PiP

Welcome to PIP. Here you will find a collection of self-defining women, LGBTQA and non-binary folk’s writing or art through a variety of mediums. This blog is a space where their voices can be heard and expressed with the intention of transforming the personal into the political.

[pip-personalispolitical]

𝖙𝖍𝖊  𝖑𝖆𝖘𝖙  𝖙𝖆𝖗𝖌𝖆𝖗𝖞𝖊𝖓

The last female characters in the show have essentially been reduced to three houses; Stark, Baratheon, Targaryen. These houses hold considerable power by themselves, coupled with their remaining matriarchs (because let’s face it, Jon isn’t running anything other than away from his feelings) they’re a pretty formidable bunch.

Disregarding the pitting of powerful women against each other in a totalitarian struggle for the throne in the vein of oh so trendy, female power, this week’s episode was rife with misguided notions of women, power and madness. Patriarchal tropes clung to the once fierce and pragmatic women, altogether terrifying and brilliant, and reduced them to poor plot twists and insanity.

It was predictable, and awful, highly entertaining and I hated it. I hated it because this has a massive audience that has huge influence on Western society, it should be commented on, especially when the fanbase is so intelligent and loyal and when it’s such a huge part of our soecity (Sorry, it is.) 

𝔩𝔦𝔱𝔱𝔩𝔢 𝔡𝔬𝔳𝔢

I’m gonna get right into it. Full fledged, partially feminist but mostly just pissed off review of this episode and continuing storyline for The Mother of Dragons. 

Sansa and Ayra are the only two female leads left unscathed by bouts of madness. They remain in the show, they are quiet and astute, or emotionally void and impossibly silent. Above all else the crucial performance of their femininity is intact, they are well-mannered and unobtrusive and that is seemingly why they are still there. Some of their power steams from utilizing the tropes of femininity to ensure they have stability and respect and maintain the little power they have.

Sansa is not only playing the Game of Thrones but the tiresome Game of Patriarchy. Seemingly internalising her struggles and extending gratitude to traumatic abuse as a means of betterment seems, at the least, in poor taste and at most, horrifically ignorant and damaging. The implications are that because of what a man did to her, she is a better person for it. I think she is better, and not “still a little bird”, only because of what the show keeps telling us is that she’s smart now, not showing us. You might even go so far as to say that Sansa is only granted trust and smarts because she learnt it from a male peer.

Sansa Stark has swallowed internalised misogyny down with her favoured lemon cakes; yes, she has learnt how to manipulate those around her and use her strengths to gain favour, all whilst being very pretty and very quiet. Except when it allows heror her family more access to power. You all know what I’m talking about - snitches get stitches, little dove. All the while claiming The Dragon Queen is an untrustworthy threat (Jon asked you to keep how many secrets? One? The same one your Father kept for...how many years? Oh. Yeah. In the words of Sandor Cleagane, fuck off.)

Thus, leading me - a rabid feminist and Targaryen loyalist - to believe that unless you play by the rules in Westeros, whatever you want is unattainable and you are unworthy and frankly, too damn emotional. The only way for these characters to survive is to shut up and play along.

And let’s keep in mind that all of these characters are white, the people of colour on the show can be the sweetest, most benevolent characters in the universe and they still get decapitated. Characters who aren’t “nice” or “good” and are people of colour are portrayed as savages, emotionless killing robots that are above all dispensable and grateful to their white saviour. Someone who spoke about this more eloquently and in depth is Raine (SP – my apologise I can only guess at it based on phonetics), who wrote into the Pod-Cast: A Cast of Kings (S8E5, 7 minutes in.)  

Dany simply doesn’t play by these rules.

Being a Targaryen at heart, I wondered what it was that Dany was doing so differently to be considered such a threat, or a borderline mad queen, chasing after the impossible affections of the inhabitants of Westeros. Dany plays by Targaryen rules, she plays with fire and blood. Their trump card of entitlement (a hereditary bloodline that has mostly held male monarchs) that condemns her as power-hungry but serves male claimants as entitled.

Her overt assertions and unfiltered desire to reclaim this birth right, as many before her have, is suddenly chased by the idea of being deserving, a prerequisite that eludes the patriarchal figures in her family. This leads me to think it’s not what she’s asking for that is so unconceivable, but howshe’s asking for it that is so outrageous. Apparently, even Khaleesi can face issues of likeability[i].

𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔱𝔬𝔰𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔞 𝔠𝔬𝔦𝔫

These rejections of arguably patriarchal rules and the strong emotions of a woman are tediously wrapped up with notions of madness and hysteria, and prove disappointing for one of the most well written female characters in fantasy.

While we have to take into account the budget and time of the show, it feels breathless. The otherwise thoughtful and complex plotlines have been twisted to deliver shocking twists with little substance.

Dany’s previous actions in the show haven’t led to the web of whispers surrounding her, there is no reason for people to expect her to act like a mad queen up until this very last moment. To deny these people were doing so and lying to her face about it would be further gaslighting, so Tryion, in my book, did the right thing. Dany’s decisions have constantly been ridiculed, along with her sanity and emotional state.

In a defence of her actions, she has fought endlessly, scraped her way to the throne, sacrificed her time, her armies and her children to find herself left alone at the last moment? (Who can relate?) Her powerful allies have fallen, and those that claimed they would serve her do very little of what she asks. Seriously. Jon, you just couldn’t shut the fuck up for a second?! Starks and their honour, SMH. It is maddening.

Aside from it making no narrative sense (she has always avoided bloodshed and taken warnings about the mad king, her father, to heart) it just sucks seeing two of the best women reduced to Motherless tropes. Because Seven Hells, what is a woman if she is not reproducing? Insane!

As if the coin had been tossed and landed face down - Dany loses it within a split second. Hats off to Emilia Clarke because she sold it and the storm of emotions that ran across her face in milliseconds. This black and white contrast seems unfitting for a character that has faced each loss, personal and political, with tenacity, she has learnt from each of these losses. D&D have taken a survivor that has been gaslit, abused, groomed and baited and “made her mad with ambition.”

Additionally, it lends to the idea that women’s emotions are incomprehensible and irrational. We are told that in expressing anger we are inhibiting the ability to be heard - hello tone policing. This bout of madness is signalling her downfall, her failure to comply with a more docile femininity. Any woman with too much power will not be able to handle it and if she can she is mad and must be stopped. Period.

They failed to give her the credit she so deserved as she tried (and arguably failed) to grasp the politics of war. Worst of all, the scene played out so poorly that the audience had to be told this was her moment of “choosing violence,” like Cersei. The only way this was credible was thanks to Emilia’s performance and explanation in behind the scenes footage.

She explains how hurt Dany is, how angry and alone she is, and these feelings have culminated at a time she has gotten exactly what she wanted, and realised it’s not what she thought it would be. With liminal time, Dany grieves. Her grief is sorrow turned anger, anger turned dragon fire, dragon fire turned ash. It looks different to any other characters on the show and she has allowed it to kill her. And when you put it like that, it’s fucking traumatic.

It’s not like it’s nothing that pushes her over the edge, but in diagnosing Dany with madness, her agency is stripped from her. Dismissing her actions by saying it’s in her blood is implying it’s inevitable despite the great character growth and progress she has made. While the books clearly hint at this, the show does not...well, not successfully. It’s feasible and I’m not at all against the idea of her going mad, but the connotations of it seem reductive.

Daenerys could have been the most beautiful mad queen we’ve seen since Maleficent, reigning her vengeance on us with fire and blood, but D&D wrote off her brilliance with 30 minutes of relentless slaughter. Her power has always been something to fear, she plays the game she need not play to gain favour and credibility as a leader, and when playing by their rules fails her and she doesn’t feel like playing anymore (as it’s gotten her nowhere – does this remind you of anything? Patriarchy? Internalising misogyny?) she’s crazy.

The most irritating aspect of this all is that it has been written to further the narrative of do-gooder MoodiBoi of Westeros, Jon Snow. To add insult to injury, her sacrifices are motive for madness while Jon’s make him a martyr; an unwilling hero bound by the same strain of honour that has gotten both him and his uncle killed. Like, I’m bored?

𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔴𝔬𝔩𝔣 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔡𝔯𝔞𝔤𝔬𝔫

It’s undeniable, Ayra is a badass. She killed the fucking Night King. But for some reason, Daenerys isn’t granted the same nuance she is. Ayra is unforgiving and gritty, she is cloaked in darkness and weaponry and this darkness is welcomed. While Dany’s darkness is terrifying - perhaps simply due to the scale of devastation she is capable of - whereas Ayra’s is welcomed and accepted. Maybe it’s just too easy for Dany to sit the throne with dragons and is considered unfair? Like, I dunno, any white-het-cis man trying to attain a position of power and control.

Perhaps it is because Ayra’s power is overtly masculine, her power is demonstrated solely in her physical skills and capabilities, whereas Dany’s overt power is dragon fire, and flows, sometimes in reverse, between decision making, politics, emotions, bloodlines and betrayals. This is a character arc, it isn’t a clean narrative and that is why it’s so compelling. (Sidenote: let’s not disregard the ability to raise, bond with and fly fatherfucking dragons.)

Ayra undergoes numerous inescapable traumas, all early in life, but so does our darling Dany. The only difference is Dany strays from physical demonstrations of power. Her focus is not individualised, it’s pinpointed to political hotspots.

No, not all female characters have to express their power and emotions in the same way, nor should all female characters be powerful, but in a show with dragons, is it so far-fetched to have more than one successful female ruler?

