Thoughts on unpaid overtime

Unpaid overtime is a problem that faces a growing number of workers – and it’s something that Australians in particular struggle with. However, it was only recently that I realised why the notion of unpaid overtime really bothered me, particularly when it came to industries that have a “culture” of overtime (for example, most STEM fields).

Typically, what this “culture” equates to is an entire industry working “until the job is done” – regardless of whether they are being paid or not. Whether it be fixing a virus or marking exam papers out of hours, people within these roles will stay at work until the problem is fixed. It could be that they feel pressured to stay because everyone else is doing so, or it could be because they want to create a good impression within the company.

Technically, these hours are seen as voluntary. I say “technically”, because you can usually bet that if one of these workers kicked up a stink about working unpaid overtime, they would be out on their butts come the next hiring period. At the very least, they would be viewed as not chipping in to the same extent as their overtime-working colleagues. So, overtime may not be mandatory – but it can definitely be expected of workers.

The problem I have with this expectation lies within the individual worker’s ability to then meet these expectations. If you want to take a feminist’s viewpoint on the issue, then you can consider the following example:

A young, unattached, white, straight, single male works within a STEM-style field – let’s call him Alex. Alex has been at the company for a few years, and is slowly working his way up the corporate ladder. He occasionally does overtime, and says that he doesn’t mind because it’s “his choice”, and it’s “expected of him” (which, by the way, are two separate things. If Alex had a “choice” to go home at 5:00pm without any consequences, you can bet he’d do so). Alex has no one else dependent upon him, and so has the luxury of working overtime and picking up take out on his way back to his apartment.

Alex, although he may not realise it (and would probably disagree with you if you pointed it out to him) is drenched in privilege. He’s white (tick), straight (tick), young (tick), man (tick, tick, tick) in a traditionally male-dominated field. He puts in the extra hours and surprise, surprise, sooner or later he’s given a promotion.

Now, our next example: a single woman who has three children, working within the same STEM-style field – let’s call her Juliet. She’s been at the company for the same amount of time , except, of course, she has three children (cross), and is single (not necessarily a cross, but definitely difficult). Now, it’s 5:00pm, and Alex and Juliet are both asked to work overtime. Alex turn around and say “sure thing, boss!” – because he has no one dependent on him. Juliet, on the other hand, needs to be home to cook dinner and help her kids with their homework. so, what can she do? Well, she can either go home (which then creates the impression that she’s not working hard enough), or she stays (which then potentially creates the impression that she’s a “bad mother”). Either way, she loses out. Juliet’s already working in a traditionally male-dominated field – so how to you think it looks when she doesn’t put in the extra hours?

Do you see how this “culture of overtime” really only benefits a select few – and those select few are those with the fewest number of “consequences” for not staying behind? There are people who we work side by side with – mothers, carers, people of different abilities – who cannot work overtime. They simply can’t afford to do so. And the rest of us who do work overtime for free? We simply reinforce this culture. By not standing up to it, we say that it’s okay to judge us on the amount of “extra effort” we put in outside of work hours – when it’s not.

Boobs, boobs, boobs

Bonds Australia have recently launched an ingenious advertising campaign. And by “ingenious”, I really mean “somewhat uninspired and completely insipid”.

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We get it. Bonds sells bras. Bras = boobs. Therefore, popping the word “boobs” on giant billboards around the countries somehow equates to an ingenious marketing campaign, yes?

Unfortunately, no. But to make matters even more interesting, Bonds have launched an entire range of bras to accompany their “advertisements”. This range of bras veers towards the “Spice Girl” approach to product creation – there’s a bra for “sporty” boobs, a bra for “mama” boobs, and a bra for “super” boobs (and no, I have no idea what “super” boobs do either. I assume that they give you magical powers, a la Wonder Woman).

