On Labels - Guest Post

Another heart stoppingly good post from the author of this awesomeness on the metal community

Content warning: transphobia

“I don’t see why we need labels, we’re all human”.

We’ve all heard it before; the whining voice that seeps out like a sad fart and lingers for too long. I’d like to laugh it off as a hollow statement, but I can’t. I can’t, because I looked closer and saw the terrifying power structures this statement supports and I’m scared and angry.

Most recently, these words were said to me in the context of gender identity, so I’ll focus on that for now.

It’s not surprising that, more often than not, these words are uttered by people who’ve never needed to use labels to talk about their gender. They don’t need labels, so they don’t see why anyone else should need them either. They don’t need labels, because their gender identity is treated as default by society. They don’t need labels, because they can go their whole lives without their gender identity ever becoming a major issue. These words are said in the context of privilege.

I don’t have the privilege of never having my gender questioned. I live on the front line of cissexism. It’s a minefield, and sometimes labels are the only protection I have.

I need labels because I am trying to navigate a world that tells me I’m not real; a world that considers my existence a threat, a nuisance, an anomaly, or a joke at best.

I need labels when strangers point and laugh at me in the street.

I need labels when I hear people whisper “is it a boy or a girl?”

Or when they don’t bother to whisper.

Or when I’m scared of going clothes shopping because of the looks of disapproval I get in either department.

When people use transphobic slurs, to my face.

When people tell me my pronouns are too difficult, and that they’re going to carry on using the wrong ones, intentionally.

When people tell me what name they want to call me, based on what they think is appropriate, rather than what my name is.

When these were people I had considered “friends”.

I need labels, because they allow me to claim back my humanity. Labels help me survive the daily onslaught of transphobia, because they give me dignity. When the world tells me I’m not real, I have a label that tells me I am. When others question the validity of my identity, humiliate me or reduce me to something I’m not, I often believe them. But my labels are still there, like a rock for me to hold onto.

I need labels, because without words to describe myself, I would disappear.

Labels allow my identity to flourish. They allow me to grow into the person I was always meant to be. They empower me with a certainty and confidence that I can use to make a future for myself. They say: I know who I am, and I have a life ahead of me.

How dare you try and take that away from me.

Erica, 19. Likes: Cats, art, cycling, toilet humour. Dislikes: Cheese, underwear, trimming my toenails.

On Living With An Invisible Disability - Guest Post

This is from the amazing Fiona Fairless who has been my very good friend for a very long time.
She is exactly the type of person that this government hates.
Register to vote then vote them out. Please.

Over the last few weeks I've been toying with writing about living with an invisible disability. I've been finding things quite hard recently, for a number of external reasons, but it's made me think hard about my attitude.

I have a condition called Fibromyalgia. It came on suddenly following a virus, there is no cure and very little in the way of treatment. It is a neurological condition and so can affect pretty much any part of the body, causing acute pain, spasms, fatigue and a host of other symptoms on a scale ranging from irritating to life changing.

I look no different now than I did the day before I acquired the condition and this in itself causes issues.

I have had the authorities, doctors, even friends and family question my situation.

Comments about how it would get better if I lost weight. Comments about whether it's just a symptom of mental health concerns. Questions about why I should be entitled to benefits - these were from a family member. Being told how nice it must be that I don't have to work now.

I can't articulate in sensible language the impact comments like that have. I want to scream in their faces that they should try being me for a day before they comment but then I realise the futility of that.

They would need to be me, all day, every day to appreciate the life sentence I have been given.
Even worse are those who  tell me they understand.

NO YOU FUCKING DON'T. You don't understand because you are not in my situation and you are not me. You have no idea what it feels like to feel trapped in your own home because you are too exhausted to go out.

You have no idea how humiliating it is to have to ask for help to get dressed, to wash your hair. You have no idea how un-sexy you feel having to wash yet another set of clothes because you couldn't get to the bathroom in time. You have no idea how angry it makes you feel when you can't wash up because your hands hurt too much to grip the dishcloth.


Anger is something I am having to battle with a great deal at the moment. I feel so angry and not because I am disabled. I learnt to deal with that a long time ago. I am angry because of other peoples attitudes and ideas about MY disability. One day I hope I can find a calm place in life where I can be at peace with my condition, where I can feel guiltless about what my condition means and where I can be free from idiots who think they are  thinking before they speak.

Until then I just have one wish. If you have a shred of doubt, an iota of a lack of compassion or simply have no consideration of me, then leave me the fuck alone. Don't comment, don't look, just walk on by.