𝔄𝔷𝔬𝔯-𝔞𝔥𝔟𝔶𝔢 

It seems as though the show has room for only one type of ‘empowered’ woman: the power hungry one. Whether she uses cunning, childless violence or fire and blood, they all seek power. Enough to hold what they consider their claim, two of them have already paid with their lives for their loud and unrelenting anger, the third is most likely going to sit the throne, quietly, thankful for the years of gaslighting and abuse. Looking at you, Sansa Snarky.

The only praise I can sing is that this is actually a testament to her power and great restraint, it has taken 8 seasons of abuse, disbelief, dehumanising, control and betrayal for her to reach this point and use this force that she could have used moons ago. Which, judging by everyone’s shitty ideas and plans, she should have done anyway.

While Daenerys Stormborn isn’t perfect (er, hello white saviour/messiah complex) she is compelling and pivotal in the series. This woman isn’t inherently good or bad. The character is made of grey, shifting uncertainties and wavering moral, struck by tragedy and bloodlines - she is simply made of magic - Dany is, after all, the Mother of Dragons, and she deserved better.  

𝔯𝔢𝔣𝔢𝔯𝔢𝔫𝔠𝔢𝔰

1] Likeability: I define Likeability as a set of performances that are highly gendered, and ensure the maintenance of the feminine by condemning behaviours exerted by non-males; typically being loud, having a sexuality (lol seriously) opinionated, successful and ambitious. I believe likeability sits on the axis of heteronormativity and femininity; or rather within the heterosexual matrix. They rely on each other for their respective maintenance. The highly feminine woman is more respected and well liked. It is a social currency women have to pay in order to attain certain things, such as respect or power. 

2] https://www.bitchmedia.org/article/its-time-embrace-feminisms-anger

3] https://www.theatlantic.com/entertainment/archive/2016/09/how-pop-culture-tells-women-to-shut-up/502187/

4] A Cast of Kings: Available on all streaming sites. S8EP5 Review. 

[pip-personalispolitical]

𝘰𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦 𝘫𝘶𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘭𝘶𝘤𝘬.

‘They’ say that your body knows when you don’t want a baby, for me, I felt like mine did. But nonetheless, I drank excessive amounts of orange juice and took vitamins in hopes that the vitamin C would turn my womb from a welcoming incubator to an inhospitable wasteland. (This is because Vitamin C has the ability to weaken the bond between the wall of the uterus and the egg.) 

I woke up the day my period was due, knowing that its habitual crimson should be staining my inner thighs to find only my skin, white and laced in stretch marks. My Mother worked in a clinic for a few years, and, assumedly knowing that I was in my early 20’s I was sexually active, kept condoms and pregnancy tests in the bathroom for me and my friends, if ever we needed them.

That day I picked up the thin pink metallic foil, and gingerly peeled it open. It wasn’t a long, thick stick like the ones in movies, it was the small, very thin one you get at the doctors when they pop it in that vile of urine. I went to the bathroom, I peed on the stick, I waited.

It didn’t take long for it to mark as positive.

Immediately a gut punch of dread hit me and I began to sob. The initial panic lasted about half an hour, I paced, still sniffing, calling my long-distance boyfriend to tell him what happened.

I’m debating whether or not his reaction was important, but I suppose we’d been on the same page all along. I doubt I would have changed my mind regardless of his reaction, I think I would have just been made to feel bad about it. In this sense, and many others, I’m very lucky. Quite simply, his reaction was a heart wrenching “shit.” Full of guilt and remorse and regret. We had never wanted children.  We weren’t financially stable, we were so young, we barely in love at this point and a list of other arbitrary reasons that piled underneath the most domineering: I didn’t want a baby. Before we fully talked it through I knew what I was going to do. As my Mother worked in a clinic she often worked with the neighbouring clinic that specialised in testing and (in hushed tones) abortions. I was grateful for those in-car whispers, and although whispering might have implied shame, there was nothing to be ashamed or embarrassed by. As soon as I hung up I arranged an appointment. I’m sure it felt like I had to wait forever. Initially during the process, I was upset, particularly when talking about it to a nurse - who, along with all staff members were incredibly kind to me - not because I felt bad for “killing” off something in me, but for having put myself under so much strain that could have been avoided. For hosting the last remaining spec of love in my relationship that was soon to be no more. It was all such a tragic, beautiful metaphor. I was so early releasing I was pregnant that it wouldn’t show up on a scan, and I had to wait another two weeks for a procedure to even be carried out. Because I was so early it also meant that I got the pill and not the machine. I understand how vastly different these procedures are and I can’t imagine how it felt for those who had endured such stress, to say the least. In this sense I am lucky; I had been spared the vicious claws of the machine. Weeks passed, I waited endlessly. On days, I knew I refused to be weighed down by the literal weight and exhaustion that my body suddenly carried; I worked out with my friends but resigned to bed for hours. My kitten, Binx, slept on my lower stomach...she knew. She comforted me as we slept aside one another. For me, it was exhausting: debilitating is often the word I use to describe it. It felt so physically restrictive that I could barely do anything; my mom blamed it on my recent travels, she wasn’t to know until a few years later. The odd thing is she went through a similar experience at 22, but that’s her story to tell, not mine. Because when I returned for the final scan before the procedure, the nurses informed me that the collection of bean shaped cells hadn’t grown, and that there was a good chance that it wouldn’t make it. Kindly, the choice of “naturally” letting it pass and me, actively making it pass were given to me. They said they understood the importance to some to let it occur without interference. I was steadfast on actively ensuring that it wouldn’t stick, tethered by the fear of having to become a mother, to carry a child. “You sure?!” I nodded vigorously and shuffled into another room. The nurse gave me a tablet orally and one anally; she administered two pain killers and gave me a wad of pads and paracetamol. The procedure itself was fairly non-invasive and quick. I couldn’t have been in there for more than ten minutes. I was dismissed within ten minutes. My boyfriend quickly came to my side (we thought it would take longer) both eager to get home before the contractions came. Little to no blood appeared, and I was concerned. I called them up as hours passed and nothing seemed to happen. They assured me it was normal, so I lazed about until a sudden pain pincered my insides; it crushed my womb inwards and I doubled over. I could barely call my boyfriend’s name before I was being sick and shitting with violent convulsions. “I need you to get me the pain killers? Ok?” I said, wincing and crying as I sat on the loo until the nausea and bowel movements stopped. Everything was liquid anyway. Soon after he passed me the pills and water through the bathroom door I crawled back into bed, holding myself together as the cramps continued to contract and expel the cells from my womb. I felt breathless, I couldn’t talk. But soon the drugs kicked in, and as the pain ceased a fraction, it was enough to be pulled under by the drugs. I fell asleep for two hours, clammy and restless. He didn’t hold me. I wish he had. My experience is an incredibly privileged one. For me, everything went as painlessly as possible. The timeline ran its course without much interruption and little restriction; let’s make it clear, I had just finished my undergraduate degree and was looking for a job, but I had enough from my loan, part time job and my mother (who let me live rent free) to help me get by. I also knew where to go, I had a (somewhat) supportive partner, access to information and an understanding family and safe practitioners. I was incredibly lucky, I am incredibly lucky to have access to these services, for free nonetheless. I’m white, I can’t imagine or truly understand how difference my experience would have been if I wasn’t. The intersection of race, class and gender politics is so deeply nuanced and complex; that’s not to say I shouldn’t attempt to tackle it. I thought my mom would be angry, but as always, she was understanding, and she shared with me her experience of a losing, what she considered, a child and holding a sense of great, swelling loss. For me, the gene of motherly love has stuck fast on animals and never shifted to that of children.   I openly shared my experience whenever the opportunity arose, primarily to destigmatise it, to attempt to unravel the patriarchal/societal discourse surrounding it. To unwrap layers of archaic notions of shame, to grate away at the policing of sexualities (that are deemed so horrific the victim blaming attitude of “well what else did you expect?” came to result in carrying a baby you don’t want as punishment for your sexual behaviours) to assert agency and the right to choose, and to normalise a medical procedure that is more often than not, life saving for a multiplicity of reasons. In short, to reduce it to its sweet simplicity: I have no remorse surrounding my decision to expel a bunch of cells in my body.   As I shared my story I came to find myself in the same space as two other people who had also recently experienced having an abortion. I can’t speak for them, but for me it gave me a sense of solace. I wondered what could happen if we all spoke up, shared our experiences more (in safe spaces and communities - not everything has to be shouted from the rooftops - safety is paramount.) my hope is, than in sharing my experience, I can positively contribute to the discourse surrounding abortion, for all the reasons above and more. I hope that one other person can find comfort, as I did, particularly those who weren’t as lucky as I, doused in orange juice.