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If Bonds are going to attempt to venture down this particular path, I would make one small suggestion to them. And that suggestion is a little thing I would call “realism”. Let’s all take a moment to collectively ponder whether we would be caught dead buying a “wow” bra. Because if you’re anything like me, you probably can’t stomach that particular thought (if, however, you are inclined to purchase a “wow” bra, you can now feel more fully informed! You go, Glen Coco!).

So, without further ado, I’d like to introduce to you my brand of Realistic Bras (TM):

“Sunday morning hangover” bra

You got home at 3:00am and fell into bed completely dressed – only to wake 8 hours later with your make up smeared across several sheets and pillow cases, and your cat licking your hair (or is that just me?). To make matters worse, you forgot to take your bra off – so your torso feels like you’ve just emerged from a particularly gruesome medieval torture device. What your boobs need in their current hung over state is something starchy and carby – sorry, I mean stretchy and comfy. This line would come in a set of neutral colours, of course. You don’t want to make that head ache any worse by staring at brightly coloured tropical prints on your bra, right?

“My eyes are up here” bra

Haven’t we all had this particular moment? You know, the one where you’re attempting to have a conversation with a person, only for them to stare, rigidly, at your breasts. That’s when you need the “my eyes are up here” bra.

Ideally, this bra would shoot bullets from it, a la the Fembots from Austin Powers:

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However, short of this, I’m happy to settle for it to simply dole out abuse to every single unsuspecting pervert who can’t make consistent eye contact with me. Insults along the line of “Yo, fuckwad, my face is 30cm north of your current gaze” would be broadcast at the press of a button. How convenient!

“Sore boobs” bra

Again, this is a common problem that bras could endeavour to fix – if they weren’t too busy trying to make my breasts look “wow” or “super”. Whether it be PMS-style soreness, or “I played mixed netball last night and got elbowed in the norks five times”- soreness, we’ve all had tender boobs. Hell, one time, I couldn’t walk down some stairs because the bouncing was too much for my sore breasts. What I’m saying is, I feel your pain.

The “sore boobs” bra would come with three layers of cushioned padding, and another layer of steel-styled armour – just in case someone else tries to elbow you. The bra would hold you snug, enabling you to conquer any form of “bouncing activity” without pain!

“I don’t think you’re ready for this jelly” bra

You know when you need this bra. You’re feeling bootylicious (probably as a result of having just listened to three hours solid of Destiny’s Child AND Beyonce). You’re ready to go out and conquer the world, one wheel of brie at a time. So, what do you do? You throw on your “single ladies” bra.

This bra would have every single accessory known to mankind attached to it. It would magically boost, plump, and sparkle-ise your breasts. It would also come with that immensely annoying accessory – the cleavage jewellery. You know, that little dangly sparkly thing that comes attached to the centre of bra, right between the two cups? There’s literally no point to that bit of sparkle - except in the case of this bra. In this bra, the sparkly dangly jewellery thing enhances your breasts, and everyone who views them will leave feeling both astounded and enlightened. Who knew that cleavage jewellery held so much power?

There’s so much potential in this “realistic” bra line. If only Bonds had bothered to survey some actual human beings before they launched their “wow” bras, they may have realised this. Instead, I am left feeling distinctly underwhelmed, and longing for a “sore boobs” bra.

Three days in Australia, or, “Sexism. Sexism everywhere”.

Ever since Julia Gillard was elected, Australia has been forced to shine a light on its attitudes towards women – and more specifically, women in power. At times the ride has been exhilarating and empowering, and at times it has drifted towards the ugly and downright rude.

But the last 48 hours have really demonstrated to me just how far we have to go. So, without further ado, I present to you the last two days in the life of an Average Australian Woman:

Tuesday morning: Wake up, make a cup of tea, and read the front page of the paper. Try to keep your toast down as you realise that the murderer of Jill Meagher was on parole, and had been convicted of 16 other counts of rape. Your mind immediately jumps to how many others serial rapists are currently “rehabilitated”, and are now out in public.

