comments

AWOT: Why I’m not naming the bar

Posted on November 18, 2011 by Ashley

Hello all,

Since posting Wednesday’s blog about the AWOT venue debacle, I’ve been inundated with messages and tweets asking me to name the venue in question. I’ve still not confirmed anything and have not made any public allegations regarding the matter via Twitter. And even though it’s extremely tempting, I’ve decided not to publicly name and shame them. Because really, what would that achieve?

AWOT was born out of a desire to celebrate something wonderful. I wanted a chance to meet and get to know the brilliant, smart and wickedly funny women who make up a huge part of my online life. AWOT has always been about celebration. And while I am shocked and disappointed by what happened with our first venue, it is not the venue that is the problem. It is the attitude. It’s not one woman’s ignorance about ‘feminism and women’s lib’ that upsets me – it’s that there continues to be a huge amount of misunderstanding over what feminism actually is. AWOT is not a feminist group. We do not have any sort of agenda (beyond cake and gin consumption). We are not a political group, we are not activists and we are not a cult. We are a fabulous and fizzy mix of brilliance. A completely undefinable group of individuals sharing something wonderful. The only thing we have in common so far is awesomeness and ladyparts.

What happened with the venue is more saddening than anything, because it shows a fundamental lack of understanding. Calling out the venue and publicly naming them might seem like the right thing to do, but what would it really achieve? I’ve written to the venue and asked for an apology, which they’ve more or less given me. What more is there to do? Naming them publicly could cause a huge backlash and the woman (who I honestly believe just doesn’t understand it all) could lose her job. AWOT is not about hate. This has never, ever been a witch hunt.

And look what we’ve achieved already. We got Twitter talking. We got people raging. We got people from far and wide who’d never heard of us to listen and share our anger. We had a lovely, beautifully written blog on the Huffington Post front page. We got people to sit up and take notice, and the message rang out all across Twitter that that was Not Right. You only have to look at the #AWOT hashtag to see the glory of it all. And if nothing else, we found a fantastic new venue (check out Liberty Lounge) to host us for the evening. They even waived the £250 deposit for us because they believe in what we’re doing. If you ask me, we’ve done pretty well.

So please understand why I’m sticking to my guns and refusing to make a statement naming the venue. This is a decision I’ve thought long and hard about. I am more than happy to discuss it off the record but I’m not interested in vendettas and I do not want AWOT to turn into anything other than a brilliant evening. If we name them, this whole thing becomes ABOUT them. And it’s not about them at all. It’s about us. Speaking of which, I’m EVEN MORE excited now. It is going to be one glorious, cakey, gintastic night.

Finally, I’d like to say a huge THANK YOU to everyone who’s raged and shouted and retweeted and supported. The reaction to this has blown my mind. Thank you for safeguarding my faith in humanity, you beautiful creatures.

#AWOT

 

Categories: Women | Tags: | 3 Comments

AWOT: What Happened

Posted on November 16, 2011 by Ashley

I’m writing this to set the record straight before the internet explodes. About half an hour ago I tweeted this:

So, here’s what happened:

Since starting AWOT about a month ago, I’ve been looking for a venue to host our meet up on 8th December. As we have no budget whatsoever, we’ve been looking for somewhere that will hire us a private or semi private room/area in a bar. XX bar was suggested to me by a lovely function company that had been helping me out, and I happily booked their (semi-private) lounge for the evening, paying them a healthy £100 deposit.

The first warning bells went off when the woman at the venue rang me half an hour later to ask what AWOT is. I told her it stands for Awesome Women of Twitter and that’s it’s a social gathering slash networking evening. She asked me if it was just women in the party. I confirmed it was. She made some funny noises. I ignored them. Later that evening, feeling a little unnerved by the woman’s tone, I popped down to the venue with a friend. I had a look at the room (bit weird looking but not too bad) and left.

Today, I rang her up to confirm it was the downstairs of the bar that we’d booked and she confirmed it was. She asked again what AWOT meant and I explained it was a “celebration of women”. She made lots of hesitant noises and told me that we’d be sharing the bar. I asked with who and she gave me some names (surely this is against data protection laws?). I asked if we’d have an area cornered off. She said no (which was what I’m sure we’d agreed on the day before). She made more hesitant noises and then said, something along the lines of – I’m just a bit concerned that it’s not appropriate. It’s not going to work having a feminist or women’s lib group in the bar, where people are trying to enjoy Christmas parties. She basically implied that a raging group of militant feminists might disrupt the party mood. She then said, that’s why she asked those questions yesterday about if it was just women. She stated that she didn’t think a feminist group in their bar while there were Christmas parties happening was appropriate.