[pip-personalispolitical]

My Valentine: Verve Poetry Festival

The opening night of Verve Poetry Festival was a welcome one, demonstrating with unique, Brummie charm the creativity of the Midlands. A night dedicated to hip hop and rap influenced artists, each poet took to the stage with a piece and two accompanying songs that influence them, or parallel their poetry. It’s inarguably an original idea that not only lends credit to the scene, but to the importance of sharing and community, a feat not many other spaces can boast. Each poet that performs holds their own; I dont think I need to comment of their immense talents, I think they speak for themselves. What I will say of the festival, and of the Birmingham poetry scene is its unassuming atmosphere. It is refleshingly inclusive, hosting a variety of performers with differing backgrounds, identities and approaches to writing and creating. It is friendly and unpretentious and radiate inclusivity and community without a screaming need, for fear of being labelled exclusionary, like so many other scenes. 0121 hospitality isnt lost on anyone - one of the acts stops and chats to me (an incredibly kind act when you take into account their imminent perfomance.) Unashamedly awestruck I confess I came home to watch their set. I hope they know I truly meant it. Thats whats so fantastic about being in Brum: everyone talks to each other and honesty is a punctuation mark. This is how they connect and why it is so successful as a scene. To that point, conversation between sets is encouraged and gets me gabbing to folks either side of me. Birmingham has birthed a movement I’m proud and honoured to witness and share, its a movement that will continue to call me home. To quote the Priestnalls performance: I will continue to wear my heart on my sleeve even when it goes out of fashion.” I’m so gutted I had to leave after the first night, but I’m happy I got to experience it. If this is the first night, I can’t imagine what the next few days will hold. You can check out Verve Poetry Festival on Facebook & Instagram. Don’t forget to check out each poet you see and support your local artists!

[pip-personalispolitical]

𝖋 𝖎 𝖑 𝖑 𝖊 𝖗   𝖖 𝖚 𝖊 𝖊 𝖓

I kind of always knew I’d get a lot of cosmetic procedures. To resist the trend of fillers seemed futile, but I swear I tried. I’d already gotten my teeth straightened and whitened (it took a God-awful amount of time) and had been to various clinics to check out their prices and procedures for breast augmentations and rhinoplasty. Fillers seemed very tame in moderation.

This is my choice, but that’s not to say this choice doesn’t come with certain implications. I’m not here to defend my choices regarding cosmetics, I’m here to explore the topic and be honest about what I’ve had done.

These unrealistic standards of beauty can only be dismantled if we’re honest about how they were achieved. I’m not saying that in stating my intention, all systematic bonds and structures of privilege are disintegrated and that all beauty standards are dropped, no, I just want to be honest. As I type this I know how problematic this is.

But, to me it’s like when some people in the fitness industry say they just workout and eat healthy, when the truth is they’re eating two meals a day, smoking instead of eating, and keying coke until 3am so they don’t deal with the calories of alcohol and their appetite is destroyed for the foreseeable future. I don’t have a problem with that - I just wish people were more honest about how those results were achieved.

So, if you didn’t already know, I have lip fillers. As of last Friday, I also have cheek fillers and fillers to erase my frown lines. And you know what? I feel fucking fabulous.

                                  Shame the devil and tell the truth.

When I first got my lips done, I walked into work with bruising and swelling - don’t get me wrong – it didn’t look cute. (In the beginning, I was too scared to ice it, so I took paracetamol and left it to settle. Now I know icing, in moderation, is fine and greatly reduces the swelling.)

My body quickly became a topic of interest, the change in my appearance propelled my body further into public discourse and served as a welcome mat of commentary. Initially, it was just my appearance that came into question. Not only were the questions rude but they were disrespectful; people’s assumptions were that my self-esteem was so low I felt I needed it (which, if that was the case how awful would that have made me feel?!).

“You don’t need it!” Yes, Barbara, I know. I wanted it.

People’s comments were hurtful, designed to keep me from pursing further work to ensure that their male gaze was considered precedent over my agency and their ideals of beauty were kept standardized.

“You look ridiculous” was common. “I don’t like it” was a close runner up. The implications of both were “I don’t find it attractive therefore it’s a waste of money”.

In my opinion, this was a highly narcissistic move; even when my body changed, in commenting on it and their distaste they still managed to make it about them. I wish I could say this was a rare occurrence. It’s funny how no one brings attention to my teeth whitening – perhaps that is exempt from beauty standards or was deemed necessarily by my peers. * Eye roll * Go figure.

In academic discourse, this is familiar ground. Non-male bodies are often considered part of the “public,” a specimen to be controlled, validated only by heteronormativity and the male gaze, critiqued to ensure their standard of beauty was, indeed, still standard.

Suddenly, I had more money than sense and my choices became a great concern of everyone else (because clearly it affected them so deeply and directly.) As if I hadn’t worked hard for my money and wasn’t highly informed on the procedure.

Yes, not only did my economic status come under scrutiny, but so did my intelligence and agency. It was like a highly-educated woman (I have a master’s degree TYVM) couldn’t undertake cosmetic surgery because that would invalidate both her intelligence and her choices. It was as if within fifteen minutes, as the fillers were injected into my lips, every single brain cell died and was replaced by images flickering from The Kardashians, to lip gloss, and high heels. It was almost as if the space where my cells previously lived became inhabited by glitter and cosmopolitans – my eyes glossed over and I became completely vapid – all of my previous education was erased and I was no longer a feminist.

As if. Though, I do thoroughly enjoy a good dose of glitter.

I think the idea that it wasn’t for the male gaze and was just something that I had wantedto try was incomprehensible, hardly anyone could wrap their heads around it. I can only speak for myself, so my choice to have fillers was because I see cosmetic surgery (as this isn’t particularly invasive) as I view make-up: to enhance beauty that is already there, or to create a little more beauty where you feel you’d like it. But, let’s be real, in this day and age most beauty is created. Dita Von Teese has said it time and time again.

Others may do it because they feel insecure, maybe they don’t. I can’t speak for them, but what I can say is that there is no shame in that. In a culture where non-male bodies are criticised for not looking like the common standard of beauty and then in the same breath chastised for trying to obtain that (through, I don’t know, cosmetic surgery for example) there is no shame in pursuing your ideal of beauty. Jillian Michaels often comments that there is no shame in having a little vanity – what is so wrong in taking pride in your appearance? The trendy, counter-culture cynicism against vanity, selfies, avocados and vintage clothing is just that: trendy. It’s the flipside of the same culture, it’s not exactly original.  

                                              Feminism and fillers?

When feminism has become such a trendy topic of the last year and empowerment is a buzzword swung around on a rope called capitalism and commodity culture, where is the line between agency and a larger, systematic problem drawn?

In this particular time when choices are lauded as empowering, we must be aware of both the muted conversation surrounding objectification of non-male bodies, as well as the distressing similarity between “celebrating creative agency and denying systematic patterns,”[1]Quite simply, the correlation between womanhood and the desire for beauty has “long been upheld by patriarchal discourses” that resigns them to objects to be viewed, enjoyed and consumed[2].The most recent wave of feminism, whatever you want to call it (maybe even post-feminism) is lauding physical transformation as empowering [3].

That being said, condemning individuals for their choices in a culture they haven’t shaped is also harmful, “even if those decisions are ones we regard as medically unnecessary and politically distasteful,” (Angela Nuesatta.)[4]In this sense, this point adds to a complex, nuanced argument surrounding cosmetics and the non-male body. If these procedures aren’t at one with beauty standards or heteronormative desire, does it make them any more or less on par with feminism and agency?

So, let’s really get into it. I have A LOT of privilege. I’m white, I’m able-bodied, I’m a cisgender woman; these privileges grant me opportunities, whereas others who don’t have those privilege might not (and often don’t.)

More to the point, some argue that being attractive is a form of privilege; research confirms that “attractiveness” creates more opportunities, romantically and economically[5].

I wouldn’t say I’ve necessarily had more success in either of those departments after my filler-fun run, but I have felt more confident. It’s not like I didn’t like the way I looked before – in fact the one thing I’m most insecure about I haven’t undertaken, yet (it’s my nose, I dislike how large it is) – I just enjoy how different I look now. One to me is not better than the other. I don’t feel as though I need these procedures, but I want them, I enjoy their results. Just as much as I enjoyed my face before.

The problem, of course, is that as a white, cisgender, able-bodied woman I am upholding beauty standards that can be reductive. Again, I can only speak for myself and I understand that this is problematic behaviour for those reasons and more.  

When I align myself with the third-wave, reclaimational feminist politics[6], myembrace of the femme would mean something completely different than to someone with another positionality. Therefore, it can greatly impact the notion of reclaimational third wave feminism.

Here is where I must acknowledge that the master’s tools will never dismantle the masters house. And I can survive in the master’s house; people who don’t look like me or have my privileges may not.

          Oh my god, you have to give me the name of your surgeon!  

In this particular time, these procedures have become so much more accessible. Nipping in to get your lips done has become the millennial equivalent of popping out for a nail appointment. The procedures that were once only for the rich and famous have become readily available for the everyday, 9-5 worker[7]. In this sense, it gives access and more options to those who may be striving for a visual image that matches their identity. The cost for some maybe off putting or unachievable altogether.

Knowing that I wanted these treatments, I saved up over a few months. Because these fillers last a good 7-9 months, I didn’t necessarily need a top up...but I wanted them. Thinking about it, it wasn’t exactly an extortionate amount of money...to me. My privilege is showing, isn’t it?

My practitioner is Katie Allen. She owns her own company called Alien Aesthetics and if you are looking for work I highly recommend her. Katie has always been welcoming, kind and informative every time I’ve seen her; she has two degrees under her belt and holds down a nursing job at the same time. Balancing the two is no easy feat.

Katie is highly successful, firstly, because she’s amazing at her job, and secondly, because her work ethic is unparalleled. Working with her Mom, Julie and predominantly alongside other women, Katie often stresses the importance of supporting one another in business. Her prices are more than reasonable and she frequently posts cheaper alternatives as part of a modelling deal or prize draw, rewarding her followers and regulars.

