francesca

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[francescadunlop]

I tried challenging my eating disorder for a week [tw]

– and here are my thoughts.

Having never really spoken to anybody about my fraught relationship with food, or the crushing anxiety that came so easily alongside it, filming a whole video where I actually challenged myself to eat foods I was afraid of was certainly a daunting experience to me. Having made it to the other side not only unscathed but feeling more liberated and able when it comes to food, I decided (as always) to share my thoughts on eating disorders and how to overcome them.

*Before we begin, this post inevitably contains possible triggers for those who have experienced an eating disorder or a negative relationship with food in the past. Readers’ discretion is advised, so please stop reading now or at any point you feel uncomfortable, and don’t be afraid to reach out for support! (or shoot me a message).*

Inevitably, the main realisation I had this past week (or rather, the main confirmation of what I always really knew), is that diet culture really is a scam. Both men and women are taught from a young age that there is a specific, idealised body type or image that is most desirable, and others that are, well, not. I have since realised that – contrary to my fourteen-year-old self’s conviction that ‘if I could just get my abs to look like this girl’s on Pinterest, I’ll be happy’ – no matter how much my external body changes, how I feel about myself will not. Why? Because (and I know it’s cringe, but it’s true) happiness really is an inside job, and how you feel about yourself is not a derivative of how you look, but how you think about yourself and your life, and the meaning you derive from the things that you do and consume. 

Something else I rediscovered was the inevitable irrationality of an eating disorder. In some ways, learning that I couldn’t trust the things my mind was telling me was liberating; relearning the ways I think about food and trusting my intuition (rather than my irrational fear-based thinking) has been most helpful to me in realising that things don’t have to be as frightening or as tightly-controlled as that irrational part of my mind tries to convince me it has to be. 

Another lesson I have learned is that often eating disorders change and morph over time, and often without you quite realising it. Journalling and making a habit of more mindful activities such as yoga has really helped increase my own self awareness and listen to my body and what it needs. Often if I’m resisting how I feel about a situation it comes from a place of not wanting to deal with it and neglecting to listen to myself, whereas acceptance of (and therefore changing) a situation always comes from a high level of self-compassion and understanding. (I made a video and blog post on how and why I journal, if that’s helpful to you.) 

And honestly, the biggest challenge for me is be open and posting about this on the Internet, where people in my real life will see this post and see my video and know something very personal about myself. As I explained on YouTube, watching my friend do the same thing really made me feel seen, safe, and heard, and motivated me to get out of my comfort zone and do something that would ultimately better myself and improve my relationship with food and with myself. Hopefully, I can do the same for others, hence the intention behind this post and behind the video. As always, my DMs and ask box is always open!

Some more tips that might be helpful:

- distract yourself whilst eating!! it helps – talk to/call someone, listen to music, etc

- push yourself!! it also helps – be kind to yourself and listen to what your body needs, but also challenge yourself to try new things

- be patient and kind with yourself (always, with anything)

- things might get worse before they get better, but they do get better

lots of love,

f x

http://beateatingdisorders.org.uk

[francescadunlop]

things I’ve learned in These Unprecedented Times

- thoughts from a global pandemic.

It starts with peace of mind. Paradise lies between the bones of my skull, but so does hell. I cannot show up for the world if I cannot show up for myself: and if there is a wildfire behind my eyes, what will I perceive? It all starts with peace of mind. Everything. The quality of my relationships, both with myself and others; the way I feel about my day to day life and the challenges I may face, big or small; the extent to which I am able to complete tasks and do what is asked for me; the functioning of my own body, my mood and my digestion and my strength – all of it starts with peace of mind. 

I am more than a projection of myself. I am more than an ideal, I am more than others’ perception of me, and I am more than my inconsistent online presence and meticulously worded Instagram captions. My life does not have to fit into an aesthetic, and I do not have to shame myself when, inevitably, it doesn’t. My life isn’t a business proposal, my Instagram account isn’t a means of valuation, my worth isn’t determined by metrics on a square blue screen. I can keep a lazy Sunday to myself, a grey-drizzle morning, a cup of coffee: bliss between the print of a secondhand book. No eyes shall feast upon my walled flower garden, and it shall be loved all the more for it. 

Humans aren’t made for boxes. So unbox yourself. Physically remove yourself from the spaces which keep you small. Deconstruct any notion you have about yourself that undermines your ability to do what you love, and start to make new ones. Build yourself up for once. In my mind, all bridges are gilded with gold and leading me home. When I start to feel suffocated, when my chest gets tight and it gets harder to breathe, I know it is because I am placing unnecessary constraints on my own potential. 

Words mean whatever we say they do. Perhaps this is what I have struggled with most. How can we anchor ourselves in beliefs that are rooted in language that has become meaningless in itself? How do we hold faith in our convictions when the means to express them are so unreliable, so unpredictable? Is ‘fact’ fiction only because you said so? Do we disregard all that (we think) we know to be true, just because some middle-aged man Tweeted ‘fake news’ and a sleuth of profanities? 

Time has no meaning... ... unless we say it does. Time slowed for a lot of us this year. Our weekends blurred with our weekdays, our afternoons delineated from the morning by only the complaints of a hungry stomach and the sacred ritual of making lunch. As for the evenings, I found myself in a time warp of tv show binges, deep dives into the physics of cooking utensils, and Google searches that were health-related and definitely doing my mental state no favours – and the bottles of wine probably didn’t help. What I realised this year is how much I both loathe and need time; I dread the passing of it, I long for ‘better days’, I am frustrated by the minutes fallen by the wayside, and at the same time covet meaningless hours between tasks just because I can. I have yet to work out how we can improve our relationship with time, except to perhaps take it less seriously – accept the losses with the wins, or simply to cease any notion of time as a zero-sum game at all. What does it matter? Well, everything and nothing. I suppose we can use it to our advantage when it suits us to do so, and when it doesn’t we can let it go. 