Tuesday afternoon: You read that Julia Gillard has attempted to start a “gender war” – and remain somewhat confused, because you were under the impression that this particular war was started centuries ago. You realise that Julia Gillard is concerned about Tony Abbott’s views on abortion, which is, in all honestly fair enough. The man does have a track record.

Wednesday morning: You read the victim impact statements from the Jill Meagher case, and wonder if it will stretch on years. The answer, of course, is yes. You will think about it next time you’re walking down the street, or next time a strange man approaches you when you’re alone.

You jump to the next news section, only to read that the Australian Socceroos coach has told a press conference that women should “shut up in public”. You wonder what his mother, wife, and other female friends and family members think about this, before realising that it doesn’t matter – their voices probably won’t be heard in the media, anyway.

Wednesday lunch time: Your social media feeds spring to life, with the words “menu” and “Mal Brough” cropping up. It only takes you a minute to work out that yet another LNP member has had a serious lapse of judgement – this time, in relation to a menu, of all things. You scan through the articles until you finally reach the image of the menu in question – and find the phrase “small breasts, huge thighs and a big red box”. Your thoughts sway between immediate, explosive outrage for the PM and a sense of disgust that the menu ever reached the public eye. You also take a moment to note that although Simon Crean, Wayne Swan and Kevin Rudd are also mentioned, none of their menu ‘items’ feature a reference to their appearance (or, indeed, their genitalia). 

Wednesday afternoon: You hear your two male colleagues laughing at something on a computer screen. You glance over, only to see an enlarged version of Brough’s menu appear. Your colleagues then ask you if you think it was funny – and when you reply that you don’t, are told that this sense of humour is “just the Australian way”. You point out that none of the male politicians that appeared on that menu were sexualised, or had attention drawn to their physical appearance. You then exit the room to get a coffee and bang your head against a wall.

Wednesday evening: You avoid watching the news or hopping on Facebook, because you don’t wish to buy into everyone’s outrage about a menu. You’re just as outraged as your friends and family members – but you’re also tired of nothing ever changing, and would prefer to spend an evening pretending that offensive menus never existed.

Thursday morning: You wake up to the news that a restaurant owner has taken responsibility for the ‘offensive menu’, and that the LNP party has “condemned the menu in the strongest terms”. You wonder if the LNP keeps a document on its shared hard drive entitled “Apologies for Sexism”. What would it read like? Perhaps, as this: “We apologise for [sexist comment] made by [sexist politician] here. We will try harder next time. Plz vote 4 us, c u in September, kthanxbai.”

Thursday lunchtime: You venture back to the wide world of the mass media, only to read the news that 17 Australian Defence Force personnel are under investigation over “offensive emails“. You don’t need to read any further to guess that the emails were related to women. Instead, you wonder how common these “offensive emails” in workplaces are, and recall the incident with the menu in your workplace yesterday.

Thursday evening: The media wrap-ups for the entire menu-related affair start coming through, and you brace yourself for a mention of the term ‘menu-gate’. You then reward yourself with a coffee when News.com.au and the ABC (yes, the ABC) follow through on your expectations for the most unoriginal journalism.

….. And these are just the local examples. I thought about including some of the international examples of sexism within this run down, but then I realise I would be typing this until midnight.

What does it say, when this is almost an “average” day in Australia? Firstly, it says that gender is still an issue, and will continue to be for quite some time (indeed, until the election results are counted). I’m grateful for the focus on the topic of gender – but some intelligent debate wouldn’t go astray. I’m tired of the petty name-calling, the exaggeration and simplification of all “news” content to suit the biggest audience. I’m sick of attention-screaming headlines, and “gender wars”. What I would like is an honest, forthright discussion about the current treatment of women within Australia. One that carries on up until the election, and spans across the issues of rape, domestic violence and sexual assault, attitudes of victim blaming, the representation of women in the media, the issue of female CEOs and politicians, paternity leave, equal pay, single parent (and mother) payments, and everything else I have simply missed. Of course, this is a vast discussion – but it is one that every single problem raised earlier shows we need to have. What we don’t need are any more infantile “menus”, or sports coaches with jacked-up opinions on whether women have the right to a “voice”.

