Death of the Lady: why 'ladylike' is a sexist term

'If we bury the turkey in sprouts, no will notice the burnt bits.'

Bent over a saucepan of Brussels sprouts on BBC Breakfast this morning, Gordon Ramsay raised the problem that plagues many of us this year: “They will make you fart,” he warned. His interviewer, presenter Susanna Reid, immediately brought him up on this, quickly claiming in outraged tones that women don’t fart, sweat, burp or swear. I hate to break it to you Susanna, but if this true, you should really seek medical advice. For the rest of the unenlightened out there, women do, indeed, fart, sweat, burp, swear, urinate and defecate. Sometimes, I expect, all at once. Unfortunately, Susanna is not alone in her attempt to deny us these basic bodily functions; I have heard several friends protest in horror that they would never dream of performing any of these acts.

This is pathetic, ridiculous and maddening. By placing women on a fart-free pedestal, we are chaining ourselves to an archaic presentation of women as perfect porcelain dolls, whose only purpose in life is to be pretty decorations that are seen and not heard. Or smelled. The unenlightened should prepare themselves for a bold claim: to perpetuate this view is to present ourselves as inhuman. Yes, that’s right. Before you roll your eyes and return to polishing your club, let’s remind ourselves that this claim denies women the basic functions of human anatomy. For anyone who thinks that no one could be quite so stupid as to really believe this, I would refer them to a particularly ignorant ex-housemate, who had such trouble coming to terms with this notion that he chose to ignore clear evidence and to simply deny it. Mind you, he also believed that all women began menstruation on the first day of every month.

Clearly, gentlemen, it’s not just what we say that some of you struggle to comprehend; many of you have a lot to learn when it comes to female anatomy. Think about it, boys: if women are physically incapable of defecation (translation: pooing, shitting, taking a dump), why are we so frequently the subjects of adverts for diarrhoea medication?

Of course, all this reverts back to the notion of what is and is not considered ladylike. Traits in that first category include lipstick, needlework and child-bearing, while tattoos, swearing and an avid dislike of children would probably fall into the latter. To label the term ‘ladylike’ as restrictive is not to say that any of the activities which are given this description are innately wrong. It is more important to focus on what this term intends to prevent us from doing.

To draw on the example of the Olympics, sports such as boxing, judo and football are still held as pursuits more suited to men. To follow national television coverage would be to believe that no woman has ever so much as looked at a football, let alone competed in an international tournament. Boxing coach Hal Adonis (surely an ironic surname if ever there was one) commented that female boxers who haven’t been hit by their parents ‘don’t belong in boxing’, since women apparently need some form of motivation other than sporting prowess to get our pretty little heads angry enough to want to fight. On watching Gemma Gibbons win her Judo silver medal in London 2012, Andrew M Brown wrote that he 'couldn't help wondering about their soft limbs battered black and blue with bruises,' not something he apparently concerns himself with when it comes to competitions between men.

These examples demonstrate that many still distinguish between activities which are acceptable for men and women based on the archaic notion that women are inherently flimsy, fragile creatures. Like it or not, the word ‘ladylike’ is a sexist term because it allows people to restrict what women do purely because of the fact we have vaginas instead of penises. Of course, this type of gender-based classifications affects men too; how many have ever felt pressured to take up one sport over another ‘feminine’ one or to use terms which intentionally subjugate women in order to appear manly?

No one wants to be surrounded by a farting family post-Christmas dinner. But ladies, if you do let out a belter, don’t blame the man sat next to you: you’re only human, embrace it.

Secret Santa: festive fun or the nightmare before Christmas?

Secret Santa is a bit like eggnog; for some it joins mince pies and hearing Wizard everywhere as another mark that Christmas has begun, while for others it’s more like a threat than a promise of festive cheer. Unfortunately, unless you plan on becoming your intended recipient’s personal Grinch, it is no secret that once begun it cannot be denied regardless of your personal feelings and complete lack of preparation.