My relationship with myself is the foundation for everything. And if one thing cut through the fog of isolation and activity-less days, it was the importance of my relationship with myself. In quarantine, there was nowhere to hide. For once, the hustle and bustle of a daily routine was unable to mask how I felt about myself, about my relationships with others, and about my life. Not even Netflix could suffice – not when I had nothing to procrastinate doing, except staring down the barrel of a long and lonely season. And so, amongst other things, I realised that I truly only had myself to rely upon; yes, in a global pandemic and national lockdown, where it is forbidden to socialise with friends, the same has always been true – no matter the circumstances, the only person you are guaranteed to spend your life with is yourself. I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’ve re-evaluated the way that I see myself and my mental health, and placed a renewed importance on being there for myself, instead of always seeking out help from others (although, sometimes and often external help is needed and encouraged – do not be afraid to ask for help). In 2021 and beyond, I want to stop looking for characteristics in others that I am lacking in myself, whether it be love, friendship, faith, encouragement, trust, etc, and start restoring and renewing my own sense of self-worth and abilities to deal with my own shit. That way, I can truly show up for others in need – as the old saying goes, you can’t pour from an empty cup.

I hope that in reading this you found comfort or solace in some of the things that I have learned, although this post was by no means exhaustive. I hope you saw a little of yourself in my own experience, and that maybe it may help you in some way, whether it be in reflecting on your own pandemic experience or looking to 2021, or that it even served simply as food for thought. Thank you for reading. x f

[francescadunlop]

the perplexities of ‘white history month’

So we all (should) know that October is Black History Month here in the UK – and if you don’t, well, you have some research to do. And so begins a month of reflection and celebration of Black history in the UK, and the heavy process of deconstructing the inherently racist social structures that uphold our society today. Needless to say, it’s deep work. 

Black History Month has rightfully gained more and more attention in recent years, and no doubt following the resurgence of the Black Lives Matter movement earlier this year we shall all (myself included) be paying more attention this year. (Privilege check: the fact that white people get to ‘pay attention’, rather than be subject to the racism that makes Black History Month necessary across the globe, only proves our privilege.) During Black History Month, we are likely to see recounts of notable Black figures in history, hear the experiences of Black people across the country, and learn more about systemic racist structures we uphold daily, and how we can start dismantling them.

This week, I was shocked to learn of the existence of ‘White History Month’, and decided my efforts would be well spent deconstructing yet another white supremacist attempt to marginalise and delegitimise the experience of Black people in the UK (and across the world.) Before I begin, it’s necessary that I address my own privilege as a white woman. As always, I am open to correction and to ‘unlearning’ the ways in which I also (however unintentionally) contribute to a society built on imperialism. Whilst this article is intended as part of the anti-racist movement, I inevitably come from a place of privilege, and do not wish to ‘whitesplain’ in any way. So, in all cases, please defer primarily to the experiences of Black people and other marginalised communities (though it is important that white people speak out, too.) ’Brit-ish’ by Afua Hirsch and ‘Why I’m No Longer Talking To White People About Race’ by Reni Eddo-Lodge are great starting points for learning more about the UK’s history with racism.

Turning my attention to the so-called ‘White History Month’: my first assumption – that this is coming from the mouths of the ‘All Lives Matter’ camp – unsurprisingly turned out to be correct (it only takes a quick scroll through Facebook and Twitter to find these things out.) Once again, this unfortunate faction of white people (of whom there are many) fail to understand the privilege that places white-skinned figures, historical and present, in the limelight today and every day. 

Being white means being privileged enough to fail to notice that every figure we studied in History was white, (usually) male, and (usually) European or Anglo-American. Being white also means that in virtually every field and every industry (be it the arts, law, academia, politics, business), your face is always reflected back at you. It’s guaranteed racial representation. No wonder you never stopped to question, ‘where are the Black people?’ as you walked through your majority-white town, on the way to your majority-white school, to learn about majority-white topics. Essentially, white history month is every month. 

Of course, not every white person has bad intentions with this, but at what point do we hold up your hands and start accepting our place in the system? When do we take responsibility, not only for the actions of our white ancestors, but for our own perpetuations of racism, however misinformed and unintentional? 

If you familiarise yourself with colonial and imperial history, the question of ‘what about white history month?’ starts to sound pretty ridiculous. (For those who missed it, let me reiterate – white history month is every month.) Concepts such as ‘white pride’ (of which a so-called ‘white history month’ would be a part of) understate the history of white imperialism whilst also marginalising the experiences that other groups faced as a direct consequence; it fails to recognise the blatant racial inequalities that exist today. 

Unless we keep listening to people of colour, racial inequalities will go on being ignored. Have you ever noticed that (white) people often talk about race, without actually seeming to at all? Race has been buried beneath euphemisms and friendly lip service but never, or rarely, (at least, not until this year) been addressed by people (politicians, corporations, individuals, and so on) directly. That obviously needs to change. And it starts with listening.*

*I am aware of the irony in saying this, as a white person. Like I said, first and foremost, we should defer to people of colour to learn from their experiences, and then use our racial privilege to ‘educate’ and better inform others. 