Member of the Feral Underclass and all round Good Egg, Fiona can usually be found either away with the fairies or singing to power ballad. She loves a good power ballad does our Fiona.

Male gaze in not-the-solution-to-girls’-poor-body-image shocker! - Guest Post

This guest post is a response to a... well, I will let Shona and Glen explain it.

Today the BBC and Telegraph reported that a Psychologist, Dr Aric Sigman, has used the run up to the Easter teachers’ unions conference season to promote his idea for a role for boys in addressing the poor body image of girls. This idea involves introducing classes in schools where older boys explain to girls what it is they find attractive in girls:

“It would be helpful for them to explain that what they find attractive is not just physical qualities but also qualities like caring, the sound of a girl’s voice and her body language.

“Boys don’t have in any way near as rigid a view on what an attractive figure should be and they value many other physical qualities, including eyes, hair, and body language.”

There are so many things wrong with Sigman’s suggestion that it’s hard to know where to start, so let’s break it down:

1. The assumption that male desire is desired by girls and women
The entire basis of Sigman’s rationale is a common but drastic misconception that girls’ and women’s poor body image and disordered eating is due to a misunderstanding with regards to what boys and men find sexually attractive. This assumption is understandable to an extent, from a man in a society where women’s reasons for existing are usually represented through a male-centric lens, from Eve being created from Adam’s rib to every film that fails the Bechdel Test. However, the reality (like all social phenomena) is a much more complex interplay within and between:

Social structures (i.e. capitalism’s use of women’s unpaid reproductive labour – cooking, cleaning and caring)
Culture and ideology (i.e. media representations of femininity)
Individual factors (i.e. experiences of bullying or abuse, or biopsychosocial sensitivities)

Attempting to teach girls a marginally-expanded definition of desirable femininity through the lens of the male gaze could be hugely counterproductive. Many girls begin to develop eating disorders around puberty and one explanation for this is fear and anxiety associated with the sexualisation that comes with developing a sexually mature body. Furthermore, eating disorders are higher amongst girls who have experienced sexual abuse, and sexual harassment of girls by boys has become normalised as ‘teasing’ in many schools. Now in the context of these factors – imagine again the effect that Sigman’s intervention could have on girls. The fact is that most women and girls are not interested in the sexual attentions of most men and boys. This assumption ties into a wider discourse that defends street harassment as complimentary, and measures the plausibility of women’s rape allegations by their appearance.

2. Appealingness as a source of self-worth
A second assumption of Sigman’s intervention is that girls can gain self-worth or resilience against poor body image and eating disorders through seeing themselves as appealing to boys. First of all, this is simply inaccurate, and many interventions to improve body image resilience focus on encouraging self-identification and -affirmation of one’s positive characteristics not about body shape, size, or appearance (i.e. kindness). In fairness, Sigman does mention some non-body characteristics which boys might mention they find appealing in girls, but the ones he does mention are heavily gendered (i.e. caring) – more on that later, first let’s focus on the two core problems with this approach:

Firstly, it casts girls’ self-worth as contingent on male approval. This promotes an external locus of control – encouraging girls to seek external validation, and putting the power over their self-esteem firmly in the hands of boys and men, who outside of Sigman’s classroom context are unlikely to cast their objectification of girls’ bodies in a consistently positive light. This in turn creates girls and women who are more receptive to advertising subtexts which imply ‘no one will love you unless you buy our product’ – a profitable but harmful side-effect of Sigman’s approach.

Secondly, the focus on girls’ attractiveness and appealingness to boys as a source of self-worth undermines the possibility of girls building pride and self-confidence in otherwise positive characteristics which boys either don’t recognise as important, or find actively threatening or unappealing.

Focusing on the approval of boys as a path for girls to build positive body image and resilience against eating disorders is a poison chalice.