She finally said ‘I just don’t think it’s going to work’ and offered my deposit back. I spent half an hour wondering if that had really happened before calling and asking for my deposit back. She agreed and said she’d refund it and we parted ways. I couldn’t even be bothered to explain that AWOT is neither a feminist group nor a women’s liberation group though I’m sure there’s an 100% crossover.

I then went on Gchat and raged a bit, at which point my suspicions were confirmed. I wasn’t being melodramatic: I had indeed just been the victim of some serious sexism and discrimination. Which was pretty upsetting.

Naturally, the first place I went to was Twitter. And as I half-expected, it went NUTS. So before the Chinese Whispers effect takes place, I thought I would set the record straight on exactly what happened.

I’m not naming the bar until I hear back from them. I’ve requested the contact details for their head office with whom I will take this up.

Also, apologies that this is not the most eloquent blog I’ve ever written! Had to get it out as soon as I possibly could.

PS – if you’re not already signed up, DO come along to AWOT. And feel free to follow us on Twitter.

#AWOT


Categories: Women | 6 Comments

Awesome Women of Twitter

Posted on October 28, 2011 by Ashley

Me

You had me at gin and cake.

Reet, so this has been going on LONG ENOUGH. I keep meeting fabulous, funny and generally wonderful people on Twitter and it PAINS me that I’ve never met most of you. And after a lovely email chat with @Blonde_M, I’m even more determined this must change. So, I’m thinking we should get together. All of us. All at once. With gin. And cake.

So, who’s keen?

If we get a good sized group together we can hire out a room in a bar/pub in London and (hopefully) get some sort of drinks deal. I will (naturally) be baking a giant cake for the event and we can have a merry old time getting to know each other in real life, while consuming sensible vast amounts of gin and tonic. If it works, we can make it a regular thing and form an army of Awesome Women. Who knows what will happen when that much cosmic fabulosity is put in one room?!

Anywho, this will obviously fail if no one is keen (cue me crying into a glass of wine alone in a pub) so shout if you’re up for it. Invite your favourite Awesome Women and let’s spend an evening congratulating each other on being fabulous.

If enough people are interested I’m thinking of organising it for end of Nov/early Dec. If you have ideas for dates, venues etc etc do get in touch via email or just tweet me. #AWOT

 

 

 

 

Categories: Women | Tags: , , | 2 Comments

Female Masturbation: The last taboo?

Posted on October 25, 2011 by Ashley

Photo by Michael Negus

(photo by Michael Negus)

First of all, let me express my distaste at having to refer to masturbation as ‘female masturbation’. It suggests from the offset that masturbation is a predominantly male activity, which, ahem, it’s not. But when was the last time you heard someone use the phrase ‘male masturbation’? Exactly. The banter and joviality with which ‘having a wank’ is normally associated is restricted by and large to male masturbation. Gender stereotyping sees the menfolk (particularly of the teenage variety) portrayed as furious and dependent masturbators, unable to go more than a day or two without polishing the silver, hitting the ham (!) or bashing the bishop (and yes, I had to Google those). And while it’s not necessarily something to chat about over high tea at Fortnum & Mason, I’m quite convinced that most men will (sheepishly) admit they do it. The world knows men masturbate. It echoes loud and clear.

But what of the womenfolk? Well, that’s where this story really begins. A few hours ago, while mooching about on Twitter, a friend of mine posted the following: “Bringing up female masturbation with the girl on your course you don’t know that well is always slightly nerve wracking #truthsoflife.” I smiled at first, because yes, discussing masturbation with a near stranger is one of those awkward things university seminars occasionally demand (…I definitely did the wrong course). But then I was annoyed, because why should ‘female masturbation’ be any more awkward than male masturbation? Male masturbation is waved aside flippantly because it’s to be expected. You’d be surprised if a man told you he didn’t masturbate (particularly if you’re in the middle of a discussion on the Eurozone, the NHS or similar). We expect men to masturbate, so why isn’t there that same freedom for women?