[francescadunlop]

‘folklore’; a review of the new album by Taylor Swift

Taylor Swift’s eighth studio album showed the world that she is, indeed, this generation’s number one songwriter. folklore is sixteen tracks long, a whimsical album that seems to be what long-time fans have been hoping for since Speak Now, almost what Red tried to be – and it is, indeed, ‘sad, beautiful, tragic’. The singer tries on different stories and narratives, a piecemeal exploration of young love, its wildness and fragility, and the pain of its loss, and the perspective that thirty years would give you. folklore sees Swift hopping on the lower-case trend, in which musicians seem to be contributing to the widespread rejection of the capital letter, seen most evidently in tweets and Instagram captions. Capital letter or not, folklore demands lyrical attention and investigative detail. With a 9.6 user rating on Metacritic, folklore has undoubtedly captured all our imaginations, longings and regrets, and wrapped it into a sparkling, Swift-like masterpiece of an album. 

the 1:

A softer start to Swift’s eight studio album, in comparison to previous projects, which initially teases a return to the songwriter’s roots and an exploration of her younger days, back when her songwriting was accompanied by steel-string guitars and a country twang. the 1 begins with tentative piano leading into a snappy beat, a similar minimalistic loop to I Forgot You Existed, the leading track from 2019′s Lover album, although lyrically a complete contrast, and seemingly more authentic piece. Swift’s resigned self-awareness (“in my defence I have none / for never leaving well enough alone”), which was previously entangled in preppy vocals and marching-band drum beats on ME! (“I never leave well enough alone”), is finally given space to breathe.

The wistfulness invoked in the 1 (“we were something don’t you think so?” “and if my wishes came true / it would have been you”) sets the stage for upcoming tracks, such as cardigan, august, and illicit affairs, whilst also showing an acute awareness of modern day love, as her love "meet[s] a woman on the Internet and take[s] her home”. Once again, airy, higher-range vocals lift the track into the bridge, brushing past the sadness of her sentimental ‘what if’ questioning.

cardigan:

cardigan was the most obvious choice for the first single, as the most pop song on the album, with piano overlaying a pleasant beat and shimmering synths. Unlike with her previous single choices, cardigan does not sacrifice her storytelling in the least, and is very much deserving of the music video it was given, and even the new cardigan delivered to celebrities’ addresses and now available to buy as merchandise (stars and all). 

In only the second track of the album, the listener is sure she is in for the long haul (”tried to change the ending / Peter losing Wendy”), as Swift captures that discarded, found-again feeling in her classic storyteller’s way. The songwriter shows an acute understanding of how a relationship ends (”I knew I’d curse you for the longest time / chasing shadows in the grocery line”) and how it feels to watch your lover “leaving like a father / running like water”. But still, she retains her hopeful “I knew you’d come back to me”, just as she did when she was seventeen.

the last great american dynasty:

The most upbeat track on folklore, and yet a true storytelling masterpiece – proof that Swift no longer needs to sacrifice her songwriting talent for pleasant-but-shallow lead singles. the last great american dynasty tells the story of American socialite (or “middle-class divorcée”) Rebekah Harkness, the woman who owned Swift’s Rhode Island ‘Holiday House’ before she bought it in 2013. If you haven’t already, I suggest you Google Harkness’ story, a fascinating tale, to find out more about her “Bitch Pack friends” and the time she dyed a dog “key lime green.” 

Swift’s wry smile can be heard in the line “blew through the money on the boys”, and you can practically hear the gleam in her eyes as she triumphantly sings “I had a marvellous time ruining everything”, but even more significantly are the subtle suggestions of the misogyny that tainted Harkness’ (and her own) reputation (“the maddest woman / the most shameless woman / the loudest woman”), frustrations that are articulated more clearly (and a little more darkly) on mad woman.

exile (feat. Bon Iver):

Immediately, track four is reminiscent of The Last Time (feat. Gary Lightbody) from her much-loved Red album, with the same beautiful contrast between the low, husky male voice, and Taylor’s warm, sweet tones. The steady piano tones provide support to a back and forth conversation, that moulds its shape at the end, displaying what Grammy award-winning producer Finneas O’Connell stated were his “favourite lyrics of the year” in a tweet. exile has quickly become a fan favourite, and one of her most streamed songs on Spotify.

my tears ricochet:

Instantly drawn in by a hauntingly beautiful vocal loop, my tears ricochet is the much-welcomed return of Jack Antonoff, with his familiar 80s synth charm and unique ability to build a song exactly as its read (I’m thinking here of The Archer from the Lover album.)

Of course, the synth-ballad is the continuation of her long-time Track 5 trend, on which she purposely chooses often jarringly vulnerable tracks – think Dear John (Speak Now), The Archer (Lover), All You Had To Do Was Stay (with heartbreaking lyrics masked by an upbeat pop melody, in true 1989 fashion) and Delicate (reputation). 

my tears ricochet seems to be the folklore vocal experimentation that This Love was to 1989, with harmonies sung through a vocoder as often used on reputation – sonically, it seems to be a nod to her previous pop albums, whilst lyrically combining the skill of Speak Now and the muse of reputation (”and when you can’t sleep at night / you hear my stolen lullabies” referring to her masters being sold to Scooter Braun.) 

If we unpack the lyrics a little more, we can hear references to the Look What You Made Me Do music video – “you wear the same jewels / that I gave you / as you bury me” (in the music she can be seen not only lying in her own grave, but in a bathtub filled with very expensive-looking diamonds.)

The ending is particularly Antonoff-esque, with bright backing vocals and an urgent, pulsing bass, lifting and moving the song along. 

mirrorball:

mirrorball, to me, is exactly the sound of young love, swaying on a dance floor under a disco ball, navy and blue and pretty silver spinning from the ceiling. Swift’s bright vocals, repeating “hush”, “shining” for her love, lifts the moody twangs underneath, typical of American rock band The National (whose Aaron Dessner produced many of the tracks on folklore, including mirrorball). 

