LIVE EVERY WEEK LIKE IT'S SHARK WEEK

Once, in my naive youth (cough, first year of uni cough), I asked a friend what I could do to make a boy I really fancied like me. Yes, I really was that sophisticated. She gave me some good advice, but she also said,

 “Don’t correct him. Boys don’t like being told their wrong.”

I considered this. Surely no-one relishes in being told they’ve made a mistake I thought.  Then told her that I had once pointed out to him that penguins came from the Antarctic, not the Arctic.

“Well don’t make a habit of it, don’t be confrontational.”

I am paraphrasing, and I’m making our exchange sound like a quote from one of the more weedy Austen characters. You know, the kind who gets colds and ends up with the crap vicar husband. But I’m sad to say the main jist of the conversation was laugh at his jokes, and shut the fuck up.

Needless to say I did not take this advice to heart. I have an extremely low tolerance for bullshit, and will never hesitate to (politely) call someone out when they’re wrong. You will be pleased to hear however, that I did get off with said boy, despite my animal habitat pedantry.

That conversation has always stuck in my mind. In between wondering what’s for tea, and whether to wash my hair, I get psudo-intellectual, and wonder, “how are women expected to act?” My dad, on two separate occasions has turned to me in shock and said

“Do you swear/burp like that in front of your boyfriend!?”

At which I burst out laughing. To me it’s so sweetly archaic. Why on earth would suppress my oral gas or guttermouth tendencies around my bf? So he’d fancy me more? I’m all for politeness, so of course I wouldn’t be effin and jeffin went I first met his family. But I would like to stay with this guy for quite a while - he’s going to have to know that I get gassy and swear when I drop things on my toes. In short, I’m going to be me.

The truth is, how women are expected to behave hasn’t changed a lot since the eighteenth century. We can vote, swear, decided whether we want to get pregnant and shave our heads if we please. Sure, it’s ok for girls to drink larger, run about and get their petticoats six inches deep in mud. But you’ll still want to put make-up on and wear pink wellies when you go paint balling. We have but what I like to call the Elizabeth Bennet/Kim Khardashian quandry (or kquandry, if you prefer). We have more rights and freedom, but the overwhelming pressure to be pretty and charming is still present. Women want to be superheroes, but the message seems to be that if you want to kick ass, you better do it wearing high heels. Look at Victoria Pendleton’s recent ad campaign with Pantene. Yes she might have won an Olympic gold, but wouldn’t it better if her hair was shiny and more manageable?

SIGH.

I do talk a lot of crap don’t I? I’m writing this as if this were all inevitable, as if it was hopeless. When in fact by being conscious of this hypocrisy mean that we’re halfway to beating it. It mean we can laugh at it and ignore it. We shall not go gentle into that good night, we shall rage rage against all the bullshit preconceptions the world has to throw at us.

Oscar Wilde allegedly said, “Be yourself. Everyone else is taken”. Whilst dear Oscar makes an excellent point, I am all for some healthy emulation. When wondering, “how am I, a devistatingly sexy and funny 20-something, meant to weave through the tangled matrix of life? WHO SHOULD I BE?” it’s good to have something to aspire to. When I was little I wanted to be Marie Curie. Now I have some more grown up and achievable heroes. Let me tell you about why I want to be Buffy the Vampire Slayer....