As a child of an all girls boarding school, sex was the bread and butter of our conversations. We would gather around our bunk beds in our dormitories, whispering and wondering about sex. And it was only a matter of time before the ultimate question of ‘do you masturbate?’ rolled around. Never one to be coy, I would nod sagely and proffer my sexual wisdom (age 14 and never been kissed) to my fellow students. Some girls would stare open mouthed, some would agree and some would dismiss it altogether, blushing furiously and saying adamantly that they never, ever masturbated. It was all very funny to see my prudish friends when we were kids, and I assumed that as we grew up, everyone’s attitudes to sex would naturally change. I didn’t think masturbation was taboo any more. I assumed it was a given.

But then I got to university, and STILL the whispered conversations of masturbation occurred. And while I was a hair’s breadth from becoming an Ann Summers demonstrator, some of my peers maintained a strict code of never (or at least never admitting to) masturbating. Now let me set one record straight – I have no issue with people wanting to keep their private lives private. Of course I wouldn’t demand sexual secrets from my friends and roommates. It’s a woman’s right etc etc. What shocked me was that women still treated masturbation as a big taboo. It was STILL shameful, still dirty and still only ever discussed after the third or fourth gin and tonic on a particularly juicy girl’s night in. I couldn’t believe it. Hadn’t we moved on?

So when Twitter brought up the age old debate, I couldn’t help it. A highly amusing and heated exchange sprang up, with some tweeters explaining that none of their friends EVER discussed masturbating, and others delightfully espousing the wonders of lovehoney.com. The divide was incredible. Some were religious, others just prudish and some just wanted to keep it private. I asked, is it taboo for women to masturbate? The first reply? ‘It’s taboo to ask about it on Twitter.’ I think that answered my question fairly succinctly. In the world’s biggest conversation, in which we’ve discussed everything from fake baby bumps to Gaddafi’s mutilated corpse, it is still taboo to discuss women masturbating. We really haven’t come much further than giggling teenagers sat around a bunk bed.

And really, this is just one tiny part of a much bigger conversation about female sexuality. But for the sake of women everywhere, for whom masturbation is a healthy part of their sex lives, I’m begging the world to get a grip. To the women of the world, I say this: reclaim the rights to your own vaginas. Masturbation is a healthy and happy part of sexuality. It’s a headache cure, a muscle relaxant and an instant high. It’s like cake with no calories. And let’s be honest, if you don’t know what’s going on down there, an inexperienced man hasn’t got a hope in hell. So please, take ownership of your sexuality and let’s stop subscribing to this strange and damaging notion that masturbation is anything other than brilliant.

 

 

 

Categories: Women | Tags: , , | Leave a comment

An Open Letter to Little Me

Posted on October 17, 2011 by Ashley

Me circa 2006

2006 was an angsty year for me. (myspace esque photo by me, obvs)

In the great tradition of those stuck for blog ideas, I’ve decided to write a letter to younger self. Despite being horrendously self indulgent, it’s a great exercise in both nostalgia and the casual assessment of your current situation. Verdict: everything’s going to be ok.

Dear little me, 

I know you’re scared. I get it.

Life’s a pretty scary place. That doesn’t really change, to be honest, sorry. But things do get better. They get exciting. They get downright bloody marvellous at some points. So chin up.

You won’t be wearing braces forever. In fact, you’ll get them off sooner than you think and you will start smiling again. Properly. And you’ll look lovely.

That boy you like? Forget him. He’s pretty but he’s not worth your time. The other one you like? Yeah, you won’t remember his name in a couple of years. The one you haven’t met yet will change your world and tear it apart, but it’s ok. You won’t think it at the time, but it’s all ok. You’re going to be fine.

It’s ok to spend 9 hours a day on MSN messenger. Keep up with your interest in technology – some awesome things are on their way. Trust me, I come from the future.

There will be a big fire in Camden and your favourite shop will burn down, so keep going there on weekends while you can. Wear the rainbow socks and the mary janes with pride. Everyone likes rainbow socks and you look totally awesome. Don’t go mad with the eyeliner.

Grouch face.

Unfortunately, this is NOT a phase you will grow out of. (photo by Andy Fryer, circa 1993)

Keep baking. Don’t let Mum say no when you beg to use the kitchen. Do wipe down all the surfaces and tidy up after yourself. You will earn yourself more kitchen time and become a better cook because of it. (N.B. Dairylea and Philadelphia are NOT the same thing. You will learn this the hard way).

