Some people – no names will be mentioned – do not like change. Scared of uncertainty in an uncertain world, they resist change in the very place it matters most: in their heads.
The older you get, the more scared you get. Or maybe just more tired. Or maybe the more scared you get the more tired you are? Being scared takes way more energy than flying full face into everything, weird though that may sound.
Now, I get scared and I certainly get tired but there is nothing, nothing I like better than having the eggs in my head scrambled. Having my paradigms shifted, so to speak.
So I really liked this:
because it really made me think. It took a subject I had a view on and made me think really hard about whether it changed that view or not. I thunk really hard until my head hurt. Jeez, I love it when that happens!
The basic point was thus:
‘Fashion is one of the very few forms of expression in which women have more freedom than men.
‘And I don’t think it’s an accident that it’s typically seen as shallow, trivial, and vain.
‘It is the height of irony that women are valued for our looks, encouraged to make ourselves beautiful and ornamental… and are then derided as shallow and vain for doing so. And it’s a subtle but definite form of sexism to take one of the few forms of expression where women have more freedom, and treat it as a form of expression that’s inherently superficial and trivial.
‘Like it or not, fashion and style are primarily a women’s art form. And I think it gets treated as trivial because women get treated as trivial.’
But read it, cos it’s pretty cool, cos stuff that makes you thunk and thunk is always cool.
On a related side note, I think I just cured Boogie of her nascent ‘Christianity’ by introducing her of the more Catholic, more ‘Old Testament’ god, y’know, the smiter of nefarious types, the giver of boil plagues and such. It quickly became apparent that Boogie has, so far, only made the acquaintance of the cuddlier, New Testament hippy, Jesus.
‘But Mummy, why does god do these things?’
‘Why sweetheart, I don’t know, but trust me, god gets way pissed easily and really often,’
‘But why, mummy?’
‘Hell, I don’t know, you’re the god-botherer, you tell me.’
Let’s not go into the discussion of ‘mummy, but what is hell?‘ that followed because, frankly, that all just got unnecessarily graphic for a 6 year old about to go to sleep, and I feel slightly bad…but there is a part of me…which shouts, welcome to my world, kid! – born and raised Catholic, going to sleep was always scary as shit; first, the ‘if I die before I wake’ prayer (just so the thought of dying was right there), followed by the realisation that I’d sinned a fucking lot in the day and if I died in my sleep I wouldn’t make it to confession beforehand and I would therefore go to hell! if I did die…
Sometimes it’s just too much fun to fuck with your kid’s head to resist.
Like, Boogie is pretty sure that Santa doesn’t actually live on ‘homework juice’ and is therefore pretty sure that he won’t actually die if she doesn’t do hers, but there is always, just always, that iddy-biddy, teensy-weensy bit of doubt. And so with god, as with Santa: better to believe just in case, eh?