3. What’s ‘attractive’, why, and why is that a problem?
The things that Sigman lists as possibly non-body-shape related characteristics that boys might find attractive in girls are all, by their very nature, problematic. The very act of picking out characteristics like a shopping list, rather than treating people as whole, is steeped in consumer ideology. Desire is also mediated socially, culturally and structurally, and is tied up with prevailing norms of what is valued in terms of masculinity and femininity (and sexuality, race, and class). So what do we end up with in Sigman’s intervention? Well, boys might find girls attractive for their “caring, the sound of a girl’s voice and her body language” or their “eyes, hair, and body language” – we can read into this a perpetuation of several sexist norms which are incredibly unhelpful ideas for girls to internalise any more than they already do:

Women as carers – the ones who are expected to the emotional labour and self-sacrificingly support others’ development at the expense of their own
Women as soft, passive, and submissive – talking softly (and so are easy to ignore, interrupt, or talk over in meetings) and being physically accommodating, taking up as little space as possible
Women as “naturally” beautiful – spending a lot of time and money trying to accentuate their features in a way that is subtle enough to be imagined natural (beauty standards are also often steeped in racism due to histories of colonialism)

Furthermore, if we leave girls self-worth up to boys to determine based on their own socially-mediated desires, what things might be excluded? Girls have many characteristics from which they should derive pride and self-worth which boys may find unattractive; a lot of these characteristics are considered unattractive because they fall into the ‘masculine’ side of the gender role binary, and to some degree girls who exude these characteristics could present a masculinity threat to some boys who feel they are not as capable of embodying these aspects of the gender role.

Some ‘masculine’ coded characteristics, potentially unattractive to boys, include intelligence, independence, physical strength, and unruliness – all things in which girls should take great pride, and which will help them grow into women who have exciting, fulfilling and productive lives. The masculinisation of characteristics conducive to wellbeing and liberation encourages girls to actively avoid developing themselves in these areas, for example we see teenage girls ‘dumbing down’ in school in a way that teenage boys just don’t – the long term effect of girls not being encouraged to develop their strengths regardless of the opinions of boys is an alarming thought, and its role in upholding unequal gender relations is surely significant.

4. Heteronormativity
Finally, we have the issue of heteronormativity. This is really very low-hanging fruit with regards to criticising Sigman’s intervention, but it must be mentioned. A significant minority of the girls and boys involved in any such intervention would be homosexual, and even in the context of more and more children coming-out at an early age, many of these teenagers are likely to still be in the closet, and potentially subject to experiencing a degree of internalised stress at attempting to ‘pass’ as straight during and following these sessions. Furthermore, girls who don’t attempt to perform femininity and teenagers assigned female who do not identify as such, might be subject to additional internal distress or external bullying and harassment due to the gender and sexuality norms deeply embedded in the ideology of Sigman’s intervention.

In the Telegraph article, Sigman is quoted as saying "Men are often surprised to discover how even the most intelligent, capable, rational and empowered women can be laid low by body dissatisfaction. Many of us just don't get it." Even a stopped clock is right twice a day, and Sigman is on the money here – he just doesn’t get it. A lot of boys and men just don’t get it. Sigman has undertaken to find a solution not to the actual problem(s), but to his biased and erroneous misunderstanding of the problem, and in doing so has come up with an intervention which could cause actual harm. The path to addressing girls’ body image problems should instead involve listening to girls and women, looking at evidence from critical research in this field, and working towards structural, cultural, and interpersonal solutions to a culture which perpetuates and profits from toxic femininities.

This is Shona. Couldn't find a picture of Glen.

Shona and Glen are post-grad students researching Marxist sexual politics and body image respectively. They work together at a university in Leeds and talk about feminism loads.

Short Stories And Tall Tales - Guest Post Collaboration

Something a little bit different this time. My lovely friend Tina is really tiny. I am pretty tall "!for a girl" (ew, fuck off)

It occurred to me that these were two sides of the same Traditional Beauty Ideals coin.

So, I am posting her thoughts about being short and then mine about being tall.

Amazing the parallels... One might almost posit that the problem is Patriarchy.

Short Stories - Appearanceism

The brilliantly written guest post that Deeva published recently about fat shaming made me think about the shaming, taunting and general bullying that occurs about not only being fat, but one’s appearance in general.  I have thus invented the word “appearanceism”.

I have heard and seen people being berated for all manner of appearance “defects” in my life.  Big nose, big ears, short, tall, fat thin – you name it, someone’s got something to say about it and it’s hardly ever good.  It’s none of anyone else’s business what you look like.  If they don’t like it, they don’t have to look.

I have come across a lot of stick in my life for my size.  I am now, as a fully growed up adult (allegedly) 4’10” tall.  Yes, that’s short.  I know that.  I don’t need to be told on a daily basis with a gasp of incredulity that I’m small.  Being small has its advantages but also a lot of disadvantages.