This song is rife with tactile fragility and shattered-glass delicacy, and it really is on its “tallest tiptoes”, in its “highest heels”. Swift conjures in the listener the pain of walking the “tightrope”, changing “everything .. to fit in”, as she frustratedly claims she’s “never been a natural / all I do is try, try try”, something that no doubt brings her closer to her millions of listeners. How can the obviously talented songwriter, of all people, feel like us everyday, ordinary folks? But clearly, insecurity and expectation are a burden on all of our shoulders.

mirrorball has quickly become one of my favourite tracks on the album (and possibly of all time), and probably because of its tentative relationship with one of my favourite tracks from her previous album, The Archer (also produced by musical mastermind Jack Antonoff). “I’m still trying everything to keep you looking at me”, “I’m a mirrorball / I’ll show you every version of yourself tonight”, speaks unequivocally to The Archer’s “they see right through me / can you see right through me?” and “they see right through me / I see right through me”, and the pleading “help me hold on to you”. 

seven:

Upon first hearing seven, the first thing I was reminded of was Swift’s It’s Nice To Have A Friend, co-written with her long-time friend Selena Gomez for her seventh studio album, Lover, with its minimalistic, bubbly synth sounds that remind me of a creek in the forests of a childhood free from judgement and scorn. Taylor’s sweet vocals and harmonies certainly endeavour to take the listener back to “sweet tea in the summer”, invoking nostalgia for the times we could “scream ferociously / any time [we] wanted”. The piano- and string- heavy orchestration brings to mind the work of Lana Del Rey. 

august:

Once again we can feel Antonoff inexplicably all over this track, in the emotion and urgency, ever-present in the beat and the lift of the chorus – Swift and Antonoff prove once again to be a nostalgia-ridden, remarkable force of music, contemplating a long-lost love (“August slipped away into a moment in time / cause it was never mine”.) Urgency and desperation and longing are muddled through the bridge, messy and gleaming, living “for the hope of it all”, taking us all "back when we were changing for the better.” august seems to be folklore’s more whimsical, perspective-elevated older sibling to Getaway Car (reputation) and Cruel Summer (Lover), riddled with the same rhythmic urgency and pressing romantic declarations.

this is me trying:

As always, multiple layers can be read into Taylor’s lyrics, but whatever the interpretation, the soft droning synths and heartfelt strings really tug at the heartstrings. this is me trying is glowing with the fear of growing up and growing old, of slipping away from childhood hopefulness and having a “hard time adjusting” to a harsher, darker world. Just like Taylor, we’ve all been there, struggling understand how we fit in to the larger picture, and for many of us, its not the easy journey we are taught, through plastic Hollywood movies and shallow, romanticised novels. (“they told me all of my cages were mental / so I got wasted like all my potential”, and “fell behind all my classmates and I ended up here”)

Swift possibly hints at an experience in therapy, or at least that may be one interpretation – “pouring out my heart to a stranger / but I didn’t pour the whiskey”, the track itself a beacon for those struggling with their mental health, but trying despite of the challenges they face. (“I just wanted you to know / that this is me trying”)

Again, this is me trying is littered with reputation-like references; “I had the shiniest wheels, now they’re rusting” “they told me all of my cages were mental”. on King Of My Heart, Taylor sings of a ”gold cage, but you painted me golden”, an image which is recreated in the symbolic Look What You Made Me Do music video. However, sonically, the wide, reverberating vocals and booming lower range seem like a sequel to The Archer (”and my words shoot to kill when I’m mad”), both of which were notably produced by Jack Antonoff and, in my opinion, some of the pair’s best work.

illicit affairs:

illicit affairs is the song I have been struggling to get out of my head since its release, with its soft acoustic guitar and heartbreaking narrative. It sees Swift stepping into the shoes of the ‘other woman’, a significant growth from questionable Better Than Revenge on Speak Now, in which she berates a woman for stealing a man. Eleven years older, and wiser, Swift shows the grey shades of morality and love affairs, channelling Death By A Thousand Cuts as she croons that her affair died “a million little times”. And only she can fit “clandestine meetings” into a sentence with wide-eyed sincerity – on anybody else, it would sound clumsy 

invisible string:

Here we are back to folky guitar plucking and childhood reminiscence, all wrapped up with a delightful attention to detail, mapping out the journey of her “invisible string”, “a single thread of gold”, with details of boyfriend Joe Alwyn’s teenage job at a yoghurt shop, and their three-year anniversary trip to the lakes, alongside a reference to a “dive bar” we have heard on the reputation album (and seen in the Delicate music video). 

Swift’s sweet voice hovers lightly over backing track, and once again displays her own emotional growth and maturity, as she lets go of the “axe” of failed love, admitting wryly that “now [she sends her ex’s] babies presents.” 

Probably the most comforting lyric of all is that “hell was the journey but it brought me heaven”; despite her years in ‘exile’, she really did find her place.

mad woman:

Taylor’s voice hovers ominously over the piano, all too familiar, as we have indeed seen Taylor’s scorpion sting all over reputation. mad woman perfectly tells every woman’s experience with gaslighting in a more contemplative sequel to The Man. (“and you poke that bear til the claws come out / and you find something to wrap your news around”)

Perhaps most perceptively (and least talked about), the singer/songwriter points out our internalised misogyny, as she laments that “women like hunting witches too / doing your dirtiest work for you”, and yet she still manages to show a sense of comradeship, an understanding between two women on opposite sides (”good wives always know / she should be mad, she’ll be scathing like me / but no one likes a mad woman”).

epiphany

Taylor, no doubt knowingly, chose ephiphany, the albums most shimmering track, to be crowned the thirteenth, a number she has a close affinity with. Her simple but mesmerising vocal captures all the tragedy of timelessness grief, a glimmering contemplation of the sadness and confusion in the world, with a nod to both her grandfather’s experience of the Second World War and the current Covid-19 pandemic. With the lines “you dream of some epiphany / just one single glimpse of relief / to make some sense of what you've seen”, Swift explores inability to process pain, the need for relief and the fragile solidarity that can be found amongst humans sharing the same experience; “with you I serve / with you I fall down”. The outro, lead by a grieving violin, gives the listener some of this processing time, before moving onto the next, more upbeat track. 

betty

This is storytelling through song that truly marks her as the best songwriter of our generation, and certainly a highlight in her career of well-written and thoughtful songs, with fans calling for betty to become a whole novel and a refreshing perspective, for a woman to take on 'James’’ persona. The characters themselves appear to have been named after Blake Lively and Ryan Reynolds children (Inez and James), with speculation that Betty will be the name of their third child, expected later this year. However, if we refer to the Track 3, the last great american dynasty, its star, Rebekah Harkness, was also known as Betty, so that may be who Taylor is referencing here.