Why does Secret Santa promote groans of grim dismay? Frankly, Christmas is hectic. There are presents to buy, cards to write and travel plans to be made, in between which we are under even more pressure than usual to go out and have a good time. Christmas attractions and shopping centres soon take on the feeling of a stampede or a sheepdog trial, with everyone wedged together struggling to maintain the requisite good will to all mankind. With this in mind, it can be stressful enough trying to find presents for people you have known for twenty two years, let alone trying to pick between a rubber duck or a scented candle for someone you barely know. And, if you’re really unlucky, you might end up having to present a gift to the one person in your halls whose head you most like to shove up a turkey’s backside. Clearly not the tidings of comfort and joy that Christmas is intended to promote among us.

However, for all these potential problems, secret Santa is, in some ways, about the true spirit of Christmas. You might well spend hours searching for just the right earrings for your friend, only to receive a toilet brush and a voucher for a free hug from someone who panicked five minutes before they left. This ensures that your attention really is on the spirit of giving. Furthermore, since the low budget means that jet-powered hovering rollerblades are unfortunately out of the question, the focus really is the thought that goes into the gift. While you may end up with someone you can’t stand (in which case go for the lump of coal), you may also get the chance to show your friend how much you appreciate them. Watching their eyes light up a little over that pair of leopard print socks does make you feel a bit like Santa on Christmas Day.

Maybe Secret Santa is actually more like a cupboard: you get out what you put in. Of course, I’m not referring to the bouncy ball and foam finger that someone thought you might like, but the feeling of surprising someone else with a thoughtful gift.

Five essential components of a Christmas film

Whether it's a classic or a cheesy treat, everyone has a Christmas film of choice. The shops may have been playing carols since August, but now that those first few advent calendar windows have been ripped open it's truly time to indulge. Deck the halls, grab a mince pie, and see how many of these essentials your festive favourite features.

"And you're sure that a sleigh is covered by an automatic licence?"

Family fun. Like it or not, Christmas is a time for family. Whether arguing bitterly, screwing each other’s partners or discovering the true spirit of Christmas, families are often the ribbon that holds Christmas movies together.

Let it snow, man. Christmas is no time for rain, dear. However unreflective it may be of real life, we expect snow in Christmas movies. We want those shots of snow-covered hills bedecked with snowmen and sledding children, because snow is marvellous and beautiful when there is a TV screen between it and us. We can smugly turn up the fire and peek out from a duvet at the characters in the cold, safe in the knowledge that it won’t be us clearing the driveway tonight.

The knitwear before Christmas. Of course our intrepid characters need something to protect them from all that snow, and as the temperatures drop the gloves, scarves and lumpy woolly jumpers come out. Bonus points if any piece of attire has a reindeer on it. Triple points for bobbles.

Crazy stupid love. The brother of the woman whose house you’re borrowing? Naturally. The guy with stationery instead of hands who your mum has semi-adopted? Why not. Your Portuguese housekeeper with whom you have no way to communicate barring hand gestures and broken English? Meant to be. All that mistletoe seems to go to people’s heads, resulting in some highly implausible relationships. When the wrapping paper is in the bin, the Christmas pudding has been turned to crumbs and the hangover sets in, the tree has a better chance of lasting through the New Year than some of these movie couples.

Get your Santa Claus out. Surely the oldest character in movie history, Santa is sure to add a festive feel to any film. Well, any film in which he’s not played by Billy Bob Thornton.

Film Review: The Sapphires

Released: Wednesday 7th November 

Director: Wayne Blair

Starring: Chris O'Dowd, Deborah Mailman, Jessica Mauboy

Verdict: Great acting and singing and some genuinely funny moments, but a loose plot means it never really shines.

***

It’s 1968 and three Aboriginal sisters are performing a country song in the talent contest in a local bar before a hostile white audience and a bemused Irishman. Although they miss out on the prize, the girls pick up a manager/pianist in the form of the aforementioned Irishman, self-proclaimed soul man Dave (Chris O’Dowd). Armed with an advert calling for entertainers to perform for American soldiers in Vietnam, the four head off to get the reluctant blessing of the girls’ parents. 

When youngest sister Julie (Jessica Mauboy) is refused permission, older sisters Gail (Deborah Mailman) and Cynthia (Miranda Tapsell) set out to recruit their cousin Kay (Shari Sebbens), who used to sing with them when they were children. Joined by the ever resilient Julie and with old tensions returning to trouble Kay and Gail, Dave persuades the band to ditch the country and find their inner soul stars as they jet off to romance and danger in war-torn Vietnam.

