amirahwritesthings

Manchester-based Londoner with a Northern twang. I love music, fairy lights, photos, and topical debates.

[amirahwritesthings]

Are you ready? Meet Rude Kid.

Are you ready?

Rude Kid and Ghetts’ 653 EP back in 2015 made me sit up, take note, and watch out for Rude Kid who was making some serious waves in the grime scene. #KissGrime sees Rude Kid bringing the hardest beats and the biggest grime bangers to the ears of the unknowing, and his new 6-track instrumental ‘Monster’ cements him as one of the biggest and best producers in the game. At Relentless studios on a rainy July afternoon, we sat down to find out about the man behind Rude Kid…

Amal: You don’t really look like a Rude Kid…

RK: What do rude kids look like?

Amirah: They’ve got attitude and they wear hats.

Amal: Swaggy matching tracksuits…

Amirah: I’m gonna go with late kid…

RK: Ahhhh, it’s a par. I don’t really like trains. I drive everywhere and driving up here is long, Traffic and all of that. That’s what it was. Traffic everywhere.

Amal: Were you rude on the roads?

RK: Nah, I wasn’t. I can be though. Road rage.

Amal: Where did ‘Rude Kid’ originate from?

RK: School. Tring to find a good name. It was ‘rudie’, and then nobody had ‘Rude Kid’. My cousins used to go ‘Rude Kid Productions’ on my records, and then I came up with the ‘Are you ready?’. And then the same just stuck from then onwards.

Amal: So where did the ‘Are you ready come from?’

RK: It came from the fact that my sound is so different. And I didn’t have to tell people I made it. I put my stamp on it. And now everyone’s doing it.

Amal: Recently, your work has been references as extra-terrestrial or sci-fi. What do you say to that?

RK: I proper don’t care about sci-fi. I only call it that because it’s alien, it’s different to humans.

Amirah: Out of this world kinda thing.

Amal: So you recently went to SXSW. How was the vibe different to the UK?

RK: Everyone appreciates different styles of music. Over here, everyone’s too boujee, ‘yo that’s a good tune’ [Rude Kid just sits completely inanimate]. Whereas over there, people are like ‘Here’s my number’, ‘Here’s my insta’, ‘Let’s link up’. It’s like that. Whereas here, they’re like ‘Yeah, Rude Kid’s good’.

Amal: Would you say the US have adapted to grime?

RK: Yeah, some people have. They do understand it, it’s faster than they’re used to, but they like it still.

Amirah: There was a Buzzfeed article online about deciphering grime terms for Americans, ‘Terms Americans are googling to understand grime’, and then there were loads of reaction videos I remember seeing as well.

Amal: There were people hating on Giggs, saying they didn’t understand him.

RK: I played my new tune, ‘Banger after Banger’, and they were vibsin’ to it. Some people said they liked the beat, some people said it was techno. And I was like, ‘it’s not techno’.

Amal: What would you say influenced you to make the sounds that you do? Was there anyone in particular who influenced you musically?

RK: Not really, not anymore. I just try and be as different as possible to everyone else. I try and visualize the beats in raves and sets, how it would sound if I dropped it in a rave, you know?

Amirah: A bit like the 653 EP. I remember when I listened to it a few years ago now…

RK: 2 years ago, right?

Amirah: Spotify says 2015, and every single track is pure energy. Last year, Ghetts did a rooftop gig in Manchester with Dr Martens, and he performed the EP live, and he was so close to me. I was dead excited. Seeing it live was something else. I read somewhere that you produced the EP within 7 days?

RK: Yeah, that’s where 653 comes from. It was hard man.

Amirah: Were there artistic differences?

RK: Yeah, them times, me and Ghetts knew each other, but we weren’t with each other all the time. Whereas now, we’re around each other a lot. Even now, we’ll argue, but it’s about bettering the music. I’ll come up here at this table for a meeting about shooting a video, and he’ll be downstairs in the studio. Then I’ll go downstairs, and he’ll come up and hear my ideas about the videos. I’ll say to the sound engineer I don’t like something, and then we’ll argue. ‘Who’s got a problem with dat?’ was an argument. We were arguing about ‘One Take’. And then it became one of the sickest tunes. I wanted angry Ghetts.

Amirah: With artistry, you don’t always have distinctive artists. When I hear Ghetts, straight away, I’m like ‘that’s Ghetts’. I feel like you can’t top 653.

RK: I will though. See tunes like ‘Banger after Banger’ were meant to be on the new Rude Kid/Ghetts collaboration. But where his album is coming, we thought we’d make you wait. Instead of planning it, we’ll sit in a studio for 7 days and see what happens.

Amal: God invented the world in seven days, and then there’s you guys sat in a studio…

RK: God did more still. But yeah 653, was sick, we were here morning until night, and then we had to master it somewhere else. But it boosted our careers from that point.

Amirah: I’m not gonna lie, I hadn’t heard of you until 653 EP, and then I was too gassed.

RK: That’s we wanted. That was the aim.

Amirah: What do you think about the grime revival over the last couple of years?

RK: To me it never died out, I didn’t stop doing it. But 2016 to now, it’s back and 2018 is going to be even bigger. Everyone’s getting behind it and supporting now. People are buying instead of illegally downloading and giving the artists the chance to do more. Show are a big thing, people are performing more. Grime is on a hype. You can’t jump in the deep end straight away, you have to grow. I used to DJ for free to get on a flyer, and now I’m here. I performed to 10 people at one stage. The first beat I made wasn’t the sickest, but it’s all about the grind.

Amirah: What do you think were the biggest challenges for you in getting into production and becoming known?

RK: I didn’t know how to make beats, and I didn’t know anyone. I literally started from the bottom. I was self-taught, I used to experiment and there was no YouTube. It was literally, ‘If I click on this button, what will happen?’. I’ll tell you how I made beats actually, I did tunes back in the day over msn. I’d give a tune to every single MC, and my name’s on it, and then your mate will hear it and ask where you got it from. That was the MySpace days. And then Logan Sama was playing my tunes, and I knew every tune I put out had to be sick. I couldn’t be putting out any shit tunes.

Amal: Quick fire question time. Don’t even think about your answers.

Amirah: Chip or Bugsey?

RK: Both.

Amirah: You can’t have both, you’ve got to pick one of the other.

RK: But I’m cool with both. I’m not picking.

Amirah: I’m just gonna say ‘declined to answer’. Jay-Z or Kanye?

RK: Jay-Z.

Amirah: Skepta or Wiley?

RK: Skepta.

Amirah: I rate that answer.

Amal: Cats or dogs?

RK: Neither. I hate both.

Amal: Granny pants or thongs?

RK: Thongs, who want’s their girl out here wearing granny pants?

Amirah: What else do we need to watch out for?

RK: A few more singles, and then the year is done, and then it’s next year.

Amal: Any dream collaborations?

RK: I don’t really have any. I’m just blessed to work with whoever I work with. Everything happens for a reason.

Amirah: I don’t think Stormzy ever said ‘Let me do a record with Little Mix’.

RK: It’s business, and you gotta make them ps.

So there you have it. More Rude Kid and Ghetts to come. Now we want to see who is going to spit some bars of straight fire over the 6 tracks and turn them to straight Monsters.

STREAM/BUY ‘MONSTERS E.P’

https://RudeKid.lnk.to/Monsters

OFFICIAL LINKS: Twitter: @RudeKidMusic // Instagram: @RudeKidMusic

Interview by Amirah Farag and Amal Al Tauqi

Written by Amirah Farag

[amirahwritesthings]

A Dove Story…

Caveat to this piece: I am not nor do I profess to be a marketing guru, expert, or general know-it-all when it comes to commercials. I do like to think of myself as a well-informed millennial, alive to the realities and diversities of the modern world. Maybe Unilever should give me a job.

Last week, Dove released an advert on its Facebook page that saw a black model removing her t-shirt to reveal a white model. Seemingly inoffensive, and representing the diversity of the women who buy their products, right? Wrong. The backlash consisted of incredulous ‘wow’s of the negative variety, a tornado of tweets and a series of 3000 pointed posts on Facebook jabbing and jibing at Dove for getting it so wrong. What was the intended message? Having watched the commercial, I think the sentiment was right, but the delivery was wrong. Would it have been received differently if the black woman transitioned into a Latino woman, or if the black woman transitioned into a white woman? Probably. But that’s the problem, when you’re Dove, you can’t really afford to make mistakes on the global stage. Especially after its commitment to and success in embracing #realbeauty the world over.