The first time I got my lips done, she talked me through everything, the procedure, the aftercare and where to reach her if I needed anything. We started small, 0.5mil. Before each injection she asked me if I was ready, and kept me up to date on where we were during my treatment. She continues to do this even as I approach my 7thor 8thappointment.  

Always checking what look I’d like to achieve, we’ll chat, I’ll show her picture references and when I’m frozen, mid-procedure she’ll ask if I’m okay. I’ll try and mumble something that sounds affirmative.  

After the numbing cream, it’s not exactly painless but what I’d call uncomfortable. Personally, as long as I don’t look at the needle, I’m fine. It usually takes 15 minutes to sink in and you feel like a bit of a boob sat there with white stuff plastered around your mouth (we’ve all been there, amirite ladies?) But to Katie, it’s second nature, she doesn’t bat and eyelid.

My cheek fillers were a little different, it felt like a liquid pressure was spreading onto my cheek bones. It didn’t hurt, it was initially uncomfortable but soon settled down. They’re still a little sore but look absolutely amazing and, as Katie said, create a more structured, lifted image. She also said they’d look better in two weeks, when the swelling completely settled. If it only gets better I can wait to see what it’s going to look like in two weeks – I already adore them.

I hope I’ve addressed some questions that some of you might have about it. But Katie, obviously, is the person to approach when it comes to these procedures. Pixie is the current admin of their Instagram page and is just as friendly and informative as Katie. (Don’t worry, I gotchu, her company is tagged in this post and will be linked at the bottom.)

I know I don’t have all the answers or the perspectives, I just wanted to share my experience. I don’t mind people asking me questions about the procedures, how I felt, what the process is like, who I go to. I do mind invasive and rude questions that place my self-esteem as frail and my now altered look as unattractive. Because that is invasive and rude, who raised you?

I enjoy the look fillers give me, and, why wouldn’t I? I curated it. So, I’ll say it, I’m a filler queen. I enjoy my treatments and love the results, I don’t see myself stopping them anytime soon and will more than likely begin to explore more invasive procedures (hello, new nose). But, until then, I’ll revel in my swollen cheekbones and lips.

References 

[1](Unbearable Weight: Feminism, Western Culture and the Body: Bordo.)

[2](Under the Knife: Feminism and Cosmetic Surgery in Contemporary Culture: Stephanie Genz)

[3](Television and The Domestication of Cosmetic Surgery: Sue Tait)

[4].” (The Guardian: I’m A Feminist and I’ve had cosmetic surgey. Why is that a problem? Angela Nuesatter)

[5]economically (The Guardian: I’m A Feminist and I’ve had cosmetic surgey. Why is that a problem? Angela Nuesatter).

[6](HarpersBazaar: Is Teenage Plastic Surgery a Feminist Act? Kathleen Hale)

[7](Unbearable Weight: Feminism, Western Culture and the Body: Bordo.)

[pip-personalispolitical]

Desperately Wicked: In Defence of Laura Albert

[Introduction]

JT LeRoy, the literary “IT” boy of the early noughties; a gender-fluid, gender non-conformist that existed (or exists) between the Southern Gothic and Never Never Land (Bennett: 2016). Riding off the wave of the 90’s punk-rock, D-I-Y sentimentality of celebrity that is arguably still present in 2018. Arguably more so with the surge of internet celebrity that started with MySpace and continues with the self/sponsored insta-fame of now. 

The D-I-Y aura surrounding the industries suited Jerimiah to the “T” in “terminator”. It allowed him to waver on enigmatic and shy, magnetic and offbeat, provocative yet child-like in his disposition and correspondence between celebrity, publisher and the public. For those that aren’t clued in, JT Leroy was dubbed the literary hoax of the 21st century. With three novels under his belt, “Sarah”, “The Heart is Deceitful Above All Things” and “Harold’s End,” a cult following, and a movie starring Asia Argentina, he was a young-20-something, gender outlaw of a writer. He pushed questions of gender presentation, gender performativity, gender passativity and sexuality; as Delaney suggests maybe he prefaced todays more gender-fluid society (2016). His image was that of an effeminate - if not androgynous - small statured blonde that held the same enigmatic and dark energy of his books...Albert’s books. In 2006 JT’s fictitious status was revealed by Stephen Beachy– Albert was the writer, the creator and in part JT himself (Bennet: 2016). JT was performed by aspiring clothes designer, Knoop, Albert’s sister-in-law. In part, his opposing yet complimentary characteristics were due to the influences surrounding him; firstly, by his given traits, his creator and mother, Laura Albert, and then by his living and breathing host, Savannah Knoop. These factors culminated an emotionally devastated, shy, socially stunted wonder-boy; the kind that Albert knew would be adored, protected, and above all - believed. The thing is, it’s not like she didn’t try to tell us, to try and break the façade; she outwardly joked she was JT LeRoy – only to be met with mockery and dismissal - which I know would have been different if she were a man...if she looked like JT. She wrote it quote plainly with the quote “The Heart is Deceitful Above All Things” and spoke candidly about the idea of treachery and betrayal, she wrote her own demise; as the Lot Lizards chased JT with pitchforks, celebrity America hunted Albert with hunger and the sting of betrayal in their eyes: she had made them look dumb. Like Langer, who wrote an article on JT in 2013, I (as a reader and fan) divided between my empathy with the characters and all that Albert achieved; both in the literary and literal sense, in JT’s public reception and her public crucifixion (2013). What will follow is an exploration of the JT phenomenon and the defence of the desperately wicked, Laura Albert. 

[Part one]

When I first heard of the literary persona, JT Leroy, I was in the car of a psychedelic rock ‘n’ roll vegan, obviously.  To begin with was the concept that initially sparked my interest. A literary hoax?!  Interesting. A literary hoax so successful that a mass of celebrity followers surrounded and worshipped them? Genius!  Someone who convinced the likes of Wynonna Rider and Billy Corgan that this literary persona was real? Hilarious. But the more I read into it, the more I was drawn to it, the more I felt the weight of JT settle into my psyche and whisper to me that he was real. I read snippets of Sarah when I was incredibly sad – okay, it was because of a hellish comedown that triggered some serious mental health issues – but I felt him, I felt his pain and together we shared our heartache. I knew that with every word I read, every sentence that broke my heart was written by someone who “wasn’t real”. That is to say, he didn’t have a host, a body. He was as Albert described, an avatar. He was fictitious and it plainly stated so on the cover of all the books “fiction” – but that didn’t mean that the pain wasn’t real, that the trauma wasn’t tangible and provocative in the blurring of fantasy and reality, identity and embodiment, “artist and audience” (Langer: 2013). When writing, Albert states, she was made to use a voice that her gender presented, she was made to write as a woman. That was too painful, “too traumatic” (Bennett: 2016).  Confronted with the binary choices of a male or female voice, Albert chose the former. JT was the voice, the host for her pain and her art, famously quoting him to be like a “pair of asbestos gloves” to process the trauma she was otherwise incapable of handling (Sauvelle: 2016: Out; Brady: 2016: Irish Times). This came with the weight of shame for Albert, who felt ashamed about her body, the trauma inflicted on her body, gender and sexuality. In fact, the notion of shame is a reoccurring theme, both within her narrative and JT’s; but I think this shame is placed upon her as much as she feels she has it. Albert explicitly understands the connotations of trauma on a non-male, often non-conforming body, as well as the shame associated with mental health and childhood traumas. This for me, resonates on many levels, shame for non-male, non-conforming bodies lies on the grounds of weight, it’s functions (such as periods or lactation) but also the non-male body and trauma in which these experiences are invalidated by reductive, patriarchal terminology.  How many times has any women with mental health issues been dubbed with daddy issues? How many times have women with any hint of emotion been dubbed a crazy bitch? [Part two]

In stark contrast to our fictitious wonder boy, Albert posed as Speedie, JT’s handler (Rich: 2006: The Paris Review). She was the brazen, bold and loud woman that stood by his side and practiced a “Svengali” like sway over JT. To put it simply, she was too much; too assertive, too much mouth, too much punk rock rage and artistry that is altogether nonsensical and realistic (Delaney: 2016: The Guardian; Handy: 2008: Vanity Fair). The gender roles were reversed, then disregarded all-together and it left people to create polarised impression of the duo. In this sense, I think that Albert does not perform her gender adequately and simply doesn’t want to and, why should she? She’s an artist, a creator, the limits of her self-expression shouldn’t be defined, she is the perfectly complex and enigmatic artist. Speedie was not to be trusted; even when she out rightly stated she was JT. Even Carrie Fischer, an outspoken woman and advocate for equal rights, thought Speedie was a manipulative coattail rider (Rich: 2006: The Paris Review). I think that this just lends credit to the fact that anyone can be capable of discrediting female agency. The fact that people thought the idea of the hoax itself being poorly constructed is just another way of saying that Albert failed to think of the consequences of her actions, when she knew them, she lives them to this day. When the after-school specials came on, the child who suffered abuse was an angelic, blonde haired, blue eyed boy - either gender of boy or girl were thin – and Albert knew she didn’t fit these moulds (Brady: 2016: Irish Times). These were the children that were believed, these were the children whose pain was validated. More to the point, I believe that as a boy Albert could shrug off some connotations of child abuse that wasn’t immediately reduced somewhere along the lines of the virgin/whore dichotomy and predatory lens of the male gaze. That is not to say child abuse does not happen to boys, but rather that she was able to shake off the connotations associated with her current, adult body that gave her a more direct route of addressing her trauma. So, this is my problem, when the phenomenon of JT is called a hoax, it completely disregards her pain and implies her intent to deceive, she wasn’t thinking about the literary scene (Langer: 2013). Where some have said it was for fame and money, I remind myself I don’t know any victims of abuse, sexual or otherwise, who have decided to neatly unwrap their trauma and abuse, stare at it and see wads of cash. [Part three]