The brash harmonica and steel strings add some grit the instrumental, a nod to her country roots, as the storyline exuberates Swift-style romanticism and whimsicality. A flourishing and triumphant key change reminiscent of the songwriter’s first international country-pop hit, Love Story, excitedly tips the reader from lyrical appreciation to hopeless adoration, as we all step into James’ shoes alongside her, with movie-scene flashes and teenage melodrama muddying our emotions. Really, a storytelling masterpiece.

peace

folklore’s penultimate track features a one-note synth, providing the track with an urgent stability, and a soft, melodic guitar which, with Swift’s vocals floating above, carries the song through. The production is exquisite in its simplicity. This song again returns to the insecurity of growing up with its opening line “our coming of age has come and gone”, followed soon by “I never had courage in my convictions.” Swift displays her lyrical skill at twisting words and making pertinent culture references, with “the devil’s in the details / but you’ve got a friend in me”.

peace shows the same self-awareness on Lover, the hook, “no I could never give you peace”, an echoed fear of her ‘reputation’ which Swift has expressed more openly in recent years, through tracks such as Delicate (from reputation), The Archer (Lover), and now, with folklore, mirrorball and peace. 

hoax

hoax is by far the darkest track on the album, a lonely ending to a story brimming with nostalgia, longing, and a kind of rusted hopefulness. Desolation seeps from every lyric; “stood on the cliffside screaming, "give me a reason" / your faithless love's the only hoax I believe in”, speaks of a woman worn down and “come undone” following an obviously toxic relationship, and with her we are far from the young woman who once sang “I’ve got that good girl faith and a tight little skirt” on Style, the third track of her first thorough venture into pop 1989, whose release seems decades ago now.

A stripped, vulnerable track also closed the reputation album, but this time it is burdened with hopeless futility (“don’t want no other shade of blue, but you / no other sadness in the world would do”), rather than a quiet profession of love and simple happiness.

@taylorswift 

[francescadunlop]

comparison really is the thief of joy

Today, I filmed a video for my YouTube channel, giving advice to my viewers on  how we can stop comparing ourselves to others. This is something I have struggled with immensely – and I know I’m not the only one – whilst stuck at home, with unbrushed hair, a bare face, and a variation of the sports leggings-and-baggy-jumper variation I have been sporting for the past three months. It seems I have become a walking (or, more accurately, sitting) advertisement for loungewear.

Nevertheless, today is a Monday, which once upon a lockdown (translation: the beginning of March), I had dedicated as my Filming Day. On this Monday, I woke up feeling good, and so after what I felt was a nutritional breakfast of soya yoghurt and fruit, and a necessary cup of coffee, I got myself ready for the only event of the day; filming. I smiled and chatted away from my little spot on my bedroom floor, my favourite houseplant strategically positioned behind me, for around 45 minutes, which I will mildly regret when it comes to the editing process. 

Feeling like I’d put myself to good use, I switched off my camera and went about my day, only to find myself, a mere 54 minutes later (I checked), scrolling through Instagram and feeling, well, inadequate. The sad thing is that I probably only noticed this all-too-familiar feeling because I had been in good mood, something which has felt almost like a dream on many days during quarantine, and probably because I had just spent nearly an hour advising people on how not to do what I had just done. Guiltily, I put down my phone and picked up a book instead.

The past three months have emphasised to me that comparison really is the thief of joy, and it seems the Internet is full of unintentional bandits, snatching what we hesitantly label as our self-esteem and warping it into some unrecognisable ball of envy, sadness, and feelings of ineptitude. If this is familiar to you, I suggest you read a piece I wrote in May, on feeling 'not good enough’ (for which I also filmed a video, which I would say is equally, if not more, effective.)

Comparison often has me discovering new facets of my body to feel insecure about; the evenness of my eyebrows, the height of my hips (girls with so-called ‘hip dips’ will get this one), and the fine hair on my boobs (yes, we all have them, and no, you do not need to pluck them, contrary to what 'beauty’ brands may be trying to tell you.) 

The important thing here, though, is that you are aware of your comparison tendencies. That which you are aware of, you can change. My two most-helpful phrases when it comes to comparison, in any form, are as follows:

1. “she’s so ___ (insert envy-conjuring adjective here, i.e successful, pretty, clever, etc) and so am I” (the really vital part).

This phrase has brought me so much unexpected peace as I’ve found myself staring longingly at someone else, wishing I had something that they have. Painting myself with the same brush with which I paint the people I compare myself to has made me see all the ways in which I, too, possess those qualities. Sure, we may not look the same, or have the same career path, or be at the same point in our journeys, but that doesn’t mean the best of us can’t be shared and expressed in our own, unique ways. Start looking at yourself with the same admiration and appreciation with which you look at others. It’ll transform your relationship with yourself, trust me.

2. “I send you love and light, and I let you go”

This is something I got from Elizabeth Gilbert’s ‘Eat, Pray, Love’ (one of my favourite books, by the way), in which she is instructed to “send him [her ex-husband] some love and light every time you think about him, and then drop it.” Now this can be applied to absolutely any situation or scenario in life that no longer serves us, and I like to use it when I find myself comparing myself to others. I send the person I am comparing myself to love and light (because it’s not their fault I’m feeling this way), and I let the feelings of comparison go. Done. Then I stop stalking their social media and go about my day with renewed energy.

Obviously, there are many things you can do, like unfollowing certain people on Instagram, journalling, meditating, and working on yourself in general, and the important thing is that you do whatever you find works for you, and remember, you are enough, regardless what anybody (including your own mind) tells you.

f x

[francescadunlop]

unpicking our unrealistic beauty standards

Today, I have a bone to pick (although I don’t eat meat). I have, in fact, been bothered by this particular bone for quite a while now, and have spent many a-night with my girl friends trying to unpick it. Yes, it requires group effort. And what is that bone, you may ask? Well, it’s of the tough, unjust and hideously unrealistic beauty standard variety.