Women as public property

Three separate things have happened to me in the last few weeks that have basically lead me to believe that I’m operating as a form of public property – you know, something that anyone can feel free to comment on. And, quite frankly, it pisses me off. Above and beyond the fact that everyone reading can probably say things along the lines of ‘BOO HOO’, and ‘welcome to the real world’, I’ve reached a point of absolute frustration with this shit. A point at which I’ve start side-eyeing random strangers, suspicious of that the fact that they may be poised to make some stupid, crude or idiotic remark to me when I DIDN’T EVEN ASK THEM.

Case number one: About a week ago, I ventured out for one of my standard morning runs. I’d just hit the 7km mark, and was sweating up a storm. Earlier, I had run past an older man. He had waved his hand at me, and said something – but as I was running past him and had my earphones in, I didn’t catch. I didn’t really think anything of it, because people often nod and say ‘good morning’ to me.

Anyway, at the 7km mark, I ran back past this man (I had turned around at this point, and so was running towards him). He waved at me again, and so I slowed down (I thought he might have been lost or confused).

The man carried on to tell me that he has “often seen me out running” (which is correct, I have seen him before, and he has similarly waved at me then) and that I “frighten him” because I am “so sweaty”.

At this point in time, the expression on my face was rather like this cat’s:

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My response to this guy was something along the lines of, “well, yes, I’m running, of course I’m sweaty”. I then turned around and kept running. The thing is, this isn’t the first time someone has felt the need to tell me how my body/my clothes/the books I’m carrying are “funny”, “frightening”, or “dirty”.

Case number two: Three days prior to the running incident, I’d swung by my local university coffee shop after visiting the library. I was loaded up academic-type books with titles such as “Feminism Methodologies” and “Qualitative-Based Methodologies for Feminists” – you know, standard fare for anyone doing a PhD in feminism (which, coincidentally, I am). I proceeded to dump these books on the counter next to me as I fished my wallet out of my bag, only to hear the young guy in front of me start laughing. I asked him what was funny (I had suspected it was something to do with the barista, who tends to come up with ridiculous nicknames for his customers. My nickname is usually Jessica Simpson or Jessica Alba, for example…). He then proceeded to tell me that those books looked very “interesting”, whilst, well, sniggering.

ewLook, I’d like to think that this guy had a genuine interest in feminist methodologies, but somehow, I suspect that this wasn’t the case. This guy’s main interest appeared to be commenting on how much ‘feminism’ I was literally carrying.

Case number three: Two to three weeks prior to this happening, I was walking to university to have a meeting with my supervisors about my PhD. I’d put on a brand new, pale pink dress for the occasion. On the way in, I walk past a guy in his mid to late 20′s, who says to me, “you’re looking good today, Miss”. To which I said, “What?”, because he-half mumbled it. He then says, “You’re showing your pink bits, you dirty bitch!”. Because you know, GET IT, I was wearing a pink dress.

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(Even Julia Gillard is unimpressed by this one).

Street harassment isn’t exactly uncommon. It happens all the time, everywhere, to woman (and men!) all around the globe. And whenever it happens to me, I’m reminded of the fact that I’m not just a ‘citizen of the world’ (so to speak) but I’m also a woman. Which of course, means I’m up for objectification and harassment. I don’t have a solution to street harassment – and if I did, I’d bottle it and distribute it to every woman on the planet. What I hope and wish for is some form of witty comeback for each situation. As it stands, I tend to be struck dumb by common sense, and end up replying with the obvious: “I’m sweating because I’m running”, “I have feminist books because I’m studying feminism”, or “I AM wearing a pink dress…”.