The tight weaving of trauma and fiction leaves most dazzled, it’s hard not to be, you’re dipped into the Southern Gothic without warning and left dripping with melancholy heartache. The performance of JT was mostly sustained by his literature and by Knoops performance as JT’s “public self” (Desta: 2016: Vanity Fair). When I read this, I really liked this concept because it carries with it the well-known connotations of having two sides to each person: one we show the world and who we are when no-one is watching. The public side is one that was simply embodied and is arguably a fantastic and compelling piece of performance art, if nothing else. The problem with the piece is that in creating an avatar who was transgender at the most and gender non-conforming at the least, rumoured to having AIDS, was that this voice overrode those actually situated within those positionalities, it gained so much attention whereas the reality of many non-heterosexual/gender non-conforming writers did not gain the recognition they deserved (Sunderland: 2016: Broadly). This is the one thing that can’t be disputed, but I don’t think it’s actually directly related to Albert, but rather the society to which she was presenting. It can’t be said that both Albert and Knoop didn’t have oppression, these people were not well off – it was often commented how much food they ordered and took home. Both of their sexualities could arguably be seen as non-straight, but only Savannah even slightly benefited from this in gaining all the gifts, recognition and praise that everyone thought JT deserved; she gained the benefits of a counter narrative whilst being politically, socially and emotionally more stable than that of Laura’s avatar. But that is not to say in enacting and channelling JT, she didn’t bring these issues to light. The tricky thing here is not to compare oppression (as oppression is incomparable) but to understand that these were not people exactly riddled with privilege. Albert is a Jewish, once very overweight woman who struggled with her gender identity simply because of the gender stereotypes set before her. She could not successfully perform the gender of “woman” and didn’t want to, it did not reflect who she was or how she felt (Sauvelle: 2016: Out). More to the point, do we ever successfully perform gender to the fullest? In a performance that consists of repetitions and exaggerations, are we ever to fulfil a gender norm that is constantly shifting and ultimately, unattainable? Without sounding like a cliché, I’m here to argue that Albert was before her time – the only difference is that our avatars exist online as the public image we portray via various outlets of social media (Langer: 2013). Laura’s avatar happened to have a host, a living, breathing host with sentient thoughts and similar physical features. We are, as Albert says, “curating another self” (Sunderland: 2016: Broadly; Desta: 2016: Vanity Fair). Personally, I rather enjoy this process; I project certain images that hold certain connotations and curate an image around the “self.” It gives me a breather from actual gender performativity though (albeit clickbait) media, art, music, literature. It’s a multimedia platform and expression of the self that can be quite liberating. Who in this world isn’t presenting an online image? Celebrities nowadays very carefully curate their image and even, in particular circumstances, outwardly perform this image to the point of performance art – need I say Bowie or Gaga? (Benson: 2006) And dare I ask, is there such a thing as unintentional performance art? And does intention wholly shape the art or can it be, of itself, thought-provoking and challenging? To circle back, JT was created out of pain; his image was that of the child whose pain is believed, heard and understood. Albert had a very pragmatic understanding that despite her punk-rock, I-don’t-give-a-fxck, “this shouldn’t be the way but it is” attitude, that this boy would be more interesting and compelling than that of a woman in her thirties (Handy: 2008: Vanity Fair). But, as stated before, in Albert’s case the use of an avatar was not merely an act of creation, but that of survival. Which leads me to the point that the reveal of this “hoax” left Albert’s career in tatters. Those intent on fooling others firstly, know the implications of such a set up, and secondly, have a more succinct plan (Handy: Vanity Fair: 2008). If taking home excessive amounts of food wasn’t a big enough tip-off then the not-so-chronological accounts of JT’s life and fuzzy details should well have been. 

[Part four] 

For me, one of the most frustrating aspects of the whole story is that is that if she were a man, she would be crowned a gritty literary rock ‘n’ roll outlaw, a controversial cultural icon.  But instead she was vilified and branded a liar. Worst of all she didn’t apologise, she didn’t beg for forgiveness and cry on Oprah, she sank back into anonymity and remained silent (Delaney: 2016: The Guardian). The backlash was bitter and hateful, people felt like they knew the industry and knew themselves enough to know better, many felt like their place in the literary scene had been overwritten by someone who had never experienced the things they wrote about (and in my opinion, rightly so.) As Langer said, maybe it was all inevitable, but it was also unfair (2013). Let’s just take a (male) gaze into Hollywood and notice that the likes of Johnny Depp or Woodey Allen, intricately separated from their art, escaping deserved persecution. If somehow, these people have separated the person and the product, the personal and the political, then can the same be done for Laura Albert, whose intentions weren’t made of malice, but trauma and a desire to be heard? Whose discourse, however deceitful, has created as space of empathy, trauma and healing? (Bennett: 2016) For me, JT Leroy is a collective pool of sadness, nostalgic and dizzying sadness and trauma and healing. I feel him when I don’t quite know where I’m going, I feel like he’s sat with me when I lose pieces of myself after drinking too much and not knowing if I’ve said something horrific and unfunny in any circumstance. I can see him crouched in the corner when I sob over a song or lost love and I imagine him coming over to hold me, or to take my hand and walk me down to McDonalds. He’s there, sat in a moody pose on my bed when I listen to Cigarettes After Sex, hovering somewhere in the in-betweens of this world and the next, like Tinkerbell, somewhere between sleep and awake, between here and Neverland. I think that when Laura quoted that passage of the Jerimiah’s, from the bible, she spoke of the duality of the human soul, conflicting sentient thoughts and emotions. Not just regarding her plain and unintentional deceit, but of our own, how that despite everything, we want to believe he’s real and because of that he is. That we knew it all along, we deceived ourselves into thinking such a boy could have lived, that despite our insistence that gender performativity and presentation is not important it definitely mattered when the gender of the author was revealed. The heart is deceitful; we are deceitful and we fool ourselves into thinking that the human disposition is anything but wicked and selfish, and that we as a society have grown to the point that we can understand it and its conflicting resolutions. The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked: who can understand it? Maybe it’s not meant to be understood, just acknowledged, accepted, like Albert’s talent and more importantly, her narrative.

[pip-personalispolitical]

Dare The Limits: P A R T Y

Dare The Limits is an independent business run from the heart of the West Midlands. He owner and curator, Bonny Rose, 23, offers bright colours and bold statement pieces, whether it be in the form of a practical box or her abstract alien paintings Each design is handmade and tailored around the clients suggestions, so if hot pink doesn’t cut it for you, Bonny’s creations aren’t restricted to any one colour palette. Dare The Limits offers a uniqueness only an independent business could offer. 

As Bonny suffered an injury that has impacted her mobility, she has channelled her struggle into her business, finding healing and solace with the practice as well as the creative midlands community. 

In the spirit of bold and beautiful, the official relaunch party is On the 25th May, boasting local art, musicians and crafts. 

Available on: Etsy: https://www.etsy.com/uk/shop/DareTheLimits?ref=s2-header-shopname Instagram: Dare_The_Limits Website: https://www.darethelimits.com/ Grab your tickets to the relaunch party here: https://www.ticketsource.co.uk/darethelimits

[pip-personalispolitical]

Romantic Love

The Poets Commentary: “I wrote this in the process of coming to terms with my own issues with physical and emotional intimacy. Kind of experiencing the bud of your sexuality while entrenched in church, not to mention tucked away in Appalachia, causes a weird relationship between sex and love and personal value, especially when you’re ‘biologically’ female. Because of this, I have struggled. But I am growing, and I believe there is so much more love to know, both platonic and romantic.” - JAB: https://www.instagram.com/jabpoet/

[pip-personalispolitical]

An ode to The Lost.

Looking up at the black abyss There are individual burning lights fizzling brith, with our heads on the wet grass. I am bound to you Like gravity that forced the earth to spin so slowly,  And knowingly.  I am your orbiting satellite. travelling with you, Beside you, And beyond.

We are like two stars, Bursting through the omniscient sky. Racing from one side to the other, Just to cause a moment of absolute  brilliance and light. 

And for once, I know what is right. The vastness of the night sky Shines down on your iridescent face, turning I watch you, And we both look in wonder.

Stars become satellites, which made the spinning stop. I no longer a lonely fading star, You made the burning stop And the need to fly far.

A lost solo Sputnik in space, on a self destructive mission. All I do now is just float. Knowing what was and now what can be, Separated from the galaxy. 

- Becca Rewa

From the poet: 

Idolising you was false Stars turn into satellites Watching sun’s burn prove fatale. But none of it, is what you or I need. 

[pip-personalispolitical]

HEY BABY, CAN YOU BLEED LIKE ME? An analysis of Carrie.

Halloween came around far too fast this year, and yet again I failed to save up for my long time goal of becoming Selene from the Underworld series. I frantically googled a halloween costume search that was cheap and relatively easy to make, and stumbled upon “Killer Prom Queen”. I mumbled to myself about that being lame, then realised, who else better to fill this role than Carrie herself? The original killer prom queen with teenage angst, brimming sexuality, vengefulness and soaked in blood. I instantly downloaded the 2013 remake and got to making notes.