What I do know is that Dove have company in the ‘Oops, we committed a marketing atrocity’ club in making some of the biggest most controversial marketing gaffes in modern times. Remember that commercial where Kendall Jenner (one of the Kardashian lot) presents a protester with a bottle of Pepsi at a ‘Black Lives Matter’ protest? You’ll need crates of Dove body lotion to smooth over a cock up of THOSE proportions.

Here’s what I don’t understand. How does a boardroom full of sickeningly highly-paid self-professed marketers with a myriad of marketing agencies and bottomless budget make such monumentally stupid decisions? Did anyone stop and think, ‘hang on a second, does a black woman turning into a white woman have the potential to make anyone label us the ‘r’ word?’ Where’s the risk analysis, the internal approval process, the positive focus group reaction? I’m no fly on the wall, but I like to think I could have steered clear of a ****storm of that magnitude.

When companies ‘miss the mark’, why don’t they just boldly and honestly declare that they made more than a bit of a ‘boo-boo’? Instead, they politically shroud their apology as a misunderstanding, an untested venture into the unknown, or just play ignorant to the sensitivities of the modern-day consumer: it’s underwhelming, verging on insulting.

In a world where we have to be alive to the sensitivities of race, religion and cultural appropriation, we should be celebrating difference and representing our diversity in a way that empowers all of us. Do I think the people of Dove are the ‘r’ word? No I don’t. Even the model at the centre of this backlash doesn’t. Do I think they should have thought the concept through a bit more? Definitely. The one positive thing that consumers can take from these more than marginal marketing errors is that they make us question our values, and motivate us to demand better from the conglomerates that we’re conditioned to think control our minds. So it turns out that really, we have more power than we think. Power to the people and all that.

[amirahwritesthings]

29

I turn 29 in exactly one week and I don’t want to. I can’t cheat time, claw back wasted time, or ‘do-over’ the chapters of my life so far when I wish I’d made better decisions. I get a little bit pensive and a lot pissed off at my seeming lack of progress.

I literally cried to my much more than significant other that I didn’t want to be a can of baked beans left on the shelf. He looked at me like I had lost the plot, stroked my hair, and told me affectionately how in more ways than one I was being more than a little bit silly.

Why do ladies in particular dread birthdays once we start creeping towards the big 3-0? I think it’s because when I gingerly entered into my quarter life crisis 4 years ago, I thought I’d have it all figured out by now. And four years on, I’m still not a grown up. I care more about my nails than savings for a house. I watch more Disney now than I did as a 5 year old. And I’m not checking off boxes on the ‘major life milestones’ societal checklist… I’m not married and I don’t have a kid (£1,000 for a pram, I’m told).

But at the almost-29 stage, I’ve experienced redundancy, embarked on a new and much more ‘me’ career which I hope is the start of bigger things to come, met someone who is incredible beyond words who makes me a better person every day, and I’m comfortable in my own mind. I know who I am. I know what I stand for. And I know who I’ll stand by and who I won’t. It has taken me circa 28 years and 358 days to work that out. I’ve kaizen-ed the shit out of my life, my networks and my possessions and rid myself of deadwood without apology. And it feels great.

So maybe you’re in the ‘oh shit, I’m old’ phase, and you’re continuing to worry about your existential crisis approaching your next birthday, but if you look at how far you’ve come through life so far, you’re probably doing more than just surviving to the next milestone. You’re living. Life is more like Call of Duty than Super Mario.

Remember that every interaction, experience and person that you’ve encountered has shaped you and made you exactly who you’re meant to be. And also remember that when it’s your birthday, you get free stuff at the expense of other people. That’s what birthdays are really about. So stop worrying and eat cake. That’s what I’m planning to do. Until next year…

[amirahwritesthings]

Orange is the new black.

We’ve been complacent, superficial and preoccupied with the pursuit of a life of decadence played out through Instagram. We’re politically deferential, happy to demand a revolution from the comfort of our armchairs, draped in slankets shaking a fork at the 9 o'clock-news. Hashtags have a shelf-life, but it doesn’t mean because #Blacklivesmatter stops trending on our Twitter feeds that the movement should lose momentum.

And then Donald Trump landed. The irony being that he is intent on making aliens of American citizens when he seems to hail from another planet. Donald Trump is an abhorrent, narcissistic megalomaniac holding the most influential political office in the world. Orange is the new black. We shrugged off Trump vying for political office as a president-elect because we were convinced the American people could not plausibly entertain such a notion. Obama departed and Trump arrived, and in a matter of just two weeks, he has not deviated from a single pledge he made in his presidential campaign.

The wall between Mexico and the United States of America will be paid for by every American household. He embraces Putin like the Fresh Prince used to embrace Carlton after a spat over a scantily-clad mutual love interest. And he has unashamedly and illegally declared a war on Muslims, to the exclusion of Turkey, Pakistan, Egypt and Saudi Arabia. I watched the news awe-struck in complete furious disbelief. The Attorney General and the Supreme Court Justices disagreed with him, and he cast them aside.

Idiocy paired with power has bred sheer chaos. His executive order sees American citizens with Libyan, Somali, Iraqi, and Syrian heritage (amongst others) being prevented from boarding planes, being held in airports like captive animals. Trump, who defies the UN Convention, has said ‘I don’t want you here’. To ‘Make America great again’. More Americans are killed in shootings and by lightning than they are by Islamist extremism. But Trump’s selective discrimination does not harm his economic interests in Egypt, Saudi Arabia or the United Arab Emirates. Frankly, he’s defiantly put two fingers up to the American Constitution, the American people, and American-Muslims. And this is why we should be grateful.

We all care. We are outraged. We have mobilised and welcomed those we are told to fear. We are questioning our governments and making it explicitly clear that those who allegedly represent us do not represent the feeling of our hearts and the thoughts of our minds. And we’ve taken to the streets in droves in the cold and rain, and we’ve utilised our intellect to deliver an impassioned and heart-felt message of defiance. We’ve come together, across borders and seas to tell the American president he is not our Top Trump. And we will not bend to his tyrannous mantra of hatred and division. We meet his poisonous sermons with immeasurable love and compassion.

But this is only the beginning. We must be relentless in our pursuit of what is fair and just. We should not allow the musings of a madman to dictate how we relate to one another. Trump’s decision to take on the world in pursuit of his xenophobic agenda reminds us all that whilst he has wealth and power, we have spirit and intelligence. All of his money is proof intelligence cannot be bought. We are all primed for the fight, and this is a battle which Trump cannot win. We, the people of the world, will make the world great again.

[amirahwritesthings]

January.

January is shit. You’re broke. You’ve lost your resolve to reinvent yourself two weeks into the year that was going to be ‘your year’. You’re pretty convinced you’ve accumulated a few additional inches of insulation which have taken up residence around your waist, hips or your ass. In summary, you’ve lost your pre-2017 self to the idea of hibernation, Netflix interspersed with NowTV boxsets and several cartons of Ben and Jerry’s. My advice? Put the spoon down.

So it starts with insight. I know my dreams and goals, I know how I can realistically achieve said aspirations, and I alone, am the only person who can put those plans into action. The same applies to you. Enlist a Mojo sponsor to push you when you lose the lustre for life, and to help you talk through your ideas. No [wo]man is an island.

Can’t muster the energy to go to the gym? YouTube is your friend. ‘Shredded in 7 minutes’, or maybe a few sets of squats can get you in the mood. And you can keep your hair in a topknot, with no make-up on, and choose your own soundtrack. Fuck a gym class. And a gym subscription that’s being neglected and you’ll only end up resenting every time the direct debit leaves your account.