What I would LIKE, what I wish I COULD do, is completely lose my shit. I’d like to go completely and utterly bat-shit crazy on these men. I’d like to screech, scream, and holler at them. I’d like to tell them that their behaviour is disgusting, and that they don’t have the goddamn right to comment on me, my body, or even the bloody books that I am carrying around university. But then, of course, I’d just be conforming to the stereotype of the “crazy paranoid women”, when of course these men were just trying to “be polite”, or “make conversation” – except that they weren’t. And then, of course, there’s the fact that I’m too polite to confront men in this manner in public (even though I shouldn’t be).

See the bind that women are in?

Safety Tips For Ladies: A brief overview

Today, I participated in what could readily be described as one of the at times funniest, and at time most depressing, hash tag threads on Twitter this year. The #safetytipsforladies hash tag stemmed from a reaction to this article from The Punch, and the credit for starting the entire Twitter-based landslide goes to one @hilaryjfb.

As Twitter is wont to do, the hash tag took off before you could say “angry women fed up with the patriarchy” three times in a row. I, like many other people, jumped on board and contributed my own insights into how women could keep themselves safe in public:

And again, as Twitter is wont to do, things got misinterpreted. At this point in time, it’s worthwhile noting that I speak only for me here. The idea for contributing to these tweets was not to ‘poke fun’ at real, lived experiences of rape or assault. Nor was it to try to say that methods of preventation against these crimes are utterly useless. And for anyone who was triggered or offended by my tweets (or retweets through me) I am sorry. That was never the intention, and the tweets were made in good faith.

What the tweets were (and still are!) all about is the opportunity to highlight the ridiculous, sometimes seemingly insane measures women take in their day-to-day life to prevent assault or rape. Women actually are told to practice jumping under cars in case they need to hide. They are told to never go jogging alone. They are told to not tie their hair in a pony tail, or to have long hair at all. They are told to always “be aware of their surroundings” and to “shout ‘fire!’ not ‘help!’ if they are attacked” (presumably because people care more about a fire than an attack on a woman?). We are told all of these things in order to ‘protect’ us. And yet, when these (sometimes ridiculous) methods fail, we are then told that it is STILL our fault.

If you ask a woman (any woman!) what her preventative measures are to protect herself from harm whilst she is out alone are, she could tell you in an instant. Here are mine:

  • Never wear heels when alone, always wear or carry flats so you can switch into them to run away
  • Carry keys ready in your hand, always check the back seat as you get into the car, and lock the doors straight away
  • Never check your phone or listen to music when you’re walking down a street at night
  • Make eye contact with anyone who walks past you
  • Always ask for identification before opening the front door to a delivery or service person
  • Always have an escape route. Know precisely where the nearest safe, well-lit place is, and know that you can run to it.
  • ‘Follow your instincts’ (whatever that means)

There are many more, but these are just the ones I personally have and use in my day-to-day life. As many women have noted before me, if I tried to list them all we could be here for hours.

As a side note, one of the truly ironic undertones to these sort of ‘safety tips’ (which I still follow, regardless!) is the fact that many crimes against women such as assault and rape are committed by people known to them. And hence, these tips are largely rendered useless in the majority of actual crimes.

And yet another solution presents itself. One in which we switch the focus from the victims (who are, after all, blameless) to the perpetrators.  Quite simply, the solution is partly resolved by society forcing the actual perpetrators to take responsibility for crime they committed. The courts, the media, and society at large don’t excuse the perpetrator’s behaviour on the woman’s level of intoxication, or the fact that she was wearing ‘slutty’ clothing, or that she must have been asking for it because she was out late, walking through an abandoned car park. Additionally, another large chunk of the solution is, as always, telling men not to rape. Of course, ‘telling’ is different to actually achieving. But  one of the most important methods to addressing this ‘telling men not to rape’ criteria is, I believe, education programs on consent.