Of course, being the full-frontal feminist that I am, I couldn’t hep but incorporate my Halloween costume with feminist politics. This essay, then, is an exploration of the sheer brilliance of Carrie as both a film and a character. I will examine the major themes of blood, femininity, female sexuality, religion and agency. Mainly focusing on discussing -and thereby destigmatising - menstruation, sexuality and female agency within Western culture.

THE 70’s AND THE KING: The second wave of feminism washed over the West with a current of sexual liberation left over from the sixties, and carried with it sentiments of the equality and exploration of the family, sexuality, reproductive rights and issues regarding marital violence. While second wave of feminism posed a threat to the status-quo of patriarchy, the rise of Christian fundamentalism also threatened social order (Derr: 2013).

These two opposing issues are also personified by Carrie’s schoolmates and her mother, Margaret, who physically and emotionally abuses and manipulates her under the facade of religious purity. These stands meet within the first scenes of the film as Carrie menstruates for the first time; in the light of Christian fundamentalism this is a sign of “Eve’s original sin”, signifying impurity and shame, and notably Carries coming of age and verging sexuality. (Derr: 2013; Hagen: 2016). These contextual issues were the foundation for Stephen Kings novel, expressing his anxieties and thoughts through the narrative.

HORROR AND THE 2000′s: Horror, arguably more than most genres, confronts the intricate topics of gender, sexuality and the body. Despite often portraying female sexuality as ‘monstrous’ or a sign of impending doom, it brings to the surface “otherwise unspoken” issues within patriarchal cultures (Berlatsky: 2016).

More to the point, horror is a genre where women emotions are explored in rich detail. This, as stated by journalist Brianna Wu, is particularly true of Carrie, as the majority of the main characters are female (cited in Berlatsky: 2016).  This is furthered by the fact that female characters are maximised to the point that male characters are minimised (Hagen: 2016).

The female director of the recent 2013 remake, Kimberly Pierce, disregards the male gaze in favour of the exploration of character, intimate moments and agency. Pierce thereby successfully  avoids any macabre female victimisation so frequently displayed in the genre and allows for a sympathetic viewing of Carrie (Sarah: 2013).

BLOOD AND GROWTH: All of the themes, the context, the genre and the story are interwoven with the most predominant subject of blood. Everything comes down to blood. From the blood bond between her and her mother, to the menstrual blood that signifies her coming of age, the pigs blood and eventually, the blood Carrie spills (Hagen: 2016). Again, this genre highlights the uncomfortable truth that menstruation is considered shameful, a taboo and particularly associated with coming of age in patriarchal cultures (Hawking: 2013). Moreover, from a Fruedian perspective, it represents male fear of castration, embodying perceptions and anxieties about feminism (Derr: 2016). However, above everything, it is a patriarchal symbol of shame and humiliation.

From an alternative perspective, Carries menstrual blood signifies her maturation, sense of identity and her power (Derr: 2016). When a person is menstruating, it is often considered a time of heightened emotions and a lack of control; this is where Carrie breaks the taboo with her wicked telekenisis. Carrie has never been more powerful, nor more in control as to when she listens to and acts on her emotions. Emotions, much like menstruation, aren’t something to be ashamed of.

Even in 2017 menstruation is somewhat of a taboo and severely under-discussed, only recently has an advert featuring red dye instead of blue been featured on TV. In a modern context, this is where Carrie still remains a successful horror - yet so relatable - particularly by folks who menstruate; being caught off guard or being chastised for menstruating can bring a sense of dread and shame.

Whilst I am focusing on carrie, I’d also like to disrupt the cisnormative assumption that women and menstruation are synonymous. Menstruation is not gender specific. Menstruation and it’s association with coming of age, I contend, is only constructed in reference to female sexuality or the “female” body in order to fulfil an essentialist standpoint of reproduction in a heteronormative context, or to reference Judith Butler, the heterosexual matrix (Butler: 1993: 8).

FEMININITY, SEXUALITY AND EMPOWERMENT: If Carries telekinesis symbolises her sexuality, it can be said by extension female sexuality is something to be afraid of (Hawking: 2013). Echoing the sentiment of the seventies (which I argue is still applicable now) that female liberation is detrimental to patriarchal society, another self-aware, self-identifying person is not what that society wants. King outwardly stated that strong women is something to fear (Watercutter: 2013).

This is where Carrie comes into her own; the acknowledgement of her power sees her escape the trope of victimisation within horror and of women in general (Sarah: 2013).  Her peers behaviour towards her greatly influence her actions, therefore allowing Carrie to exist in a state of both victimhood and heroism, as Carol Clover suggests (Watercutter: 2013).

The iconic prom scene is where Carries femininity and power blossom. This rite of passage is what Sue - the epitome of femininity - gave up for Carrie in an act of redemption (Sarah: 2013). In correlation with persuading her boyfriend to take Carrie, his masculinity thereby reinforces Carries femininity; they recognise her power and allow her to access it how she chooses. As Carries agency and femininity peak, she destroys the patriarchal stereotype that femininity and power are incompatible or at opposite ends of a spectrum.

Both the protagonist and the antagonist, Carrie asserts feminine agency unconcerned with the dichotomise of good and evil. Carrie states this herself after her mother accuses her of being a “witch” with “the devils power”, to which she replies: “ain’t nothin’ to do with the Devil, Mama, it’s me.” As if the Devil were credible for her power (Berlatsky: 2016, Hawking: 2013).

On the other hand, it could be argued that Carrie fits the trope of a revengeful woman. Her destructive use of her powers is not, as Derr states, from her feminine power but the corruption of it by religion, and by extension, the patriarchy (2016). Carries unparalleled rage at such corruption, torment and humiliation moves her to the position of a woman scorned, and what’s more terrifying than that? One that seeks revenge on those who have wronged her and then some. A trope that has been utilised in so many forms and genres to be overthrown, in the end, by another. Not Carrie. She is the writer of her own destiny, the creator of her own demise; her passions don't consume her, she doesn’t succumb to the bullies or the inflicted shame, her (ex)-lover doesn’t kill her, she kills herself when she relinquishes control of her powers (Berlatsky: 2016).

Returning to the theme of blood, Carries menstrual blood initially scares her, she becomes indifferent to it and arguably isn’t what is empowering to her - her telekinesis is. Following this, the implication that her menstruation is a price she has to pay in order to be powerful. This notion follows a trait of destain of menstruation as a curse for original sin, in turn, echoing the narrative and relationship between essentialism and religion.

To take this theory further, I suggest that if - as I previously stated - menstruation and coming of age is only associated with reproductivity,  could Carrie’s indifference to her period but awe of her powers a desire to live outside of heteronormative reproductivity? Is this Carrie metaphorically embracing her sexuality but rejecting motherhood? Or is it simply a rite of passage? Moreover, Sue, who becomes pregnant and by default becomes the bastion of femininity, an essentialist point of view that believes women fulfil their “biological destiny’ - Carrie, soaked in blood, becomes an emblem of unsuccessful femininity as she has menstruated and not fulfilled this patriarchal role. She revels in the power patriarchy vilified and denied her, arguably subverting the essentialist association by embracing the trope of “the witch”.

MOTHERHOOD AND MISOGYNY: Despite Carries rampage, Margaret is the true villain in this story - depicted as a full-frontal man hating feminist denying her femininity - yet internalising misogyny to such a point she suppresses her daughters, she represents feminists and the common misconceptions of the movement. Never, seemingly, have we even seen anything so ruthless as a mother who would kill her own child. The true embodiment of monstrous femininity.

I believe Carrie destroys both the matron and the promiscuous woman  (Margaret and Chris), two specimens of internalised misogyny; both with a seeming distain for other women, the matron with an additional dislike or distrust of men, the whore internalising misogyny in order to remain safe or desired…neither win. Some argue Carrie is torn between the two; I assert that she rejects both. As much as this can be read as feminists and anti-feminists destroying the cause, I argue it can also be interpreted as a sign: misogyny (and the patriarchy) will never look after you, no matter if you align yourself to its cause or not.

CONCLUSION: All in all, Carrie is one badass chick, merciless to those who have wronged her. Whilst being based on the political environment of the 70’s, it can easily be applicable to the modern day. Issues concerned with menstruation, sexuality and shame are still being unpicked and tackled from the toxic narratives created by essentialism, religion and patriarchy. The narrative of the film is fabulously horrific, within a simple, clean format; horror is the accessible and entertaining platform.

A teenagers coming of age, burgeoning sexuality and agency woven tightly with the supernatural allows for a more tangible method of grasping the metaphors of politics throughout the film. Carrie outwardly rejects religion, stigmas associated with the body, as well as constructions of femininity, feminism and motherhood. I hypothesise that Carrie embraces her femininity and sexuality outside of heteronormative discourse by dressing herself in blood, subverting reductive, patriarchal stigmas; rejecting two opposing dialogues claiming to have her best interests at heart.