Money. Yes, you can always make more of it. But how can you make what you have go further? So you can go to Aldi, get two pretty tasty basic pizzas and adorn them with whatever toppings suit your weird fancy for a fiver. A FIVER. Substitute your meals out for a meal in with a friend and you get your catch-up, minus the exposure to the bitter winter cold. And you can have three indoor meals for the price of one meal out. What about that idea you’ve had for eons to make more money? To utilise a dormant skill? Come up with a business plan. Every mountain seems too steep until you start the climb. Baby-steps. What do you need to start it up? How many hours is it going to need every week? How much could you expect to make? Crack on. You don’t want to be having the same thought a year later, when someone else is using your idea to make money that could have been lining YOUR pocket.

Tidy up your environment. Tidy up your mind. De-clutter, sell some shit on eBay, get rid of clothes from your slutty phase a few years back. Not only do you get more room, it’s also like going shopping without spending a penny. You always end up finding stuff you forgot you bought.

But most importantly, be kind to yourself. So what if you’re a few pounds heavier in weight, and a significant number of pounds lighter in your wallet. Things that are new rarely just happen. They’re a transition. Get better at taking care of yourself, eating well and bingeing when you feel like it. Walk more, and make time to exercise either on your own or with friends. Spend time with the people that make you happy; your friends or your partner without neglecting one or the other. Live in the moment. And slowly but surely, you’ll get ‘you’ back. Or maybe you’ll just become an elite 2017 package of your former self…

[amirahwritesthings]

Let it Go?

It all started on a crisp December afternoon, with armies of 3-5 year old Elsas in varying shades of aquamarine sparkle joined by a few Olafs and plenty of less than enthusiastic parents. Frozen was in town. And so was my boyfriend, who’d successfully passed his first Farag initiation exercise (no easy feat, I might add). After a sunny trip across the Thames on the Emirates skyline, I needed some caffeine to replenish my rapidly faltering energy levels. He wanted a cortado. I wanted a vanilla latte with cream in a red cup. I won.

We approached the entrance to the o2 arena, and he gestured at the security barriers and bag scanners, and said he thought he’d have to put his small suitcase through it. ‘But we’re only going to Starbucks, habibi’, I said. Sure enough, the female o2 employee told my boyfriend he’d have to go to the scanner and put his suitcase through the bag scanner. A reasonable enough request, I presumed. However, then the male o2 employee, who I will label as ‘Troglodyte’, said my 6ft 4 black boyfriend would need to walk through a body scanner. ‘Can you please remove your keys and anything from your pockets?’, to which my boyfriend said, ‘But why?’ which was met with ‘Because you have to’. The Troglodyte then added that if the barrier went off, he would need to heavily pet my boyfriend whilst I watched, in the presence of plenty of children. This was NOT the Frozen I remembered watching on Christmas Day.

At this point in the story, I have to press pause. Because he has to? Any person walking into the o2, small, tall, yellow, black, child or adult could be carrying questionable items on their person. My boyfriend had a wallet, a pocket of change, and his phone. Just because a tall black male happens to be pulling a suitcase, why does that make it justifiable to ask him to walk through a body scanner? This is at best, an illogical policy, and at its worst, a deliberately discriminatory procedure aimed at subjecting those who are perceived as ‘different’ to a ‘public safety’ test.

Now I return to the story. I felt the rage building, and interjected to try and obtain a genuine rationale for the need to scan a person accompanied by a suitcase rather than just the suitcase. The Troglodyte had the audacity to ‘shush’ me. I don’t take well to be being told to ‘shush’, especially by men and especially, by power-tripping Troglodytes. At this point, my boyfriend became understandably irate and refused to go through the body scanner, and I said point-blank ‘He won’t be walking through your body scanner, we’re leaving’. And with that incredulous encounter, we left.

I’m not sure who was more furious. I was resigned to Costa, but my boyfriend had a renewed and defiant need to stick a caffeinated ‘two cups up’ to the o2 Troglodyte. I was left as the designated bag-minder as he returned to the o2 entrance for a second time. When he returned, he told me said Troglodyte had attempted to apologise, to which he issued a succint series of profanities engineered to humiliate him in the way he just been humiliated himself.

I’m not sure if this is a rant or an observation of the life and times in which the racially diverse amongst us find ourselves feeling more defensive to authority. In a time where Trump is set to become the leader of the free world in January 2017, the reality is that the first black president of the United States of America will surrender his office to a man supported by the Ku Klux Klan. A 'man' who freely and unequivocally opines that we should all share in his poisonous ideology that dictates those bestowed with les visages blancs reign supreme in the workplace and in the world (so long as they have a penis). Diversity, in his world, is a dirty word. Uncertainty lies ahead.

I like to think that the Troglodyte had a small-man complex and felt the need to stamp his authority when faced with a man of stature. But what if it is more than that? Abusing your position to make others feel small does not make you great. It makes you petty. If you’re doing it in a bid to discriminate against those who are different to you, to belittle them, or to intimidate them, that makes you a bully. And the majority of reasonable, well-raised, and respectable people don’t take kindly to bullies. Stand up to injustice. Speak up for what is right. And don’t allow those with insecurities to project them on to you. And never let a Troglodyte stand between you and a cup of coffee.

[amirahwritesthings]

Yeezy taught me.

Kanye West. Like Marmite, you either love him or you hate him. Either way, you know who he is. So I guess either way, he’s the real winner. Your little brother probably tries to dress like him on a Primark budget, and your mum knows the odd tune where he samples some old-school track. I spend at least 10 minutes of my working day every day defending Kanye West. Every time I go to the kitchen to fill up my ‘Mr West’ mug with black liquid goodness for my morning meeting, I get ‘You don’t like Kanye West, do you?’ He’s such a dick’. I roll my eyes, and produce my well-rehearsed soliloquy-resembling explanation of why Kanye West is a don. Some are converted, others question their hate, and some just say ‘he’s still a prick’. I guess after all, if you ain’t got no haters, you ain’t poppin. To the people who think he’s a prick, I think he’s fresh out of fucks to give when it comes to your opinion. And here’s why.

Glastonbury alone: Kanye gave you a show like no other, not flawless but memorable. So there was that guy who started a petition to get Kanye removed as the headliner for Glastonbury because he’s too ‘hip hop’. Bullshit. The 135,000-strong crowd knew all the words to even his album tracks, knowing when to chime in and when to chant. In true Yeezus style whilst clad head-to-toe in his own designs, he stuck two fingers up to the ‘Pyramid’ stage, kept it square, and performed under a layer of blinding industrial lights. Ninety minutes of sheer tunes any real hip-hop fan knew all the words to; I rapped along from the comfort of my armchair minus the wellies, knowing I could hit pause to use the toilet and feed Salem the cat. No backing dancers: just Kanye – centre stage. I half-expected him to throw a classic Kanye hissy-fit when the not-so-comedic Lee Nelson stormed the stage during ‘Black Skinhead’: he just demanded to start over, rapping minus the soundtrack. He even talked about how ‘My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy’ was inspired by Kim, ‘she brought this poetry out in me’: it was touching, a small tear was shed. Even just performing his verses on feature tracks, you didn’t miss Jay-Z or Big Sean. Yeezy’s stage presence was even bigger than his ego. He left plenty of other rappers wondering if they’d ever make it to that stage. Owned it.   

From The College Dropout to Late Registration, Graduation, to 808s and Heartbreak, through to the classically inspired My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy, right the way through to his collaboration with Jay Z on Watch the Throne and beyond – every album is distinct. You know it’s Kanye. His music spans genres, encompassing classical composition, dope beats, intelligently crafted controversial lyrics: there’s nothing ‘samey’ about Kanye’s music. Yeezus deserves a special mention. It wasn’t an album for the radio: it was a pointed and politically charged album, making you question your own notions of race, perfectly timed for release on 18 June. Kanye doesn’t care if it makes your very white grandparents slightly uncomfortable; revolutionaries are rarely accepted by their contemporaries. 