And finally, by not simply ‘telling’ men not rape (because, as I’ve just said, ‘telling’ often isn’t good enough). But by giving the crime of rape the attention, and severity, it deserves. By not claiming that being convicted of rape will ruin the perpetrator’s future. By not blaming the victim, but instead giving her the support she needs. By not wasting time on telling women what to do or what not to do, but by instead focusing on the perpetrators of the crime.

I’m sick of being told how to keep myself safe. When do we stop focusing on me, and start focusing on the actual criminals?

“Ironic” advertising

Remember that time when I blogged about ‘drinking Pussy‘? Or the time I wrote about Lynx commercials? Or hell, even the blog post about Brut deodorant? The question here is, what do all three of these products and subsequent advertisements have in common?

The obvious answer is “being obnoxiously ‘blokey’”, of course. But there’s more to it. Each of these advertisement portray themselves as being ‘ironic’. And how could they not? It’s quite certain that they couldn’t get away with portraying women as nothing more than inanimate objects (like, say a can of drink), or as a set of house slaves ready to do the bidding of men.

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It’s irony – what Rosalind Gill (2007) describes as being “that catch all device that allows advertisers to have their cake and eat it [too]“. Hell, Lynx admits that their advertisements are tongue-in-cheek when rebutting claims of sexism against them. Between 2010 and 2011, Lynx had 9 sets of complaints lodged against them through the Advertising Standards Board. In each case, Lynx rebutted the complainants statements that their advertisements demeaned women by instead claiming that their ads were “cheeky” and “playful”, and that their intended “young adult male audience understands the playful and hyperbolic nature of the TVC [commercial] and its distinction between fact and fiction”.

Putting aside the fact that Lynx seem to be expecting quite a lot from their reasonably young audience, I’d like to simply consider the remainder of the audience – the older people, the younger kids, and the women. Apologies if this sounds like a ‘but what about the children!’ kind of cry – but I can assure you, it’s a little bit more than that. It’s more of a “but what about the women!” cry.

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I get sick of seeing bodies – mostly female bodies – being used ‘ironically’. And not even in a vaguely clever way. Female viewers are not idiots, and for companies such as Lynx to turn around, after they have already been accused of sexism multiple times, and to say that their intentions are to be “tongue-in-cheek” and ironic are, quite frankly, offensive. I’m not stupid. I know what’s ironic, and what is simply idiotic. Advertisements such as this are the latter.

There are a multitude of ways to advertise to young men without simply screaming “SEX! BOOBS! BUMS! GIRLS!” from the nearest rooftop/billboard/television screen. I just wish these companies would be brave enough to attempt it.

Oops, I forgot my femininity

The suggestions that modern-day women have somehow ‘lost’ their femininity have been floating around for quite some time (and yes, each of those is a link to a separate blog. If you ain’t convinced, just Google ‘modern women losing femininity’, or something to that effect). Often, the accusers are people who wish for more home baking and less pointing out of their inherently sexist attitudes. However, this article by Sarah Berry reached a new level of ridiculousness. Not only does she manage to suggest that modern-day women are somehow ‘less feminine’ (because they’re working more, y’see – that inherently more work = less feminine) but she also spruiks a hilarious sounding ‘workshop’, whereby women can ‘reconnect’ with their feminine ways via a heart-shaped pillow, a tour of their own genitalia, and an outline of which archetype they need to channel (do you need more ‘Warrior’ in your life, or are you lacking a little ‘Caregiver’?).

I’m about as impressed as this cat:

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“I believe we strongly undervalue the feminine in this society,” says sex therapist, Jacqueline Hellyer. “Women’s liberation in the 70s… was a great thing [and] led to definite improvements in the status of women… but, to achieve that status, women had to prove that they could be like men… that’s fine, but… what it did show was that… women have to be like men to succeed in society.”

Conversely to male stereotypes, “the essence of the feminine is to be soft on the outside and strong on the inside,” says Hellyer. “In fact it’s only by being soft on the outside that your inner strength [can] emanate. Otherwise, as a woman you’re creating a false strength on the outside, which is hard to sustain, is brittle and prevents your true strength from blossoming and showing.”