Carrie stands now, in the light of three waves of feminism, as a symbol of empowerment, subversion and sexuality; there is nothing more iconic than the white gown drenched in blood, the face drop, and the chaos that ensues. Like Carrie, like my sisters (not my cis-sters), my body has a devilish sense of humour - as I write this I’ve just gotten my period. BIBLIOGRAPHY (not in alphabetical order because I am lazy and hungover):  Berlatsky, Noah . (2016). Carrie at 40: why the horror genre remains important for women. Available: https://www.theguardian.com/film/2016/nov/03/carrie-stephen-king-brian-de-palma-horror-films-feminism. Last accessed 22.10.17. Hagen, Kate. (2016). 31 Days of Feminist Horror Films: CARRIE + MAY. Available: https://blog.blcklst.com/31-days-of-feminist-horror-films-carrie-may-811993384c71. Last accessed 22.10.17. Derr, Holly L . (2013). A Feminist Guide to Horror Movies, Part 5: The Blood of “Carrie”. Available: http://msmagazine.com/blog/2013/10/28/a-feminist-guide-to-horror-movies-part-5-the-blood-of-carrie/. Last accessed 20.10.17. Sarah. (2013). Carrie: On Female Power and Identity. Available: https://cinesnark.com/2013/10/21/carrie-on-female-power-and-identity/. Last accessed 22.10.17.

Watercutter, Angela . (2013). Carrie Remake Shows Women in Horror Are More Than Pretty Victims. Available: https://www.wired.com/2013/10/carrie-women-horror-movies/. Last accessed 22.10.17. Hawking, Tom. (2013). Stephen King’s ‘Carrie’ Is Even Stranger and More Radical Than You Remember. Available: http://flavorwire.com/420135/stephen-kings-carrie-is-even-stranger-and-more-radical-than-you-remember. Last accessed 22.10.17. Butler, Judith (2007): “Subjects of Sex/Gender/Desire“. In: Gender Trouble. Feminism and the Subversion of Identity. New York: Routledge. pp. 4, 8

[pip-personalispolitical]

GROUPIE LOVE.

I am a self-proclaimed witch, part-time poet and groupie. I say that with a meta affectation; the pretension lies in my self-awareness as opposed to my actions. For those of you that know me, you probably know I enjoy sleeping with musicians. Musicians to me are - without fail - the most interesting people I sleep with  and nine times out of ten are really good in bed. They tend to think outside of the monogamous, penetrative box of heterosexual sex. And while interesting isn't always a good thing, sleeping with musicians gives me an experience I otherwise would never have access to. It’s an insight into a world just out of reach.

In this essay I explore the concept of a groupie and what is given to both parties in an exchange that is ultimately one based on sexuality and erotic capitol. I will examine what I think groupies really do, sociologically, personally and sexually. I also address that this particular definition of being a groupie is one of sleeping with musicians, rather than being a dedicated fan of one. This follows the definition outlined by Pamela Des Barres (the worlds most famous groupie) who states that a groupie is someone who is simply “with the group” or “with the band.”

What we do.

From the perspective of a female groupie to that of a male band, I believe that groupies have historically provided performers with validation. This validation comes in the reaffirmation of their heterosexuality, masculinity and success. If they're not playing for the women, who are they playing for? The men in a homosocial context, or a homosexual one? They deflect the objectified performers’ anxieties of being under  another male gaze - groupies deflect emasculation (Crawford: 2014: 50). Thereby, they validate the performers sexuality and masculinity by existing within a context where they are desired and viewed as a sign of success. Why else would we turn up to your shows if we didn’t think you were talented and beautiful?

That being said, this validation lies within the grounds of heteronormativity and the heterosexual matrix (Butler:  2007: 4, 8). It is therefore assumptive and reductive to those outside of this sphere. The majority of the music industry is a tiresome ground of patriarchy and misogyny, so those who aim to strike bargains with it must do so within those means provided; while I believe this isn’t a bargain with patriarchy due to the context, it is a bargain nonetheless. This exchange is a confirmation of masculinity and femininity within the heterosexual matrix - a bargain well struck.

The Erotic Capital.

This exchange employs the erotic capital, as defined by Catherine Hakim wherein attractive women use their looks and sex appeal to their advantage for financial, political or personal gain; it is a “fourth asset very different from economic, social, and cultural capitol”  that is rising in social importance and gives women an advantage where they otherwise may not have had it (2010: 512). While this is not exclusive to the phenomenon of groupies, it is an important concept I believe is employed in modern ideology of the groupie. As Hakim explains it may have more significance with regards to the entertainment industry and requires a set of social skills based on initial talent and ability (2010: 512). That is to say, groupies already possess or acquire a level of charisma or appeal that makes them desirable to musicians.

Breaking monogamy, sexual assertion and self-awareness.

While groupies provide confirmation within rock ’n’ roll and heterosexuality, they also break the institution of monogamy: groupies exist as a sexually assertive and liberated woman that follows strands of the second wave of feminism (Crawford: 2014: 50).  Being a groupie, then, aligns with the movement of sex positivity. Again, with reference to Hakim, the moral ideologies of society tend to discourage women from “exploiting their erotic capital” (2010: 499). The groupie does not shy away from this, the groupie disregards such stigmas in favour of attaining the poet/god/rockstar.

On this note, Crawford argues that groupies take the phallus worship that lies within the heart of rock ’n’ roll (which could be extended to most genres of music, I think) to it’s logical conclusion by sleeping with the artists (2014: 49-50). As Courtney Love (I know, she’s problematic but she has a point here) once said “we invented rock n’ roll to sexualise men.” What is the height of this sexualisation other than sleeping with them?

“Such savviness provokes hostility,” Crawford notes, “women aren’t supposed to plan for and pursue sexual activity” - more to the point they’re not supposed to know how to do it either (2014: 49-50). As a groupie you play to or adhere to the mood of the music, you dress to be a part of the scene to add to your desirability. It is unsettling for musicians to think that a woman can be so cunning - yet so desired and necessary to their personal masculinity, and, by extension, the reputation of the band.

This brings me to my next point, that some groupies possess a level of self-awareness in regards to their actions, both personally and socially; to be labelled as such is to know your power as well as to be aware of the potential downsides. There is power in the namer; when reclaiming the term - akin to the word slut - acknowledges the connotations of the trope. It demonstrates passion, ambition and desire to occupy a pragmatic standpoint within a situation that is ultimately boiled down to one of a sexual exchange. If both parties enjoy the exchange where both have something to offer, it can be beneficial in terms of personal gain and satisfaction. This, it could be argued, is where the concept of the erotic capitol is epitomised.

I am very aware of this exchange, I have what you want and I know that even if you don’t choose to have sex with me, I am a form of validation that is crucial. I add credibility to their band simply by turning up. Perhaps, this sentiment is epitomised in Lana Del Rey’s song Groupie Love. She coo’s “every time that you look up, I know what you’re thinking of, you want my groupie love,” and she’s right. Groupies want to be desired and they are. The question is, does being a groupie in a modern context require a self-awareness and political connotations of these actions to make them effective in their result, or can the liberal morals of the 60’s still be applicable in a modern context?

Misogyny, power dynamics and exploitation.

One of the main issues is that groupies, to directly quote Crawford, give the musician a means to “connect with a male audience through the objectification and denigration of women,” (2014: 50). The position of a groupie is one amidst a field of misogyny: the groupie sits on a thin fence of second wave, choice feminism. You can play up to these images or utilise them, bargain with patriarchal tropes and power structures, but ultimately do these choices not just further patriarchal and misogynistic tropes within institutions?

Moreover, from my positionality (that of a white, cis-gender, able-bodied female) it serves my purpose and my purpose only; I am running in a playground that stinks of choice feminism and out-dated liberal morals reminiscent of the 60s sexual revolution.

Additionally, I believe that due to the fact that groupies are also caught up in a web of sexual liberation, repression and the long standing virgin/whore dichotomy we are easy targets to be labelled as “too obsessive” or “insane”, we are easily dismissed as objects, tropes, not as human beings. Further manipulation or attempt to disband this adds to such a label and your power is all at once lost to the trope.

Perhaps in a modern context, personal gain requires more rigid and well-analysed political intention - however, that is not to say it cannot be a mutually satisfying interaction. Using my education and personal feelings towards sexuality, I feel as though its more of an exchange - I have no doubt that is due to my positionality. Being a groupie lies in a strange river of dynamics on an interpersonal level and a larger, structural level.

The power dynamics of a musician to that of a groupie are, to say the least, troubling: exploitation is likely, particularly with younger or more naive fans. Lori Maddix is a prime example of this, being one of the most desired within the “baby groupies”; she was only thirteen when she became involved with musicians. This is nothing less than statutory rape despite the fact that Maddix gave consent (Tolentino: 2016). The problematic history of groupies and their rockstar lovers can’t be ignored. I can't defend these actions, nor should I. I’m trying to argue for choice feminism and sexual liberation; the fault lies with the men in rock ’n’ roll who abuse their power. Moreover, sexuality in girlhood isn’t anything to be ashamed of and should be explored - they just happened to explore it with rockstars.

Returning to my main point, in regards to second wave feminism and sexual liberation: to what extent is the exchange about liberation or empowerment? Is this not simply an exchange or a play on the erotic capitol? Can this not simply be a consensual, mutual hook up based on sexuality and satisfaction? Furthermore, empowerment  and liberation are two highly subjective concepts (as I've previously stated in other essays) what is empowering or liberating to one woman may not be to another.

Conclusion.

It is clear that female sexuality is still widely policed and politicised, widely held accountable and impaled on a fence of second wave feminism - it seems we can never win. That being said the groupie validates masculinities and femininities, they offer a break from monogamy and disregard any morals implemented on sexuality; the groupie is a savvy, sex positive, self-aware agent.

Additionally, in analysing the phenomenon historically it’s problematic elements weigh heavy on its positive potential. I feel that we are, however, utilising feminist discourses and sexual liberation to some gain, be it personal, political or economical. And even if groupies aren’t, isn't it still an expression of sexuality that shouldn't be policed? In the earlier concept the positionality of a groupie allowed for the sexuality of girlhood to experience liberation and exploration.