Kanye flies in the face of political correctness. There’s a reason why Obama would rather be bros with Jay Z than Yeezy. Kanye would rather be a dick than a swallower. He has the tendency to ‘go off on one’ mid concert, or in interviews which leads people to sigh ‘here he goes again’.  Yes, the medium is flawed but it doesn’t make the message redundant. George Bush didn’t appear to care about black people in the wake of Hurricane Katrina, and he wasn’t afraid to put even the leader of the free world on blast during a live news interview. Speaking on the US government at Harvard University’s Graduate School of Design in November 2013, he said ‘We’re led by the least noble, the least dignified, the least tasteful, the dumbest and the most political’ – and he’s not wrong. Oxford University wanted him to come and talk to its students. A Congress of Kanyes wouldn’t be great for getting shit done, but he says the things a lot of us aren’t bold enough to say.  And that also means when we were all thinking that Beyonce’s ‘Single Ladies’ should have won ‘Best Female Video’ when it won ‘Best Video’, he wasn’t afraid to say it in Taylor Swift’s face. Granted, the way he did it was more than unconventional, and conceited, but his opinion wasn’t wrong. Not unlike a naughty kid telling an obese stranger on the bus that they are fat and should lose weight.

He is a creative in the truest sense of the word: his music, his fashion, and his unquestionable persona. Nike wouldn’t give him royalties because he’s not a professional athlete: his Yeezys were among the most profitable shoes ever released by Nike. ‘20Gs for the Yeezys off of eBay’: that’s a fact, not an opinion. Nike’s loss was Adidas’ gain. He got Kim Kardashian wearing sportsgear without being at the gym, like a true promo-wife. Designers laughed at him for wanting to design leather trackpants. Now they’re everywhere. Your nan probably even has a pair. You can thank Kanye, or not.

In a hip-hop world of hoes, throwing some mo’, and having two bitches in the club, it’s refreshing to see a global superstar in love with the idea of his own family. ‘Family is super cool. Going home to one girl every night is super cool. Just going home and getting on the floor and playing with your child is super cool’. Kim, the ultimate trophy wife, his daughter North, and the impending arrival of his son are affirming to the rest of us that even rapstars want a bit of normality. Is he power-drunk or legitimately conceited? His journey, his accomplishments and his catalogue of hits entitle him to a sense of entitlement. By his own admission, ‘[he’s] the greatest living rock star on the planet’. He could afford to curb the mid-concert monologues, and channel his commitment to race and equality issues in a more organised political way, but then that’s not Kanye. When was the last time you wanted to say something but didn’t because you were scared you might be criticised? I can’t remember the last time that happened to me. Yeezy taught me.

[amirahwritesthings]

Hairapy.

Hairdressers. The only professionals apart from doctors or masseuses that you let touch you. And the only people you entrust with your hair. Unless you still let your mum have a go. Hairdresser fucks your hair up? You'll be wearing a Pharrell hat or a beanie until it grows out. Or you’ll be getting a wig made of some Russian bride’s finest premium hair.With great scissor-wielding-power comes great responsibility. 

Last Saturday, I decided I wasn’t going to wait for my hair to grow out of its uncomfortable in-between long and short phase. I decided it was going shorter than it had before. And then Kim Kardashian copied me. Bitch. When you’re at the hairdressers there is no black and white. It’s a big shade of varying shades of grey (and quite literally for the lady sat to my immediate left). We don’t hold back. We are willing to share the details of our lives with a complete stranger. 

On Saturday, I learned about my hairdresser’s bipolar boyfriend and how she really wants to be in an open relationship. I turned into a relationship therapist whilst she insisted on trying to curl my hair to make me look like an extra on ‘The Real Housewives of Cheshire’. I talked about my new personal trainer with boundary issues, about a guy I’m talking to who messaged like we all did when text characters were limited on the Nokia 3310 (wuu2, wbu, u ok), and my plans for the weekend. 

Taking a trip to the hairdresser is like a reduced-rate therapy session. Where you get to offload on to a complete stranger, but at the same time you have zero obligation to do so. It’s a rare opportunity. A suspension of reality for 45 minutes whilst you get a trim. Then it’s back to the real world. 

One piece of advice: make sure the subject of your hairapy session isn’t in sight.

[amirahwritesthings]

V-Day

Valentine’s Day. No guarantee of getting the V or the D day. Just like any other, then.

Saturday 14 February 2015. For the most part, it was a great day. A gym session, shopping for things I didn’t need , and the re-opening of Whitworth Art Gallery with some of my favourite fellow half-breed Arabs. There were even fireworks in February. 

There was one thing that bothered me. Valentine’s Day.

I’ve never had a significant other to spend this momentous day with in my 26 years of life. And I thought this year would be different. I was mistaken. Being a single female on Valentine’s Day shouldn’t have made me feel anything. After all, we all know that it’s just another day. But to me, it wasn’t. It was a universal giant consumerist reminder of something I don’t have. Something that until relatively recently, I did have. And something I want to have again in the future. 

Instead, what I received was one Snapchat from a guy saying he wanted to get balls deep, get head, and bang with no commitment. And another two texts from two different guys telling me that they wanted to be my booty call. None of these three messages were what I wanted. Especially not on V-Day.

I know I’m not the only person who felt like that. I was sat in Chunky Chicken on Wilmslow Road at approximately 11 pm with two very attractive half-Arab half-English ladies. Over chicken wings, we shared stories of relationships past, relationships present, and hopes of future relationships. Three intelligent, articulate and grounded ladies. And we were all sentimental about the most hyped day of the year. We all cared. And none of us wanted to. 

Last night, I was talking to one of my best friends. He said, rather wisely I might add, ‘Valentine’s Day is just a day of dishonesty’. And he’s absolutely right. He’s in a relationship and he and his girlfriend of 4 years have never celebrated Valentine’s Day. He said ‘I’d rather just buy her flowers on a random day of the year because I want to, and because I value her every day of the year’. Yes, he is a real person.

Single people are either made to feel bad for being single or forced into saying they’re comfortable being alone. On no other day of the year would a single person have to assert they are happy being single. Or feel like they have to convince themselves they’re fine whilst surrounded by loving couples walking hand-in-hand. With Stevie Wonder on a loop in every shop. 

Likewise, if you’re in a couple, you’re forced to show your significant other that you care, or you make up for the fact that maybe you haven’t always been attentive enough, because Clinton’s Cards told you to. And likewise, that’s bullshit.

I guess what I’m saying is as much as I wanted to pretend Valentine’s Day was just another day and I didn’t care, the truth is that I did. And I was more annoyed at myself for caring in the first place. 

But you feel what you feel, whether that’s on Valentine’s Day or any other day of the year. I suppose the key is to let yourself feel it. If you want to buy your girlfriend flowers, it can be 3 March and it doesn’t matter. It’s all about true feelings and real sentiment. And not being afraid to say it.

Every day can be Valentine’s Day. Or not. Your choice.

[amirahwritesthings]

Freshers.

I hate freshers. I hate freshers because I'm jealous of them. Their idealistic visions of their future careers, their suave and sophisticated friends, the Porsche with the personalised number plate (for anyone hoping to get L005E, it's already taken), the guy/girl who has beauty, brains and class, not forgetting the designer shoes. Plus they get to live in that bubble between adolescence and adulthood. They never tell you how much of a bubble that really is until it pops the day you graduate, and you realise you've accumulated around £30,000 of debt, a student overdraft that defies your desperate attempts to tame it, and bills are things you pay rather than sending to your parents. 

There isn't just one kind of fresher. Just like real people, freshers come in different colours, shapes and sizes. There are a few kinds of fresher I came across in my younger days...

1. The 'experienced' fresher: This fresher had a reputation in high school. They may or may not have had slightly seedy dealings with one of the younger mildly attractive schoolteachers. They may also have been caught in some compromising positions on school premises. They come to uni with two options in mind: starting afresh and shaking that reputation or upping their game and becoming infamous. Chances are in Freshers' Week, they'll go for upping their game, and then spend the remaining 3 years trying to shake the 'hoebag label' they've been gifted. Unfortunate.

2. The lad: The lad doesn't stop talking about how much of a lad he is. He'll drink himself into the ground, tell everyone how he has more experience than Cristiano Ronaldo, and how he's easily the best looking boy in his halls of residence. Think Jay from 'The Inbetweeners' who somehow managed to navigate his way through GCSEs and A-Levels to land a place at university. To him, university = an opportunity to party for three years, and sample all of the delights on offer. Chances are he'll make it to a few classes, develop an unhealthy aversion to washing himself and his Hollister wardrobe, and collect more than a few traffic cones/road signs. When his parents come to pick him up for the summer, they'll think he landed a part-time job with the Highways Agency.