The film starts off strongly, drawing on the chemistry between the sisters to create a promising premise. The main characters all have their own problems; Dave is a borderline alcoholic, ambitious Cynthia is hurting over a broken engagement, young mother Julie vaguely mentions something about making a better life for her son, stoic Gail is busy watching out for everyone and Kay is confused over how to handle her muddled racial status in racist Australia. 

On this last point, the film should be credited with not shying away from Australia’s troubled racial past, although it generally ignores the history of American segregation. However, as it goes on, these personal issues are generally ignored in favour of various blossoming romances, of which only one seems to reach a clear conclusion by the end of the film. Loose ends are acceptable when they are clearly intended, but in a film billed as ‘the feel-good film of the year’ (I’ve fallen for that line before, Danny Boyle) it seems odd that two of the three major relationships are seemingly forgotten, as are Julie’s plans for fame.

Although no one could accuse this film of aiming to be the next Apocalypse Now, it does generally offer an alarmingly rosy view of the Vietnam War. While most scenes set in the war show soldiers cheerfully gambling, smoking and singing along to some wonderful soul classics, the most graphic image of war is an amputee watching the band perform with a wistfully forlorn expression, as though he has just remembered he forgot to buy the milk. Of course the women are the focus, but the film somewhat loses its impact in the wake of this rose-tinted representation of war. Also, the suggestion that a bit of soul might calm the black troops after the assassination of Martin Luther King is patronising bordering on offensive.

However, while this film is clearly not perfect, it has moments of brilliance. The sharp comedy is pulled off perfectly, particularly by O’Dowd and Mailman, whose chemistry shines throughout, and the performances themselves are breathtaking, often thanks to Mauboy’s superb vocals. Despite being rather forgotten by the end, Tapsell manages to play to both the comedy and pathos of the film. Although determined to maintain the upbeat heart of the story, the filmmakers take care to show the disturbing impact of racism in Australia.

Despite the actors’ best efforts and some sharp, well-delivered jokes, The Sapphires never transforms into anything more than an uplifting comedy with some outstanding performances of soul classics.

We’ve all been there... the Mystery of the Safe Place

First and foremost, I would like to clarify that I am not, in fact, referring to the mental realm that my yoga teacher tells us to visit as we lie on the floor at the end of a session, trying to work out which body part hurts the most. I am instead talking about the Safe Place where you put things of High Importance to keep them from getting lost, only to immediately lose them.

I have heard several theories as to the mysterious vanishing act executed by the Safe Place. The first is that after carefully putting the item there, you are so overcome with your own efficiency and organisation that while you are congratulating yourself on having permanently secured the safety of said item, your brain decides that since it no longer needs to worry about this, it promptly forgets it and moves on to other important agendas, like wondering what’s for dinner and why seals always look so forlorn. Seriously, they are adorable and everyone loves them, so why the puppy dog eyes? Thus, when you come to need your item of High Importance, you cannot for the life of you recall where you put it, only that you did, indeed, put it Somewhere Safe. Cue lots of self-berating and halfhearted cursing of seals.

Another suggestion as to why exactly the Safe Place is so inefficient draws on the fact that usually, in order to protect the item from becoming collateral damage in the process of your daily existence, you choose a place far removed from your general field of awareness. This place can range from somewhere vaguely sensible, like the tallest shelf in the house or at the back of a wardrobe, to the illogically quirky, such as in a once-loved and now forgotten shoe.

While this may well prevent it from getting jumbled up with other daily accumulations, or becoming yet another item that’s got lodged in your foot, it also means that you are less likely to casually come across it and vaguely store it in the useful part of your brain which likes to pop up every now and again and help out. You know the bit I mean; it’s the part that notes that your phone is on the arm of the sofa as you glide obliviously past, and reminds you of this fact when you are about to start turning the house upside down half an hour later in search of it. By its nature, the Safe Place must be somewhere isolated from damage, and as such it passes under your brain’s radar.

It seems, then, that much like tacos, chocolate-flavoured tea and scarves with pockets, the whole concept of the Safe Place is brilliant in theory but flawed in practice. Unless you plan on investing in a safe, accept the rule of the Safe Place, shove everything on the bedside table or into a shoe and hope that your brain will pick up the slack.