I first understood (on a very basic level) that these beauty standards were symptomatic of a much larger structure when I was around twelve or so, which isn’t uncommon at an age where puberty is raging, bodies are changing, and girls suddenly find themselves subject to a new kind of unwanted attention. This realisation, admittedly, came in small waves of indigance, a consistent lapping at the shore that never seemed to cease, not even in the comfort of my own home.

School was hell. Home was only slightly better. My body quickly became the subject of all too many jokes, that weren’t harmless, or indeed funny, at all. In fact, they were rather hurtful. My self-esteem took a nose-dive, like the acorns in autumn that littered the lane to my primary school, and seemed determined to stay there, a thing of my childhood. I wasn’t even aware it was something I should be searching for – no, my head was swimming with images of bronzed models and low waisted jeans and thigh gaps, and my eyes were too blurry with tears to really examine my own body, the way I felt I ought. A pinch at the fat on my arms and waist, and I could no longer make my own shape in the mirror for the salt water that misted my vision. Maybe that was for the better. Still, it was blatantly obvious that I was not bronzed, had no thigh gap, and would never be able to pull off low waisted jeans (thankfully that trend ended a long time ago). 

This post is not intended as a pity party. I have come along a long way since then, and can proudly say that my tissues-and-tears moments are more often than not not about the way my body looks, and whether it measures up to all these standards that have, unfortunately, been flying about for centuries, although not always in the same form. It seems I have news for you – your body is not an ingredient in the pancake mix that is your life, and a certain measurement is not necessary to make your life work.

Beauty standards, unsurprisingly, were not intended to make our lives ‘work’. Fitting into the mould does not mean we will be beautiful, meet a beautiful man, have beautiful babies, and live a beautiful heteronormative happy life into old age, and die peacefully in our sleep. Wake up, people. 

Did you know that shaving your legs (and your underarms) is a social norm engineered by Gillette, in order to make a profit? Yeah. All that effort, shame, and embarrassment, not because (female) body hair is actually weird or disgusting, but because one man one time thought he wasn’t earning enough money. You can read about it here. 

As I’ve gotten older, and my appearance has changed, so has the demands placed on women, and our bodies specifically. Now, my ‘every day’ makeup routine consists of highlight on my cheekbones and cupid’s bow, and the inner corner of my eyes. I’ve even started dabbing blusher on the tip of my nose, to make it look ‘cute’ and feminine. And, God forbid I look like I haven’t slept a full nine hours every single night of my life, so I apply too-light concealer in a triangle shape under my eyes, to ‘brighten things up’, and a nice sparkly eyeshadow on the inner corners of my eyes. I pluck my eyebrows diligently, cleaning up the stray hairs that make them look messy, or worse, angry. I mustn’t over pluck them, though. I can’t be seen to have thin eyebrows. That would really make things difficult.

I invite you now to re-read the past paragraph with dripping sarcasm, if you didn’t sense it already. Obviously, none of these things really matter. Obviously. But that’s not the messaging we’re giving fourteen-year-old girls. Hell, that’s clearly not the messaging we’re giving fifty-year-old women, either, who are buying every wrinkle-smoothing, collagen-stuffed face cream in sight, and feel faint at the sight of one grey hair. Don’t they know it’s natural?

No, of course they don’t. Because every day, everywhere we go, we are flooded with the image of the ideal woman, wife, sister, daughter, so much so that we have lost all sight of what is normal. Or rather, what is normal has become so twisted and manipulated that we think it’s spending thousands of pounds on skincare, boob jobs, and those pants that are supposed to suck in your belly fat but really just mess up all the proportions so that there are lumps in areas there shouldn’t be.

I’m not saying those things are bad. I firmly believe that a woman’s choice is imperative, and if she wants to exercise her rights to get herself a boob job, then she should absolutely do so, if that’s what she wants. I am saying, though, that if we could somehow change the way society sees women, that maybe a lot of women wouldn’t want boob jobs in the first place. (And again, if they still do, absolutely fine.) 

I filmed a ‘get ready with me’ style YouTube video (embedded below) in an attempt to try and highlight many of the unrealistic beauty standards that us women face on a daily basis. With my tone of voice dripping in sarcasm, I attempted to draw attention to the really freakin weird obsession with youthfulness (and its sexualisation), contradictory desired boob sizes, and the ‘clear skin’ myth (no, its not just water, but yes, diet plays a large role – more than the toner these companies and influencers are trying to sell you.)

I hope you’ll give the video a watch (if you haven’t already), and think a little more deeply about beauty standards and how we can start overturning society’s prevailing image of women. Women make up 50% of the population, so we definitely a) play a part in upholding the standard and b) have the power to change it! This most definitely includes changing our Eurocentric vision of beauty and encouraging society to become more inclusive and appreciative of black beauty, brown beauty, and every other skin colour, hairstyle and body shape outside the traditional (and long outdated) vision. Let’s #BoycottBeautyStandards together. 

f x

[francescadunlop]

feminism and the fashion industry

I've been thinking a lot recently about the fashion industry, and about its feminist moment, spearheaded by white middle-class women insisting that they can both advocate for women's rights and have “a sense of style” (as Maya Singer wrote in this Vogue article.) Now, before I launch into a tirade of all the ways that prospect doesn’t sit well with me, a middle-class white woman, I would like to acknowledge my inevitable privilege and address the fact that, whilst I try my hardest to be intersectional and inclusive, I may unintentionally misrepresent other women’s experiences – so please correct me if I do! It is important that we (white women, middle-class women) all work to de-programme the privilege we have inherently learned, and work to be better and do better every day – and this includes every white person, in every industry, in every nation. 