3. The country bumpkin fresher: They didn't have a cinema within 40 miles of their house. They think twerking is a new Yo-Yo trick because obviously Yo-Yos are still in. It's like corrupting your 12-year old super-naïve sibling, but you're just educating them about the harsh realities of university life. Their parents won't thank the lecturer of life-lessons when Farmer Giles Junior has undergone their first-year survival course.

4. The rich kid fresher: There's always a rich kid. They don't know how much a packet of pasta costs, and refuse to set foot near Asda. And there's that superiority complex that will soon be smacked out of them by 'the lad'. Daddy pays their rent, their bills, and sends them money for when they blew their student loan in Freshers' Week on Moët. The rich kid is good to know when you're short of cash in a taxi. 'Can you break a fifty?'. Maybe not.

5. The international student fresher: They struggle with the regional accents, and you can hardly blame them when most Southerners don't understand Northerners. They like to shop, and they get the shiny Selfridges bags. That means they're spending BIG. Chances are they speak and write better English than the other students on their course. Befriend one of these guys, and you have your summer holiday sorted, full board, flights not included.

So when a fresher looks at you puzzled asking where to catch 'X bus' or where the nearest Aldi is, you could send them the other way if you're a prick. Or you could remember how it felt when you were that fresh-faced fresher scared for your own life in a big city surrounded by weirdos. You're still allowed to judge them when you hear them talking about 'finding themselves' on their 'gap yah'. It's a 'gap year', you tit.

[amirahwritesthings]

Sluts.

Slut. Whore. Sket. Slag. Adding 'filthy' or 'dirty' to the three preceding words just for extra emphasis is optional.

The true origin of the word "slut" is unknown, but it first appeared in Middle English in 1402 as slutte with the meaning "a dirty, untidy, or slovenly woman".

Slut is such a loaded word considering it's just one syllable. And it carries so many connotations. If you dress a certain way. Look a certain way. Conduct yourself in a certain way. In the last couple of years, there has been a movement in the Western world for women to reclaim the word 'slut' in the same way that gay people adopted the 'queer' label. Basically, if you're going to try and use a word to insult me, I'll take it on as a word to describe me. I'm not sure we're in a place where we are accepting 'slut' as just a word owned by empowered women. It's definitely not the way I hear it used...

Just to start, I'm not a raging feminist. I don't even think of myself as a feminist at all. I'm not anti-sex. And I'm not pro-promiscuity. I'm just a Middle-Eastern-English hybrid not so carefully blended together to create an opinionated ethnic mish-mash. And I have a big mouth. But I don't think it's my business to talk about who is having sex, how much sex they're having, and to cast judgment on them as a result of their exploits.

Be sexy. Wear that dress. Buy all the Agent Provocateur. Make your weekly trip to Ann Summers (not the lingerie section). Wax. Tone. Tan. Society sexualises women and then tells them they're too sexy. One person's idea of sexy is another person's definition of slutty. There seems to be the finest of lines between acceptable sexiness and unacceptable sluttiness. And society determines that it's ok to call a woman a slut.

Girls

In your group of friends, you might use one, two or all four of these words as a term of endearment. You know, in the same way you pose for the 'We bad bitches' photo that you post on Instagram. 

Chances are you might say the girl your ex is now with is a slut. You might be bitter, pissed off that he cheated on you, and vexed that he went for a younger blonder model with bigger tits and bluer eyes than you. Before you call her a slut, take a second to think about it. It's more than likely she's just like you. She met a guy. She liked the guy. Your ex got wifed down. And now they're happy. Probably having sex. That doesn't make her a whore. Apart from the fact that you used to be that girl, and now you aren't. It doesn't make her a slut. It makes her the girl sleeping with your ex-boyfriend.

Last weekend, I must have heard about 3 different girls call other girls slags. Here's how I see it. The media is tough enough on women as it is. Think of your typical TV reality star. The dialogue goes something like this. 'You're too fat', 'Lose weight', 'Not that much weight, you're too thin', 'You've got an eating disorder', 'Two guys in two nights - TV reality whore'. And then that's your label. The media fuels public opinion. Public opinion makes it into every aspect of your life. The world's not exactly an easy place. When was the last time you told another woman on a night out that she looked nice? I have to admit I saw a woman over the weekend who I thought was truly stunning and I told her. She genuinely said 'I thought you were staring me down like I was some slag or something'. Erm, no. I thought you looked fit and wanted your shoes/face.

Would you like it if some other girl called you a whore? Probably not. Empower your fellow ladies. Whether they have all the sex, dress provocatively, or sleep with your ex. You don't gain anything from calling them a whore. Don't perpetuate the name-calling-slut-cycle.

Guys

One thing I'll never accept is how society treats men who sleep around compared to how we judge women who do the exact same thing. Man who sleeps with 5 women over a weekend = the ultimate lad. Woman who sleeps with 5 guys over the weekend = the ultimate slag. What's the difference? Being successful with women is regarded as a masculine aspirational ideal. A key to survival in the urban jungle of singledom. Women being successful with men is regarded as being anti-feminine. And cheap. It makes no sense.

Guys, just like the girls shouldn't be calling other girls slags, neither should you. What if an anonymous guy called your mum a whore? Or your sister? Likewise, if a girl chooses to express herself in a sexual way, that doesn't make her a whore. It makes her a modern woman making her own choices. Like I said before, I'm not pro-promiscuity. I'm of the opinion that it's not my business how much sex the girl in the bodycon black dress has over the weekend. 

Guys don't call each other slags. Even if they do put the 'd' around. I just think it'a problematic to judge girls by a standard you don't apply to men and women.

I guess what I'm saying is that every person is an individual. And they approach life with their own values and views which evolve and are shaped over time by the people they meet and the experiences they have. I don't think of people as slags or frigid bitches. I think of people on a scale of sexual activism. And it's entirely that individual's choice as to where they position themselves on the sexual scale. And how many positions they adopt whilst making their way along that scale.

All I know is that it's nothing to do with me. And it's not my place to judge you. 

Go forth and prosper. With protection.

[amirahwritesthings]

What does your Instagram say about you?

We’re all visual. Give me pictures. Give me videos. And give me pictures of your food and fancy drinks all the time.

Instagram is the perfect platform to show the world you’re a bouji bitch. To portray your flawlessly executed life, carefully filtered so we see only what you want us to see. To prove to the world that you know the spots that are poppin’ on a Saturday night. And that you’ve copped the triple black huaraches (if you don’t know about these, get to know).

How many Sunday roast posts do you have?

Do you hashtag like your life depends on it?

Do you post memes to make yourself look like some modern-day Mahatma Ghandi?

Which Instagrammer are you?

Artsy

We’ve got the artsy people on Instagram. The people who take some photos that you have to look at twice, then turn your phone at an angle/upside down to work out that it’s actually a piece of toast.

Lifestyle

Then there are the lifestyle Instagrammers. They travel. They eat at the exclusive restaurants. They wear the fine fragrances. Everything is branded. They have the limited edition trainers. And they have those job titles that you have to Google to actually understand what the hell it is they actually do to be able to afford all the fancy stuff. They live the aspirational lifestyle. And you want to be them.

Selfie-obsessed

Selfie queens. How many pictures can you really take of yourself without getting bored? We all take selfies. That’s a fact. But when your whole Instagram is a catalogue of ass shots for the past two weeks, charting your ‘squat challenge’ progress for the world to see, it’s a little bit self-indulgent. And then there’s the evolution from trout-pout to duck face plaguing your news-feed.

Coffee snobs

There are the coffee snobs. Espressos. Lattes with hearts floating on top. Starbucks cups with their name spelled wrong. Pictures of pop-up coffee bars. Coffee is not a luxury, it’s a necessity. But realistically, how much coffee can you drink before you turn from a caffeine connoisseur to a full-on caffeine crack-head?

Babies

Babies. Babies in nappies. Babies crawling. Babies drooling. Babies smiling. I’m sure your baby is great. And I’m sure it only took one attempt for you to capture that cute ‘butter wouldn’t melt face’. But too many snaps of babies being fed killed the Instagram news-feed.