Being a groupie also holds greater potential to gain a foothold into a notoriously misogynistic industry. Given the interaction stays within the laws and age of legal consent, the erotic capital - if acknowledged by the groupie or not - is still at play and in that sense it is effective.

Not to sound like Penny Lane but I’m here for the music, man. I’m here to gain insight into a creative world just outside of my reach, I want to see how you do it, what inspires you. The fact that you have access to members’ only clubs and D-minor celebrities is a bonus.

I revel in the debauchery and hedonism of rock ’n’ roll; I enjoy seeing and being seen, I enjoy the connection to another creative individual - particularly in a way I’ve never been or haven't had the means to be. Mostly, I enjoy knowing that I have something they want, I enjoy knowing that I am desired - particularly by rockstars.

References. 

Butler, Judith (2007): “Subjects of Sex/Gender/Desire“. In: Gender Trouble. Feminism and the Subversion of Identity. New York: Routledge. pp. 4, 8.   Crawford, Anwen (2014). Hole's Live Through This . London: Bloomsbury . 49, 50. Hakim, Catherine . (2010). Erotic Capitol . European Sociological Review. 26 (5), pp. 512. Kandiyoti, D. (1988). Bargaining with Patriarchy. Gender and Society. 2 (3). 
 Nina De Koning. (2017). VHS1'S LETS SPEND THE NIGHT TOGETHER. [Online Video]. 20 May 2013. Available from: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SnViqstGsYs&t=311s. [Accessed: 4 October 2017]. Tolentino, Jia. (2016). What Should We Say About David Bowie and Lori Maddox?. Available: https://jezebel.com/what-should-we-say-about-david-bowie-and-lori-maddox-1754533894. Last accessed 2/10/2017.

[pip-personalispolitical]

A Dime A Dozen

I like your blue eyes, honey Layered in liquor and sweat, In the presence of future regret, But I was dripping wet, for you. If I beg, will you bet? Just another lesson to forget, Your confession plays like a threat, And I haven't found another like you...yet. But then again, Pencil dicks are a dime a dozen. I like the way your fingers found my mouth at night, baby Something about saying it's alright, An evening of extravagant delight, Wine and neon and pale moonlight, Did the way we kiss give you an awful fright? My harness; my dress; my mother tongue laced tight, They say sex is the battleground of a losing fight. But then again, Pencil dicks are a dime a dozen. I remember the way your hands grazed me, lover But your body didn't faze me, All the gods driven out to sea, Drowning in obscenities. We should hang out - misspoken apologies, How did you get there so easily? Was it a big deal, or pleasing to see? Knowing exactly where to be, Oh, your hands...and on your knees. But then again, Pencil dicks are a dime a dozen. I like the way your hair falls when you play the guitar, daddy The way your hands tap its neck from afar, Middle names and adolescent scars; Darling, do you even know who you are? Amidst the skyscrapers and broken stars, I nearly cried I came so hard, And I already knew there was life on mars. And I just realised why you stay up all night, 'Cos you think you're still on LA time, Lost in the rhythm of destiny and dime, Melting the circuits in your spine, Is it by mistake or design, That my ego is divided by parallel lines? Blushing and benign, Little did I know life could be so divine. My eyes are crossed and my ears are buzzin', 'Cos pencil dicks are a dime a dozen.

[pip-personalispolitical]

March.

I listen to all my sad songs,

As if to bleed myself of want.

My monogamous heart brags at each turn;

Nowadays my heartbreak lies in the Southern Gothic.

 I go back to begging, just to try my luck.

I beat it until it is dead;

my intention met with disregard.

 I lost my mind about a month ago,

Somewhere between Sleeptalking and Rosko,

Somewhere between Eros and Apollos,

And all the pills I put into my body,

Pills I'm meant to take,

Pill's I'm not,

Pills I put into my body,

My body the melting pot.

  Hedonism fell to debauchery and made a love child on my tongue.

With a mouthful of bed sores,

I mourn my lovers on Monday nights.

“There's so many questions and you need answers.”

I wonder what it is like in your bed;

I fall asleep knowing the back of my hand was summoned to your lips;

I reduce myself to my senses.

 I'm not begging to be liked,

nor understood.

I ask politely.

[pip-personalispolitical]

As she lays there Flesh, bone and little black underwear. Spending the night on the cold carpet floor No sounds, Only silent breaths on clammy skin. Muzzled. Little adulteress, Did you see how she looked at me Soiled like Dirty laundry And begging for it. Wrists gripping tightly Around the nape of her fragile neck. Breaking her As she sinks like a weighing stone Heavy, numb and negligible. Relentlessly she gives in Like you knew she would. Spoilt But she doesn't want it everyone thinking Easy Not even for one minute Not even for a second. - Becca Rewa

[pip-personalispolitical]

Stop romantizing dickheads, Natalie: A Note To Self.

He was the kind of soul I needed to be around. Full of life, the wanton goodness of it all; full of light and energy that bounces around the room and dizzied me in social circles but sunk deep into the his brooding ice blue eyes... That sang and spoke of a melancholy sadness only troubled folk feel; his choice nonetheless. The bliss of his troublesome kiss and sweetly he does things - out of habit i believe more than genuine emotion. They touched me despite myself and knowing the truth of the situation. He, as cool as his shades of blue, I - dirtier chips of ice uncoloured by the city and sketched by his hands - moulded to suit him best.

I asked for nothing yet he pursued; he asked me to dance which was something new. And I wondered to myself if we could share just a simple conversation...if maybe acting wasn't his craft but it was his lifestyle: he this man parading as a boy, youthful promises and an innocence that knows better - Peter Pan of London City - I, hooked. Fairy dust and all the magic summoned by his presence - a subtlety that struck the room and enchanted those unknown by his whisky mouth, his whisky dick yet to be moved as I...

I, with little left in me - a creature of the moment...left on call. he, untouchable and always on demand. - Natalie C

[pip-personalispolitical]

Mother of Nothing.

All the blood that would have made up my child, Pouring out of my cunt, A form of punishment, Or a flow of mourning, My body doesn’t know. It only aches like the tires of my bike, Straining under my new weight, My body, swollen, sore, debilitated, Cells in circles swimming to my heart, Empty to my stomach... A cluster that wrecked me, And left my body stranded, washed up, On some shore, meant only for the barren, A maybe potential, sitting on the fence, Between my mind and silence, Toppling to a side endless, While my body faded to grey, My womb is tired, my birth canal sighs My fallopian tubes were tested but not tied, I am tired, I sigh, Mother of nothing, mistress of no one, Free? - Natalie C

[pip-personalispolitical]

MY MORAL COMPASS DOES NOT LIE BETWEEN MY LEGS

While it must be noted that issues of agency, sexuality and morality are important, as they are tangled with larger power structures of oppression and institutionalisation, it must also be said that my body holds a lot of privileges (namely being cisgender, white and able) and it therefore continues a narrative of trendy and consumptive white choice feminism that appeals to the male gaze - and consequently to the lager power structures at play - limiting its effectiveness. I am fully aware of the layers of connotations this carries. I am also aware that empowerment is a subjective concept; what is empowering to one person may not be to another. 

Whilst some connotations (such as desexualising the female body, deconstructing slut shaming and therefore destabilising myths on sexual assault, reclaiming my sexuality by utilising Lordes concept of the erotic and body positivity) are positive; my post is within the context of an easily accessible source in a patriarchal setting and due to my privileges is not at all groundbreaking. Moreover, even when I assert my intentions the subjectivity of the male gaze cannot be addressed; reading this is an option and “art” (not to suggest an Instagram post is art) is historically one of the only mediums in which female nudity is permissible due to its objective consumption. That being said, I believe the personal is the political, as in the stories of women from their point of view helps destabilise harmful narratives. With that in mind, I wanted to post this because I felt good about my body for the first time in a while. As I write this I am also conscious of how women often have to explain themselves and hold themselves accountable. 

I wonder if this post inadvertently silences voices that do not conform to the representations portrayed in it, and how dealing with such issues may not be a choice but an everyday (potentially violent) struggle. Issues concerning their bodies/sexuality/morality/agency cannot be tackled with one trendy, consumptive Instagram post. More to the point, non-white bodies being viewed as overtly sexual or exotic is an orientalist discourse that continues to harm folk to this day and something I do not have to contend with as a white, cisgender woman. As well as issues of western beauty infecting the mindset all folks, and how these issues intersect with class and race and gender and able bodies create binary struggles for non-conforming/queer folk that can result in issues of passability, which can then result in assault, abuse or death. I ask, do trendy mediums limit the meaning of the piece? 

 Complex topics like these are topics I struggle with as an scholar, a feminist and a woman. My personal/political aim for this month is to narrow down my experiences to ones that make me feel good. Please know I am your sister, I stand with you. As someone once told me it is about affect not intention, so if you have any questions or want to call me out on anything please do! If you’re interested in any papers I’ve written on issues similar to this please DM me. 

 • This quote is paraphrased from Jessica Valenti’s “The Purity Myth”. 

 • Audre Lordes “Use of the Erotic: The Erotic as Power” in “Sister Outsider”.

- Natalie C 

Other great articles on choice feminism:  http://www.feministcurrent.com/2011/03/11/the-trouble-with-choosing-your-choice/ http://feministing.com/2015/05/07/choice-feminism-time-to-choose-another-argument/