Never stop writing. The poetry you’re writing now is going to surprise you when you’re older. I know you’re tearing your guts out. Keep going. It’s all going to make sense later.

Travel. Seriously. You will figure a lot of shit out and you’ll come back with a wicked tan. You won’t be in Paradise but you’ll be coming home a hell of a lot smarter than when you left.

Don’t waste your time. There’s little point in me saying this, but honestly, when you’re working full time and running several side projects, you will know what I mean. Time is more precious than you can possibly imagine.

Do learn to crochet with Grandma. It will be brilliant for you both.

Don’t spend more than five minutes having a strop. It’s boring.

Don’t take being called a ‘drama queen’ as a compliment. You won’t figure that one out for a while yet and by then it will be too late.

Do look after people. It’s important and it’s a big part of who you are.

You will one day get a job, so stop worrying. And yes, you will become one of those people that signed off emails with ‘kind regards’. Sorry.

Don’t wait around for someone to save you. Be your own hero.

Don’t let anyone make you snort port. It’s not big and it’s not clever.

Be kind. If you live by no other principle, live by that one.

Never stop dreaming, Fryer. Life is out there.

 

Older, wiser (!) me x

 

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Caitlin Moran: A New Breed of Heroine

Posted on August 3, 2011 by Ashley

Caitlin Moran

The woman for women who take no shit.

Unless you’ve been living under a rock for the past few years, you will already be familiar with Caitlin Moran (pronounced Cat-lin, in case you’re wondering). Star columnist of The Times, strident feminist, and undisputed queen of the Twitterverse, Moran has cemented herself in the nation’s psyche as the alternative poster girl for the modern woman. Indeed her recent book, How to Be a Woman, is still lurking at the top of the bestseller lists, having conquered the charts immediately at the book’s release in June. Part biography, part feminist manifesto, How to Be a Woman offers its readers a long and unflinching look into the something we rarely get a chance to talk about: the truth about being a woman.

 

I am so tired of movies promising to show us ‘the truth about women and friendship’ (ahem, Bridesmaids) or worse, the ridiculously overdone exploration of ‘what women want’ (answer: every woman is different and most of us don’t have a bloody clue).  90% of the women we see on our televisions are airbrushed versions of the same thing: skinny, attractive, often neurotic women. Even the movies which claim to explore the real nitty gritty of womanhood are nonsense, with Hollywood failing to find the balance between the saccharine (anything with Katherine Heigl in it) to the downright disturbing (Basic Instinct, anyone?). So it makes a nice change when someone comes along and actually tells it like it is.

 

What a relief to see a woman discussing *gasp* masturbation with the same frankness as discussing dishwasher tablets. How refreshing to hear someone talk about periods without the sole intention of selling tampons or complaining about cramps. Moran even goes as far as proclaiming that the bush is back, adding her belief that a woman’s pubic hair should resemble: “A lovely furry moof that looks – when she sits, naked – as if she has a marmoset sitting in her lap.” (If that doesn’t have you laughing like a loon, nothing will.) But it’s not just her frankness that makes Moran a modern woman’s hero, it’s that she really believes everything she’s saying.

 

How to Be a Woman

Feminism has gone in and out of fashion for years, which is obviously ridiculous and clearly shows that there has been a fundamental lack of understanding somewhere along the line.  As Moran implores her readers, “What part of liberation for women is not for you?” With so few women identifying themselves as feminists, and so many children idolising the likes of Katie Price, it seems the future generations of women are doing themselves out of the equal rights that were fought for them. Women suffer so much pressure to look and be a certain way, that we forget our freedom. We forget that it is our choice whether or not to have children, that it is up to us to choose our ethics, that we have the free will to say, no, actually I won’t be going for a Brazilian thank you very much. And though most of us know these things deep down, thank God we have someone as loud as Caitlin Moran there to remind us. It is so easy to assume that the pressure cooker of our lives is the way it has to be, but it’s not. You can choose whatever you want, whether it’s the size of your pants or whether or not to have an abortion.

 

Growing up poor as the eldest of eight children, Moran, grew up with unflinching exposure to the grittier sides of life. Does that make her more qualified to tell us how to live our lives? No, but it does give her a damn sight more perspective that most of us. From a tiny flat in Wolverhampton to a cosy North London house with her young family, Moran has seen an awful lot of the spectrum in her time.