Hang on. CONVERSELY to male stereotypes is the “essence of the feminine”. So….wait on. You’re firstly saying that the opposite to male stereotype (which, stereotypes in and of themselves are not something to aspire to) is an “essence of the feminine” – and THIS is something we need to be reaffirming? We should reinforce a traditional, sexist stereotype in order to length our “inner strength emanate”? Well, heck. You sold me. Saddle up the pink ponies, y’all, because tomorrow, WE RIDE FOR THE 1800s!

To be quite honest, I’m going to go ahead and let my inner strength emanate in all kinds of places – and none of them involve releasing my “feminine essence” and having to bake a cake. What I will do involves kicking ass at runs, or writing a ranty blog (like this!), or simply doing well at work. I may also involve the occasional “traditional” feminine activity, but I don’t NEED TO DO THAT in order to reaffirm my femininity.

The idea that we have to get ‘back in touch’ with something that we have apparently ‘lost’ is completely untrue. Gender roles change as society changes – and this isn’t a bad thing. The idea that a woman’s femininity is somehow inherently linked with her ability to bake a roast dinner is at best misguided, and at worst an outright and oppressive lie. Not all women are traditionally ‘feminine’, and femininity is a concept that is completely up for grabs. It’s insulting to the vast array of females (and males!) on this planet to suggest that women have somehow “learnt to withhold their warmth and tenderness”. And I say this to you with all the warmth and tenderness I can conjure after reading that steaming pile of rubbish.

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I’m not disagreeing with the idea that femininity is a strength, but I don’t wish to get femininity confused with the stereotype of a 1950s housewife. Not all women are “warm” and “soft”, and not all women are preventing their “true strength from blossoming and growing” simply because they naturally aren’t inclined to be a caregiver, or to want to insanely well at their job. Some women may perform more stereotypically masculine roles, and some men prefer to emulate more traditionally female roles. This is a wonderful, great thing, because it means we’re breaking down gender barriers. I have enough faith in humanity to be assured that we’ll work out who takes care of the kids and who runs the companies along the way. We don’t need to divide this shit up based purely on a person’s gender.

As for the ‘archetypes’ offered at these women’ only sexuality based workshops? You know, these ones:

The Amazon (Engages on an equal level), the Good-time Gal (About playtime and fun), the Maestra (Virtuosity and sexual skill), The Empress (Likes to take control), The Earth Gypsy (Sensual and spiritual), The Madonna (Nurturing), The Susceptive (Yielding and responsive) and The Seductress (Alluring).

Obviously, NO. NO, and uh, NO, and again just for good measure, NO. These are ridiculous. No matter how you try to say it, this is just a new and improved version of stereotypes. Women are different – they can’t be shoved into neat little boxes according to how “nurturing” or “alluring” they are. More particularly, these archetypes are frustrating purely because of the lack of terms. Sure, there’s a tonne of traditional female-based ones (yielding, responsive, susceptive, alluring, nurturing, virtuosity) and then there’s a few non-gendered ones (likes to engage on an equal level, playtime and sexual skill) and then there’s one (ONE!) measly ‘take control’ archetype – the ‘Empress’ (and doesn’t she just sound like a barrel of laughs). In sum, this won’t be making for gender-equal bedroom fun times, my friends. This makes for females being provided with a number of susceptive, responsive, yielding sexual roles, and only one that I would argue is truly ‘active’. Same stereotypes, updated names.

Femininity is completely up to the individual, and it is none of society’s goddamn business what a woman wants to do with hers. If she feels more ‘feminine’ after running 10 kilometres in the mud and rain, then more power to her. Modern day women put up with enough shit without being guilt-tripped into attending completely bonkers, outdated workshops on how to ‘reconnect’ with their inner feminine strength.