Scenery snappers

The romantic sunset specialist Instagrammer. ‘Look at the orange sky #nofilter’. Because I’ve never seen a sunset before. And it’s unlikely I’ll see one again. Unless I missed the memo from the Mayans about the world ending. Why so many likes for something so everyday? Je ne comprends pas.

Foodies

Food addicts. The healthy food addicts showcase their low-carb/low-fat/nil taste dishes. And the less health-obsessed post photos of giant American-sized burgers, ice-cream sundaes and milkshakes sweet enough to give you a sugar fix for the rest of the week. Let’s face it. We all need food. So we all like to look at food. To an extent…

Meme experts

The meme generators. Those users who find the most obnoxious and inspirational quotations that are going to change your life, make you stop being a hateful prick, make you dump that wasteman of a boyfriend, or make you think twice before you get #turnt on a school night. There’s a time and a place for these memes. And inspirational quotations aren’t  one of your 5 a day. More like an occasional treat.

I think the best Instagrammers are the ones that mix it up. The ones that give you a bit of variety, that give you the occasional snapshot of their life. A sneak peak, rather than a relentless catalogue of overwhelming images.

How can you mix it up? Maybe you could #instagramyournan.

[amirahwritesthings]

Gaza.

Gaza. Palestine. Israel. Terrorists. Anti-Semites. I've desperately tried to avoid writing about the most recent Gaza conflict. That's not because I don't care, but because I care too much. And the frustration of caring too much coupled with being unable to effectively do anything meaningful to help is beyond troubling. Watching people dying from afar, families being literally blown apart, and buildings being reduced to rubble in the name of peace is contrary to logic.  

One thing I've come to realise in the past few weeks is how little the general public really know about Gaza. The history of the region. The years between the history and the present day. About the civilians who have always been pawns in a political and ideological play. But most importantly of all, how willing we all are to adopt a perspective without being in full knowledge of the facts. And to adopt a stance from which we are unwilling to waver. A classic game of pointing the finger and assigning blame. But what about the future for the people of this troubled region? The fundamental rights and freedoms of the Palestinians? And the possibility for stability in a region plagued by unrest, territorial dispute, military agendas, multinational involvement and humanitarian crisis? To begin to formulate some semblance of what peace may look like in the future, you need to visit the past. And the past helps to inform us of the present. 

PAST

But first, for a brief but necessary history lesson. I'm no historian, but I've done a bit of research of my own. 

Palestine formed part of the Ottoman Emplre in 1517 and remained under Turkish rule until World War One. The Turks were defeated by the English at the end of this war, and peace talks resulted in parts of the Ottoman Empire being gifted to the French and the British. Britain controlled the Palestinian territory under a League of Nations mandate from 1920 to 1948. The Arabs who lived there: Palestine was now their home, as a reward for assisting the Allies in defeating the Turks who had occupied the land previously. However, the same area of land was allegedly promised to the Jews in the Balfour Declaration, and from 1920 onwards, Jews began to migrate to the area and live alongside the Arabs. (NB, The Balfour Declaration was created in 1917 and led Jews in Britain and America to believe that Great Britain would support the creation of a Jewish state in the Palestinian territory). Both Jews and Arabs lived side by side in seeming tolerance. August 1929 spelt trouble. There was a large influx of Jews to Jerusalem - the numbers doubled in just 10 years. The Arabs had two enemies - the Jews and the British authorities. The Jews likewise had two enemies - the Arabs and the British. The British tried to put a quota on the number of Jews able to enter Palestine to appease the Arabs and the Jews. 

After the end of World War 2, many Jews had fought for the allies and developed military skills which equipped them with the skill to carry out acts of terrorism, to push for their own territory in the wake of the Holocaust. The British were targeted by extremist Jewish terrorist groups, the Irgun and Stern Gang and after their military headquarters were bombed, realised a way out of the region was the only option remaining. 

1947. The newly formed United Nations accepted that dividing Palestine into a Jewish territory (Israel) and a zone for the Arabs (Palestine) would be an amicable solution to both parties. 700,000 Palestinian Arabs fled between 1947-1948. The 160,000 Palestinian Arabs remaining were internal refugees, evicted from their homes by Zionists. The British withdrew on May 14 1948. Israel was attacked by surrounding Arab nations from May 1948 to January 1949. Palestinian Arabs saw Israel as an illegitimate state. 

There have been multiple attempts since to try and reach an amicable and mutually beneficial agreement to bring stability to a notoriously problematic Middle Eastern problem. Each of these have failed to bring much needed finality to this conflict. 

PRESENT

People lie. Numbers don’t. And the figures are abysmal. 1922 Palestinian deaths. 3 Israeli civilians killed. 64 Israeli soldiers. The UN says 1,354 of those who died were civilians, including 415 children and 214 women. I don't need to spell out the obvious difference here. Yes, Israel operates a mandatory conscription policy. But the civilians of Gaza had no military training and no desire to be combatants. Yet they comprise the largest of the fatalities. 

Fresh fighting broke out today after the 72 hour ceasefire collapsed. A further 5 Palestinians have been killed amid airstrikes. Ban-ki Moon, UN Secretary General has stated that the Gaza attacks have been a 'nightmare', 'intolerable' and stressed this 'must never happen again', and that the international community needs to unite to support the recreation of a territory reduced to rubble.  A territory devoid of human rights and fundamental freedoms in an age of international humanitarian activism. 

It’s hard to remain neutral when you are bombarded with images of displaced families, obliterated homes, and the faces of dead children who all share the same national heritage. And whose national heritage makes them a target. However, I would say the depiction of this most recent bate of violence is demonstrative of a shift in international support for Israel’s political agenda and for Benjamin Netenyahu. Traditionally, the media depiction is one of Israel being a victim of Hamas’ relentless rocket fire. The Israelis being targeted and imposed upon by an extremist Islamists legitimated by a political cloak. 

Since 7 July 2014, the mood has shifted. The images have been real. Unapologetic. Uncensored. The apathy of the Western world has been converted into verbal and visual activism. People are engaging with Gaza. They want to boycott conglomerates who unashamedly provide funding to allow the Israeli military to have the financial capacity to carry out these air strikes. The White House even released a statement, saying 'The United States is very concerned' about the fresh violence. France want an imposed solution because the two sides cannot seem to restore peace of their own volition. In the UK, Sayeeda Warsi resigned from Government over David Cameron’s unwillingness to openly criticise the military destruction carried out by Israel against the Palestinian people. The courage to criticise Israel’s military campaign has been markedly more evident. And not just by journalists such as Jon Snow, but even Hollywood actors such as  Penelope Cruz and Javier Bardem in their open letter speak out against the acts of Israel. I wouldn't ordinarily pay credence to anything Penelope Cruz or Javier Bardem have to say. But to speak out so frankly and honestly, and to use their platform for means other than pure PR is admirable. And in the face of this unrest, absolutely necessary. There's also Russell Brand and his reactionary videos to interviews aired on Fox News with Sean Hannity. They are an incredible example of American bigotry deconstructed by British intellectual wit. 

Every death is a tragedy. That one person is someone's child, someone's brother, someone's friend. A death is a tragedy, whether Israeli or Palestinian. But when a child is a sole survivor of an air strike, and their entire family is killed: their mother, their father, their grandparents, their siblings, and their friends, you feed reciprocal violence. You encourage vengeance. And when that vengeance is carried out, you fight vengeance with even more violence. How do you break this cycle? How do you even begin to reconcile two peoples consumed by immeasurable hatred and such profound sadness? How do you attempt to create a forum for constructive debate and pragmatic solutions? 

FUTURE

To look to the future of the Israel-Palestinian conflict, you have to understand what each side want, and what the obstacles are to these demands. 

What do Hamas want? 

They want Israel to stop air-striking sites belonging to Hamas. As well as sites they deem to be Hamas strongholds when in fact they are predominantly civilian areas.