 

So three cheers for Caitlin Moran! Long may her honesty, frankness and strident feminism continue to permeate our lives. And thank goodness we finally have a woman who is prepared to stand up and tell whole truth, big pants, spotty bums and all.

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Welcome to the Hellmouth: Why Buffy is still a valid role model

Posted on July 17, 2011 by Ashley

Buffy

Buffy, Slayer of the Vampyres.

This post first appeared on The Huffington Post.

Ok, I admit it – I’m a huge Buffy The Vampire Slayer nerd. As a teenager, I watched the show religiously. The series, which ran from 1997 to 2003, was undoubtedly a huge influence on my life. Not least because it featured (a frequently shirtless) peroxide blonde James Marsters. But in all seriousness, Buffy was a brilliant companion to the hellish joy of adolescence.

Going to school on the mouth of hell? Now there’s a subtle metaphor for how tough high school can be. Experimenting with magic while at university? Another sneaky metaphor echoing Willow’s developing sexuality. The key behind Joss Whedon’s incredible storytelling was the way in which he manipulated the supernatural world to expose the real one. Losing your virginity only to have your boyfriend turn evil? Now there’s one we haven’t heard before. Teenage bullies getting possessed by hyenas and literally eating you alive? Oh sweetie, we’ve all been there.

The perky blonde heroine, the eponymous Buffy, goes from cheerleader to college drop-out to surrogate parent through seven, relentless seasons, evolving eventually into the whippet-thin heroine of the final season, faced with defeating the ultimate foe: Evil, itself.

Yes, Buffy was hot, skinny and (usually) well dressed, but she was so much more than that. Season 5 hit Buffy with the sudden death of her mother, while season 6 saw her battle with depression and engage in a damaging, masochistic (and obviously incredibly hot) affair with a former enemy. She wasn’t always shiny, happy and blonde – she was dark, and unhappy and scared. And what teenager isn’t, at some point or other?

Buffy cast

The Scooby Gang with Joss

And of course, it wasn’t just Buffy herself who was a role model. The entire cast offered something unique to the millions of viewers that tuned in every week. Xander gave the show heart, while Giles brought in a father figure we all admired/fancied/looked up to. Willow’s journey, from shy, mousy school girl, to all powerful Wiccan goddess was also incredibly rich. The show wasn’t just about the trivialities of high school, or that weird eroticism we associate with vampires – it was about the people. From Xander’s snappy one liners, to Willow’s heartbreaking grief, to Buffy’s persistent loneliness, the show offered an unending source of experiences for teenagers to relate to.

It was an all you can eat buffet for the myriad of emotions growing up, offering escapism and understanding. If nothing else in the world was right, you could still count on the gang in Sunnydale to be fighting the good fight.

Few cancelled shows retain a fan-base as loyal as that of the Buffyverse. Joss Whedon has legions of supporters, who’ve followed him from the blockbusters (he co-wrote Toy Story, dontchaknow?) to the critical failures (Joss fans still lament the cancelled-too-soon Dollhouse and Firefly).

Few shows truly stand the test of time, but it is my belief that Buffy is one of them. Buffy fans will always feel connected to one another, because there is something significant about having shared what we did. There’s something unifying in identifying with one of the world’s freak flag flyers (as my friend Betsy puts it), wherein you feel both empowered by Buffy’s strength and empathetic to her struggle. She was a genuine role model.

I realise I sound incredibly nerdy as I say this, but Buffy was one of those rare shows that truly captures something. It’s a show that promotes strength and integrity, but with a voice reminding you it’s ok to be less than perfect.

Besides, who else can deliver one-liners while fighting the forces of evil in a halter top? Not many, I tell you.

Categories: Film & TV, HuffPost UK | Leave a comment

2011: A Dating Odyssey

Posted on July 10, 2011 by Ashley

The laws of He's Just Not That Into You - fact or fiction?

Being single in 2011 is exhausting. I mean it, it is absolutely knackering. Gone are the days where being punched on the arm by a boy in the playground was a sure sign he liked you. Gone are the times the boy across the street would knock on the door and ask you to play. Farewell to the simplicity of days gone by.