That being said, I feel it is still important to speak up against versions of feminism which I may not necessarily agree with – not to pick apart the movement, or to suggest my own ideological superiority, but to encourage important debate and thoughtful analysis of the role in which some women play in upholding the patriarchy. 

I know, this may come as a shock to some (most likely white, middle-class) women. ‘How could I, a self-proclaimed feminist, be upholding the very standards I fight so hard against?’ This is something I, too, thought to myself, as I started studying feminism as part of my Politics A level and really getting to grips with the different types of feminism, and the different ways in which women approach our common cause – the patriarchy.

Well, my sixteen-year-old self soon came to the conclusion that a lot of (mostly middle-class, white) women (and I mean a LOT) are ‘feminists’ in ways that pertain to them; they believe in gender equality, are pro-choice, and want to break down harmful traditional stereotypes of the housewife, or the unrealistic body standards women of all ages are held to. 

But what about women of colour, who not only face gender discrimination, but also discrimination on the basis of their race? What about disabled women? LGBTQ+ women? Working class women? What about single mothers, sex workers, domestic workers, garment makers? Women across the world, in every country, have experiences so vast and so different from our own that I struggle to reconcile advocating for short hair as a “political statement” as sufficient feminist work. Don’t get me wrong, I believe that it is important that women are able express themselves however they would like, and should be able to reject traditional ‘femininity’ should they choose to do so, and we should fight for our right to do so. But are you truly a feminist if your feminism only pertains to a certain type of woman? (again, think middle-class, and white.) Now, I want to just add here that there are, in fact, middle-class white women who do do both, where they can and to the best of their ability, but these numbers could be improved, particularly when it comes to high-profile industries and celebrity platforms. 

Now, I know the idea of intersectionality is nothing new, and that many women on the ‘margins’ of feminism, who are less visible for whatever reason (be it their race, class, sexual orientation, etc) have discussed this in ways that I cannot (I suggest you go and have a look), but I wanted to use this to take a look at the fashion industry, and what women working in the fashion industry see as feminism. 

This idea for this piece came to be whilst reading this Vogue article from 2014, in which fashion was described as a “vehicle for self-expression” and therefore one to advance women’s rights and advocacy. Whilst again, on the surface, this is not something I can disagree with, even shallow knowledge of fast fashion industry would point out that what women wear affect other women, in ways that we cannot fully comprehend in the West. 

To the author’s credit, she goes on to label the production of fashion as a “moral horror”, and acknowledges that feminism should be uplifting women everywhere. Nevertheless, it does not sit right with me that women could call themselves feminists and still support fast fashion brands, whose female workers are underpaid, overworked, and more often than not, face sexual harassment in the workplace. Is this the female empowerment that fashion claims?

Cynthia Enloe’s ‘Bananas, Beaches and Bases’ is an amazingly informative book on women’s places in international politics, in which she discusses the roles of many women internationally, including garment workers under the fast fashion industry. Here, she details the conditions under which women work in garment factories in Bangladesh, and compares their tragic experiences to the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire in New York City in 1911, after which workers were granted shorter work weeks and safety regulations improved, amongst other things. Unfortunately for women in Bangladesh and other developing countries, they have not been granted the same rights as women in the West, and still have to endure untenable working conditions, and often risk their lives, in order to make a measly wage. 

But you don’t have to be reading feminist texts in order to learn more about the way in which your clothes are made, and the women who make them are treated. I recommend the documentary The True Cost, which I believe is available to watch on YouTube. Or, speaking of YouTube, Ted Talks such as this one by Maxine Bédat can be a great first step towards further educating yourself. Kristen Leo is another advocate on YouTube (and also Instagram) for slow, sustainable (and secondhand) fashion, and rails against the corporations who unashamedly fail to do better. And, of course, I made a video myself about why I quit fast fashion last summer.

f x

[francescadunlop]

the world’s obsession with productivity, and what to do about it

We were all there at the beginning of lockdown, when every day felt like a dream, or some sort of strange living nightmare. It wasn’t long before our social media was flooded with confusing, contradictory messages, urging us to become our ‘best selves’, adopt a new, shiny lifestyle of motivated action and ultra-productivity. Others retaliated, claiming that productivity is a farce and we should focus on our mental health, allow ourselves time to breathe and grieve the plans and familiar routines we had lost, alongside our loved ones and for some, our jobs. This is the camp I fall into.

I had to ask myself why. Why, in the midst of a global pandemic, were the already prevalent urges for hyper-productivity suddenly flurrying around the ethernet, as we scrambled to wake up in the morning and make our cup of coffee, bright and early and ready for ... what? What exactly were we supposed to be striving towards? 

As a student, I get it. That pressing sense of urgency, at best a light tap on the shoulder, a constant reminder of the plethora of things I have to get done before the day’s end, at worst an all-consuming anxiety attack in which all I can do is remind myself to breathe and try not to worry about the rate at which my heart is beating and my hands are trembling. You’re not having a heart attack, you’re too young, I have to remind myself, as my brain, not so helpfully, jumps to the absolute worst-case scenario, as if panicked anticipation would somehow ward it off. 

So why, when the world has come to a halt, are we suddenly scrambling to start our multi-million dollar businesses, planning our editorials for Vogue, writing our New York Times bestsellers, or going viral on YouTube or TikTok? Don’t get me wrong, it’s important and completely valid to have goals, and to work towards them consistently and passionately – hard work I can completely get behind. What I struggle with is the idea that we constantly have to be doing something, because someone somewhere once said (or, more likely, heavily insinuated with a threatening smile) that humans do not have value unless they are doing something useful.

There, I said it. This is how our society (and yes, it must be said, our capitalist society) views humans. Not as emotional, inconsistent, inevitably flawed but beautiful human beings, but workers, labourers, producers-of-goods. And the source of our value? The goods we produce. Huh. That definitely makes me think of my bestseller a little differently. 