They want the 7-year blockade imposed by Israel to be lifted. Hamas want their crossings with Israel and Egypt to be reopened to allow the flow of goods and people. Egypt restricted travel into and out of Gaza following on from the recent political unrest where President Morsi was removed from power, a Hamas-allied Muslim Brotherhood figurehead. Previous truces were reached with Egypt back in 2012 and Hamas were promised the blockade would be lifted, but this never happened. Israel argue that if they were to end the blockade, Hamas would use this opportunity to restock weaponry, and instead of using construction material to build schools and homes, would instead use them to build tunnels.

They want electrical power. Israel supplies this power. Typically, Gazans have 12 hours of electricity per day. But after Gaza's power plant was hit by tank shells in the recent violence, they have received 4 hours of electricity per day.

They want fishing rights. Gaza is economically weak. There is a current sea buffer of 3 nautical miles which they argue should be extended to 12 nautical miles to give greater opportunity for them to be able to fish. Israel would be unlikely to agree this as it would threaten their off-shore oil drilling sites and would require more surveillance to ensure arms smuggling doesn't take place. 

They want Hamas prisoners released after they were rounded up in Israel's sweep of the West Bank following the search for three missing Israeli teenagers. Prisoner exchange has taken place before, but prisoners who are released are usually later recaptured. 

Both sides have been unable to broker a solution of any permanency. Temporary ceasefires which are broken only lead into a cyclical retaliation, which in turn translates into further attack. What is the solution? And what role does the international community have in reconciling two sides who share no similarity bar their humanity?

I'm not a politician. I'm not an expert on Middle Eastern politics. But I am human. And irrespective of whether you are pro-Israeli, or pro-Palestine, first and foremost, you should be pro-humanity. Humanity should take precedence. I think that in order for there to be some semblance of normalcy in this region, a few things need to happen:

1. Israel needs to acknowledge that a Palestinian life is akin to an Israeli life. This means Palestinians are not second-class citizens. They have committed war cimes against the Palestinian people and should be held to account for this. They are worthy of rights: access to education, healthcare, the provision of basic infrastructure, and the potential to progress and advance through life in the same way as their Israeli counterpart. In basic terms, Israel needs to respect and abide by UN Convention and understand that their actions are subject to international combat etiquette, and do not form an exception. 

2. International involvement needs to be positive for ALL concerned, and not limited to allies of the past or present. We all know America likes to put its fingers in all the pies. Israel's existence is of strategic importance to them. They have a vested interest. And likewise, Qatar and Turkey with their more conservative Muslim-Brotherhood aligned agendas support Hamas. We know each side is funded, and we know roughly speaking who will fund each respective side. But when funding is focused on munitions and weaponry, and not on building a future for the people of Gaza, this is deeply troubling. International money used to positively reshape and rebuild a demolished region, and to construct a future for a whole generation of people who have seen so much violence and destruction has to be a priority. Perhaps a bolstered UN forum, comprised of all G8 nations, with presence from the wealthier Middle Eastern countries. 

3. A review of the blockade has to happen. It's not feasible in the 21st Century that a party with the upper military and economic hand should be permitted to impose rations, carefully calculated to allow sustenance and prevent starvation. Concerns about munition imports are legitimate. But stocks and imports can easily be checked to ensure that foodstuffs and toys for example, are being imported instead of weaponry. This is key to rebuilding relationships, and to the basic health and happiness of a deprived minority.

4. Respect, humility, and tolerance. Practical solutions such as removing blockades and giving money are relatively easy. Changing a mentality and shaping the thoughts of people who have witnessed countless deaths and the horror of combat is the greatest struggle. How do you convert hatred into tolerance? Leadership is key. This leadership has to be moderate, informed, representative of mass opinion, and led by a desire for peace and prosperity. Benjamin Netanyahu encourages hatred. And some of his soldiers see fit to leave faeces in the homes of Palestinians, and scrawl 'Dead Arab = Good Arab' into their furniture. Khaled Meshaal likewise has a reputation for stirring up trouble, and with his heavy Qatar backing, is poised to restock weaponry. Level-headed, moderate, inclusive political views of a new generation dedicated to a peaceful resolution are imperative. Even if this has to be initially imported from an international forum such as the UN just to start with.

The people affected here are those in Gaza. The civilians. They want to eat, work, study, and live peacefully with their families. They are the ones affected on a daily basis. They are the ones being targeted and killed. And they are the faces of this conflict. Like I said, I'm no expert. But to me, a forum for peace comprised of liberal, open-minded individuals, both Israeli and Palestinian, who are willing to engage with one another, with political backing, would be a great starting point. No overseas influence. Just the civilians. But the mantra has to be one of placing the past firmly at the door. Harbouring resentment, and a forward-thinking and progressive forum are not compatible. 

Being Jewish doesn't mean you are a Zionist. Being Muslim or sympathetic to the plight of the Palestinians does not make you a terrorist. Acknowledging and mourning the unnecessary loss of human life makes you human. And humanity is desperately needed when looking at this conflict. The international community has a pivotal role in bringing peace to such a volatile region: this involvement has to be meaningful, and the impetus has to be humanitarian. Not ideological. Not political. Humanitarian. There might be hope for humanity yet.

[amirahwritesthings]

Is your selfie game strong?

Selfie: A picture taken of yourself that is planned to be uploaded to Facebook, Myspace, or any other sort of social networking website. A selfie is usually accompanied by a kissy face or the individual is looking in a direction that is not towards the camera. - Urban Dictionary

Before the term 'selfie' was actually a thing, we all took pictures of ourselves. Your new shades, your new dress, your new pair of fresh trainers, maybe your new purchase from Victoria's Secret if you're feeling fruity. But when did it become normal to just take photos of yourself, in front of other people, so you can broadcast your face all over the Internet? Again, I'm not saying this from a point of being a critical asshole. I'm saying it because even I do it. It just seems weird. Chances are your friends know what your face looks like. And they'll see what your face looks like in those shades in the park in 2 hours, what your ass looks like in that dress on Saturday night, and how fresh your feet look in those kreps at the rave. I think it's down to the fact that we live in an age where it's all things, all the time, and right now. Why wait when I can show you right now? We're all selfie celebrities giving our fans what they want. When they want it. 

This guy!

Enter Snapchat. The opportunity to video your daily life. Along with the opportunity to take photos of yourself. And video yourself. For the benefit of every friend fortunate enough to have you on their account. And add them to a story so everyone can see what you've been doing all day. I'm still learning about Snapchat. My sister on the other hand is Snapchat's greatest living breathing advert. I know when her make-up's different, when she's been for shisha, when she's cooked some food and when she's been on the bus. Basically it's like being her pet monkey living on her right shoulder minus the mutual inconvenience to the both of us. It's kind of cool. Until it's overkill. The fact that we all use it and want to know what everyone else is doing signals a change. Before, if you wanted to be nosy, you had to be sneaky. But now, everything's out there, so you aren't being nosy. You're being observant if you know where all your friends have been by watching their Snapchat stories, and keeping track of their selfies with varying hashtags (#nomakeupselfie, #sunglassesselfie, etc) on Facebook and Instagram. 

What does all this mean? I think it means a few things:

1. We want people to know we're cooler than them: When you're at home watching TV eating Chinese, I'm taking a selfie in the toilet of a club in the city. Because I'm cooler than you, and I think you should know about it.

2. We care less about what strangers think of us: If I'm taking a selfie and you see me, so what? We're probably not destined to be lifelong homies. And my fans need to know about these new Ray Bans. So yeah. Suck it.

3. Technology has allowed us to become visual all the time: I can and will be in your face 24hrs a day. And if you don't like it, unsubscribe, unfollow, or hide me from your timeline.

#Selfies are set to stay in-frame for the foreseeable future. The future of selfies is in making them original. #hangingupsidedownselfie. #inspaceselfie. #segwayselfie. 

The selfie that almost broke Twitter.

[amirahwritesthings]

Baby Got Back.

Kim Kardashian. Jennifer Lopez. Khloe Kardashian. Nicki Minaj. Blac Chyna. Amber Rose. (I don't include Beyonce anymore).

Amber Rose

What do they all have in common, apart from filling the pages of your favourite Women's Weekly magazine? They can all fill a pair of jeans. And each of them have an ass to rival Jessica Rabbit's (yeah, it's OK to think a cartoon character is fire).