 

Since the invention of social media, there are 500 new ways to go absolutely bonkers as a single woman. Back in ye olden, Austen-y times, a few shy glances across a dance floor would give you a fair indication that Mr Darcy liked you. You might have an incredibly sexually charged Waltz and share a tipple or two. You might go for a (chaperoned) stroll by his family’s lake. By your third or fourth encounter, you would know if he hadn’t already proposed, he probably wasn’t going to. Next!

 


But these days, there are a million different ways to negotiate the dating scene. We no longer have the singular mode of actually talking to someone. First there came the telephone, then email, then texting, then MSN, and now you can tweet, poke and Skype your way into someone’s pants. And it’s all so damn CONFUSING.

 

You no longer have to check for missed calls to your home line a la the old school 1471 route. Now everyone this side of 2001 has caller ID, and most young people don’t even have landlines anymore. Not only are you frantically checking for missed calls, you are wondering how long to leave it between texts. If he left 6 hours before replying to your text, should you leave it 12? And this time he left 1 kiss, but last time it was 3 – should you add your standard 2 kisses, or return the coldness of a single kiss? But what if he sees the single, solitary kiss, is hurt by your obvious rejection and proceeds to stop texting you all together?

 

And what if, while you’re waiting for the outcome of this text, he tweets you, or retweets you, or Facebooks you? What does that mean, if he hasn’t already texted back confirming or not confirming his status as an asshole as indicated by the number of kisses he does or doesn’t leave? What if he ignores your text by then pokes you later on Facebook? What if, during this confusion, you retweet that tweet you thought was funny – is it too forward, will he think you’re desperate? While you frantically work out the percentage of his tweets you’ve retweeted, you’re waiting around on Facebook chat just in case he decides to show up. And even if he does, who starts the conversation? You really want to talk to him, but it was you that started the conversation last time, and if you start it again this time, will it reveal your secret desperation and send him fleeing to the hills for being just another crazy woman with too much time to overanalyse?

 

I would like to swiftly point out, that the above scenario hasn’t happened to me exactly. It is more a combination of fears expressed at nearly every girls’ night in, when the ladies are on their second glass of vino, and the terrible, inevitable conversation of ‘how’s-your’-love-life’ begins. The funny thing is, we know we’re being ridiculous. We know, as women, that men are (supposedly) overwhelmingly simple creatures. We’ve been told 100 times over that the rules of He’s Just Not That Into You ALWAYS apply (you are the rule, ladies, not the exception). But it doesn’t prevent the hours of anguish that can rack up over a single text, tweet, status or chat session. And with half our interactions happening in the public domain, everything becomes that bit more complicated.

 

Bridget Jones: clueless to how easy she had it.

Feminism has done a lot of wonderful things for women over the years – the vote, flattering trousers, the invention of the sports bra – but it has also left us with a lot more choice. And as most women know, choice is a tricky bitch. Now that we aren’t being dragged around by the hair by the menfolk, we get to decide things – what lipstick to wear, what career to pursue, who we shag/date/marry. And that’s brilliant of course, but it does make things rather a lot trickier. Instead of being told who to marry, we can pick and choose from the 3 billion-odd blokes on this planet, and I don’t know about you, but I find even the idea of that kind of exhausting. How in god’s name am I supposed to find my soulmate amongst all that? And once I have found him, what are the chances I don’t terrify him with the aforementioned insanity of wondering when or when not to tweet the poor bastard?

 

No wonder internet dating is so popular. You can effectively narrow down the population of the world (or at least the population of the men on match.com) to some key criteria before you subject yourself to the madness that is dating in 2011. Though of course internet dating does expose you to all the crazies that make up the worlds of match and eharmony (I am sure it is about 10% normals, 90% nutters). So really, you’re in just as much of a pickle as you are in real life. If 75% of people are complete turnips and 20% are wankers, it leaves only a precious 5% of men-you-can-take-home-to-your-mother. These are tricky odds, ladies, tricky indeed. No wonder every woman goes pathologically insane the moment she finds a good one.

 

So heed this warning, menfolk. I know women are a tad… intense from time to time. We know we can be downright terrifying (believe me, I haven’t told you the half of it!). But we mean well, we really do.

 

But do take note – if a woman’s not going batshit crazy over you, one of you’s not trying hard enough.

Categories: Women | Tags: , , , , , , , | Leave a comment