So what can we do about it? Well, unless we can somehow zap ourselves into a parallel, utopian universe, not much springs to mind, except to constantly remind ourselves of the truth – that we are enough, irrespective of what circumstance we may find ourselves in, the pressures and expectations that have been placed on us, the responsibilities we have (un)willingly taken upon ourselves. In reality, none of it matters if we cannot show up for ourselves first. And we do that by consistently reminding ourselves that we are enough, we are not the work we complete or the things we produce, or the items we consume. We are not the goals we accomplish, the places we go, the people we meet. We just are.

So, next time you find yourself on the verge of an anxiety attack, stressed and worried about the impossible list of tasks you have yet to complete, or the next time you’re feeling guilty for not having a list of tasks, or taking a time out from said list, stop for a minute, breathe, and say to yourself, out loud or in your head – I am enough.

f x

[francescadunlop]

journalling prompts

Journalling has been a long-time emotional release for me, and my journals have accompanied me from country to country, throughout my teen years and undoubtedly beyond. As mentioned in my YouTube video (available to view below), I thought I would include some prompts which can be used at any level of journalling and introspection, but are especially useful for beginners who may just be beginning to ask themselves the hard questions and find some answers. 

1. what am I most grateful for?

2. which areas of my life could I most improve, and why?

3. what would you do if you knew you could not fail?

4. in what ways do I shine? what are my strongest qualities?

5. which childhood memories stand out most to me and why?

6. what lights me up? what activity makes me lose track of time?

7. who inspires me the most, and why?

8. what would I regret not doing?

9. who in my life lifts me up? who makes me feel the most inspired and heard? who doesn’t?

10. why am I the way I am? which key experiences have shaped me, and what can I learn from them?

f x

[francescadunlop]

read this if you feel like you are not enough

Hi, hello, welcome. We’re kicking off with a big one. I needn’t ask if you’ve ever experienced the gut-wrenching feeling of not being good enough, because I'm pretty sure that’s just a human thing. Comparison and inadequacy walk hand in hand down a dreary street. Why? Because comparison highlights all the ways in which we are not, and will never be, just quite as good as someone else.

I wanted to speak about this topic – of how we value ourselves, how comparison affects our self image, and how this image is so easily distorted – at this time in particular because, in case you haven’t noticed, we’ve suddenly been left with a whoole lot of time to think and self-reflect. For many, this is a new phenomenon. For people like me, we’re all-too familiar with introspection and the inner workings of our mind, and all the ways it likes to play tricks on our estimations of ourselves. Either way, there’s nothing like a global pandemic to ensure we spend a little more time with ourselves than we would usually feel comfortable doing. And it’s in that discomfort that things start to get a little interesting ...

I'm a huge reader of self-help and spiritually inclined books. Personally, I’ve found them a comforting source throughout my teenage years, like a little light guiding me home, to a place where I feel safe and secure just being with myself and my own thoughts, and more aligned with my own life’s path and the road on which I have walked thus far. If, like me, you’ve found yourself drawn to the self-help section of Waterstones (or perhaps Goodreads right now, given the current circumstances), you may be familiar with the names Tony Robbins and Marisa Peer. Both speak a lot about that feeling of not being good enough, and have prompted me to write this post today.

Marisa Peer especially speaks about how the belief that we are not enough is the root of all our insecurities – that all other fears come from the deepest fear that no matter what we do, it will not be enough because we are simply not enough. Looking at my own life, I can see this pattern reoccurring throughout my school days, and on through college and university. Whether it be struggling to make friends, feeling like an outcast, worrying about exam grades or university offers, worrying about boys, about my hair, my eyebrows, my weight, whether I looked good enough to pull off the latest trends, and so on. Throughout it all, I was so desperate to ‘find myself’; everything I did was a symptom of me trying to find my ‘place’ in the world, as though where I was wasn’t it – and why? Because where I was meant that I was with myself, and deep down I felt like that wasn’t good enough. And so I tried to change myself to be a little more like everybody else. I adopted a new style, a new haircut, a new way of speaking. I I threw myself onto the cruel hamster wheel that is dieting as though my life depended on it – and though it didn’t, my identity and sense of self did. From childhood, interactions with others and one look (that’s all it takes) at pop culture at the time quickly led me to the conclusion that my weight determined my own value, and the only way to be liked and accepted by my peers was to lose weight. And at the time I truly believed that by losing weight I would suddenly be crowned an acceptable member of society. That somehow the girls that shunned me and boys that laughed at me would suddenly change their minds and welcome me with open arms. But of course they didn’t. Because my weight has nothing to do with my worth. And neither does other people’s opinions, by the way. And I’m still trying to deprogram this believe, in case you were wondering. These things take time and work.

Point being, we can do all we can to try and fit in, but no external change could possibly fix the wound that is so desperately crying out for a little love and validation, not from friends or a partner, but from yourself. Because you are the only person who can determine your worth. You get to be whoever you decide to be. And I can’t help but wonder, who are we really, underneath these false pretences and unhelpful comparisons? If we weren’t so busy keeping ourselves down, how much energy could we direct towards truly fulfilling our own potential? What would that look like?

So, next time you find yourself mindlessly scrolling through your TikTok and Instagram feeds, comparing yourself to every beautiful social media influencer, and inevitably feeling inadequate (because we all know, comparison is a game you will lose no matter who you are), maybe catch yourself, and ask yourself – ‘how does this make me feel?’ And if something negative comes up, as yourself, ‘is this true? Does _______ (fill in the blank) really determine my worth? Or is it enough for me to just be, in this moment, as I am?’ And hopefully, you should come to the conclusion that yes, of course it is. Because your worth is not dependent on anything. Not your age, appearance, occupation, or even whether you’ve written your first novel in quarantine (duh.) I hope this is something you’ll keep in mind going forwards.

As always, I wish you all the best, and hope you’re keeping safe and well at home.

f x