Right now, trends dictate if you haven't got back, you might as well get in the bin. And stay there for the foreseeable future. That's unless you want to sign up to the nearest 'Squat squad' to get that pancake ass to resemble a shelf. 

I remember growing up when it was all about Nicole Richie, Lindsay Lohan and the Olsen twins. Basically, skeletons with opaque skin. And bobble heads. Skeletal was sexy. I'm not the kind of girl to hate on genuinely skinny girls. I happen to know a lot of them. They're the girls who eat double portions of cheesy chips and chocolate cake and don't gain weight. And they're really fucking lucky. But I've got to say that the emergence of a new-found appreciation for a woman with tits and ass comes as a relief for the rest of us without the metabolism of an 8-year old boy. Or does it?

Another thing I've noticed is the willingness of white girls to put in work. Round behinds were the hallmark of my black/Arab girlfriends when I was growing up. I saw a meme this week where some gassed white girl started smack talking black girls, and said that the reason why all the 'brothers' were going for the white girls was because they could get that Iggy Azalea ass minus the baby-mother-drama. Insert barrage of comments, Facebook insults, death threats and jokes about ratchet weave. Personally, I don't think it matters whether you're white, yellow, brown or green. If your ass rivals Khloe Kardashian's and you're happy with the situation, I salute you. 

Khloe Kardashian

It did get me thinking when it became desirable to have an inflated derriere. I want to say that the woman who kicked it all off was J-Lo back in her 'Jenny from the Block' days, but I think she was more athletic than the new-age booty queens. I look at the women who are making it into the 'DAT ASS premier league', and they're the women with REAL curves. Not toned to the max. Not flabby. Just real women. And I think that has to be a good thing. Because the majority of women I know want their Frappacino with cream, and don't want the shit-tasting light alternative. And they don't want to starve themselves before a big night out to feel like they look good in THAT dress. And sometimes, just sometimes, they will eat a second doughnut when they think no-one's watching and they don't want that lasting guilt. 

A few extra pounds on the bumper are a buffer zone, not a trailer dragging behind and slowing you down. 

Ultimately, you've got to love yourself. After all, you have to wake up with you, walk around with you, and go to bed with you every night. So I guess the lesson to be learned here is work what you've got. If you've got ass, wear a dress that makes you feel like Kim-K. And skip the gym. Twerk just like a lady.

Iggy Azalea

[amirahwritesthings]

Projects v. Works in Progress

‘I don’t want a project. And I don’t want the finished article. I’m happy with a work in progress.’

When you were in school, you were either a kid that loved projects, or a kid who did anything to get someone else to do yours for you. I fucking loved projects in school. I never thought of people as projects (apart from that time I did a project on Walt Disney and uncovered the truth about his racist ways). Utter devastation. But as I’ve gotten older, I’ve realised that some people ARE projects. And even worse than that, they expect another person to come along and fix all their inadequacies. In a more permanent way than a lamppost supporting a drunken middle-aged man on a heavy Friday night/Saturday morning.

A project siren should start sounding when you ask a pretty simple mundane question about their past. And they can’t answer it because it’s ‘too painful’, or they’re too wounded, or they ‘don’t like to talk about the past’. Reality check. If you’ve got issues from your past, and you don’t address them, they’ll impact on your present. And inevitably fuck up your future too. So yeah, talking about the past is necessary. And then on the rare occasion that they choose to open up about their dark twisty past, it’s like a flood. And there’s no dam in sight. But then the next day, it’s like the confessions of the previous night never happened. How convenient. Then you’re back to square one. And if you’re smart enough, you’ll run in the opposite direction. They can ‘Dear diary’ that shit.

As a person currently in the ‘Quarter-Life Crisis’ phase, I can identify with the twenty-somethings all wondering when life will just sort itself out the way everyone tells you it does. Life could do with a violent kick up the ass. But a project’s insecurities aren’t a transitional phase. They’re a permanent fixture. Because guess what? That’s right. Projects don’t deal with their emotions. Or finances. Or just life generally. They wallow in pity, and expect you to bear the burden of their bullshit. Which if you’re naïve or unbelievably patient, you may well do. Here’s a harsh truth. Once a project has gained from you, and has been restored to the levels of a normal functioning person, they’re all shiny and new just in time for the next prospect on the horizon. And you’re left wondering how you invested so much time and patience in someone who evidently didn’t really care about you in the first place. The result? You turn into a miniature project with an insecurity that YOU need to fix before you let it affect the next person that comes along who isn’t actually a wanker. Oh the irony.

Signs you’ve invested in a project and it’s time to cash in before you’re broke?

• You’ve put your own life on hold to make sure the[ir] project work is done;

• You’re putting in all the effort to meet their needs but it’s not reciprocated;

• You’re financially bearing the burden of your hang-out time;

Here’s what I think. Projects are hard work. Whether you’re a kid at school, or you’re ploughing in effort to impress your boss at work on a project that will cement your career or land you that much-deserved promotion. But people shouldn’t be projects for other people to work on. There’s a difference between a project and a work-in-progress.

Most people are works-in-progress, and always will be. You’re never going to be a finished article because every day teaches you something new, or you meet someone who changes your perspective, or because you experience something that was previously alien to you. And all of these things contribute to the person that you are and develop you into the best possible version of yourself. Or make you into a crack addict if the new thing you try is crack and you’ve got an addictive personality. Life’s too short to plough energy into an empty vessel. You wouldn’t do it with your savings (if you’re fortunate enough to have any), so why do it with your time when you won’t get that time back?

Don’t waste time on projects, spend time with people who are works-in-progress. You might just yield a long-term return on that investment…

[amirahwritesthings]

Boys II Men.

This week, a few Facebook friends posted an article '10 signs you're dating a woman and not a girl'. Usually, I think these kinds of literary pieces are complete and utter bullshit. But this time, it made me think about when boys become men. And to add to that, a self-proclaimed member of the '#30 Club', complete with dinner jacket, reiterated the same point to me: there aren't many real women out there anymore, but there are a lot of prestige Chanel-bag-clutching bitches thirsty for fame and starving for real food. So that started me thinking. How do you know if you're dating a real man rather than a wasteman? 

1. A man's all about working on projects. HE isn't a project. 

Creative prowess and a willingness to take on a challenge to achieve a goal is sexy. I'm talking about the men who can put together flat-pack furniture together without turning all caveman, or a guy who can design and code a website. Don't misunderstand me. No person is the finished article. But boys who are projects and need a girl to come along and help them sort their shit out? No thanks. Women don't want projects. Men have charming imperfections that form their personality; not flaws that need fixing. 

2. He's a Masterchef. And isn't afraid to prove it.

A man can cook and doesn't expect his wifey to be all old school in a pinafore and 4" heels, standing over the stove. He'll take the initiative, pre-empt that your boss is being a prick again and that you'll be late home…again. And he'll have cooked your favourite plate of food, just the way you like it. All you have to do is handle dessert...

3. He doesn't live in student digs. Or with his parents.

I'm not saying that a man has to own his own house. Or even rent an entire apartment. But he's got a home environment that reflects his personality. He takes pride in his house, keeps it tidy, and there aren't any unwashed dishes in the sink. He cleans up.

4. A man isn't scared to speak his mind. A boy keeps you guessing.

Boys are gameplayers. And they're all about keeping women guessing, 'When's he going to call?', 'Does he even think about me?', 'When's he going to get serious about me?'. A man will just tell you when it's game on. Or game over. No bullshit. No tricks. 100% honesty. 

5. He knows politics, but still understands it's important to Sky + The Kardashians for you.

Let's be real for a second. Politics is important, if only to know who not to vote for in your local elections. But if he's interested to watch the AM show on Sunday over a croissant and a coffee, he's a keeper. 

An added bonus? If he knows the cast of Made in Chelsea, and can have a discussion about the Kardashians with you AND he remembers to Sky + your programmes for you. Then he's definitely a good guy. Even if he might not admit it to his friends.

Men are hard to come by. And so are real women. I think you have to work through the wastemen and the thirsty bitches before you realise what the real thing looks and feels like. And even more importantly, it's about realising the value in the real men and the valuable women when you find them. Because if you don't someone else will.