Five things to do during a power cut

Dreading the next time a blackout leaves your evening plans in ruins? Here are five power cut-proof activities to keep you entertained.

Light candles. Usually left untouched in the back of the Messy Draw, the humble candle is undoubtedly the hero of the blackout. Suddenly that lavender scented beauty you received two Christmases ago seems like the most thoughtful gift ever. Now if only you could find the matches...

Play board games. The TV won’t work? The internet is down? What fresh hell is this? For those of you who have yet to discover the joy and bloodlust that result from a highly competitive round of Articulate, prepare to forget all about the delights of Don’t Tell the Bride and find your fighting spirit next blackout.  

Jump out on people. Surely the first course of action when darkness suddenly descends: added points if you can include a torch-under-the-chin stunt in your performance. Win bragging rights forever if the neighbours come running, but fair warning: expect a cold and calculated revenge.

Save the ice cream. Power-less Ben & Jerry’s fans: your frozen goods need you. The fish fingers and pizza might be out of the question, but grab a spoon and don’t let the ice cream go to waste. So what if the power came back half an hour ago? These things can be temperamental, so better finish it just to be sure. If you want to be extra resourceful, use the frozen peas to soothe the lumps induced by bumping into things while you were stumbling round in the dark looking for the candles.

Tell ghost stories. The TV won't wake up and all the Monopoly money has vanished: time to revert to practically prehistoric forms of entertainment. If you can’t think of any ghost stories of your own, simply summarise a classic film or book. Can't remember it all? Improvise: who says that The Shining wouldn't have been improved by ten foot clowns with bat wings? Just be sure to remember that while seeing your housemates trembling in terror may seem fun at the time, you’ve got to go to bed in total darkness too.

What can we learn from the 'Day of the Dead'?

At least this explained why he always seemed
to have art on the brain.

Falling on 2^nd November, Mexico’s ‘Día de los Muertos’ ('Day of the Dead') has a history that can be traced back for thousands of years. With an emphasis on remembrance, family and celebration, there are crucial lessons to be learned from a day that brings death to life.

Despite the many positives, let’s address the inevitable problems that arise with such a suggestion. Firstly, there are the religious overtones to consider. In Mexico, food, such as sugar skulls and special ‘pan de muerto’ bread, and blankets are left out for the soul of the deceased, and some families build shrines to them and to the Virgin Mary. For atheists and other non-Christians, these traditions would be irrelevant or even inappropriate. A second concern is that what would begin as a festival dedicated to the dead could quickly become another opportunity for companies to shove merchandise down our throats: cue an endless array of cards, banners, bunting, toys, sweets and cakes all appearing in shops three months in advance in a tacky attempt to obscure the true meaning with pound signs.

These are, of course, important issues, and as such I am not suggesting that we take every element of Mexico’s traditional Day of the Dead activities, rituals and beliefs and transplant them to the grey November streets of Britain. It is, rather, the essence of this festival that I believe we could learn a lot from. Day of the Dead seeks to unite families in order to celebrate an individual who has died, a complete contrast to the stiff upper lip that we Brits are often expected to maintain, at least to some degree, when faced with the death of a loved one.

Although traditions concerning children tend to be more sober, a significant part of the celebrations are devoted to taking a humorous look at the person’s life. While I have, fortunately, never died, I think I would prefer to be remembered for my wild sense of humour and wacky flights of fancy than as a disconnected, staid and noble figure. Besides, I am all for encouraging dressing up and the consumption of sweets in my honour.

Of course, everyone must deal with death on their own terms, but a festival which encourages mourning as a celebratory group activity rather than a sorrowful solitary pursuit means that families and friends can support each other through grief. While facing that telling space in your life can never be easy, bottling up painful emotions will not help in the long run, and repressing sweet memories that are now bitter with loss means losing part of your life with that person. Having just one person to discuss your loss with, particularly with a humorous overtone, can reassure you that you are not alone. Each individual’s memories of the departed will keep them alive and refreshed, mourned but not idealised, gone but not forgotten. 

While the thought of skulls, souls and altars might make you cringe, it is the message at the heart of this festival that is of primary importance. When people die, it is OK and even healthy to mourn for our own loss, but also do them the honour of celebrating their life, complete with wonders, warts and all.