When I was at primary school, it quickly became the case that I couldn’t go outside at playtime and interact with the other kids.  This is because they insisted on picking me up and swinging me around – just because they could.  This was extremely dangerous for me in case I was dropped so I had to go and stand outside the staff room each and every break time.  Fun?  No, absolutely not.  Even now, people will pick me up and hold me aloft like a rag doll.  It’s really, really annoying!

I am always being asked if I buy children’s clothes.  The reaction when I say no is often an angry “why not?”  Er, well, because firstly they LOOK like children’s clothes and secondly, children do not have boobs and hips so they simply do not fit!  And you simply wouldn’t believe how many people will argue this point!

On a daily basis, people think it’s funny to continually go on and on about my height.  Even people I consider to be close friends just will not let it lie.  It’s boring, it’s tiresome, it’s annoying and often very upsetting.  I’m a person, not a measurement and not a figure of fun for others’ amusement.  I try to take it all in good part but I’m 50 years old now and I think it’s about time I was treated like an adult and not like a child simply because I am the height of one.  If I react badly, I’m told I have no sense of humour.

Another bone of contention is weight.  I don’t like to say what I weigh because people say it isn’t enough.  However, I am in proportion and my BMI is within the normal range for whatever that’s worth (a whole different topic!).  I follow a careful eating plan – I won’t call it a diet.  If I refuse cake, biscuits, dessert etc, once again the hostility often appears: “Pah! You don’t need to lose weight!  Look at you!  You can eat what you like” (usually said whilst waving the contraband under my nose).  No, I can’t eat whatever I like.  I am the shape I am because I eat carefully and I exercise. A lot.

I am lucky to be relatively “normal” looking, height notwithstanding.  Some poor folk are unlucky enough to have some sort of prominent birthmark or, as I say above, ears or nose rather larger than average.  These “faults” come under a huge amount of fire from those who consider themselves perfect enough to be able to pass judgement.  In my youth I knew one poor lass who was universally called Splodgeface due to a birthmark on her face.  I didn’t know her very well but I saw her in tears more than once.

Another target for a lot of people is ginger hair.  What?  Why?  What is wrong with having red hair?  It’s beautiful and yet, somehow, it’s perceived as wrong.  I just don’t get it and I hate the fact that these gorgeous looking people are persecuted for it.

I could go on and on, but you get the picture.  A person’s appearance is not what they are about.  What they are about is the personality inside.  That person has feelings and emotions and does not deserve, for example, to have “Oi, Big Ears, where’s Noddy?” yelled after them.  Stop. Engage brain before opening gob.  Then maybe take the time to find out what the “weirdo” is really like before you go insulting them.

Tall Tales - Internalising Being Unfeminine

My height has long been an issue for me. I am the tallest one in my family. A family of petite women.

I'm taller than both my parents and all of my siblings. Including the boys.

I'm taller than my female cousin.

I'm taller than most women.

And boy, have I felt it.

Why? Because society makes tall women feel unfeminine. Other.

There are exceptions of course, supermodels are tall and held up as bastions of beauty. But what if you're as tall as one, but not as slim or 'beautiful'? (don't get me started on body policing and definitions of beauty) Then you have failed at being feminine. Again.

And heaven forbid you are taller than your man! This is still noteworthy in a society that sees tall women as less feminine. I tower over The Lovely when I am in heels. Should it matter? No. Have I been conditioned to believe it does? Yes. Do I let it stop me wearing heels? Sometimes.

So I buy beautiful shoes then just look at them.

As a teenager, surrounded by petite feminine women I was referred to as gangly and lanky. I have always had quite a deep, husky voice too, and hence was called manly. I was ungraceful, a tomboy, not a proper girl. That I walked around stooped over at the shoulders in a vain attempt to disguise my height just added to this.

There were those (usually men) who referred to me as Amazonian and Statuesque, but as I had already internalised the messages from my family this felt like a polite way of saying unfeminine. A bit like saying big boned instead of fat (don't even start me on fat shaming).

And what of being an Amazon? What images does that word bring? Strong? Sassy? Warrior like? Sexy? You know what, not only is that a hell of a thing to live up to, but it suggests that tall women can't have their insecurities just like everyone else. It also enables the patronising and infantalising of short women who struggle to be taken seriously. My friend Wendy put it best when she said 'when people can look down on you physically they do it mentally too.'

Sometimes my height has been fetishised. There are men and women who positively drool over my height. That made me feel like an object, a freak and contributed to my feeling of otherness.
ROLL UP! ROLL UP AND SEE THE TALL WOMAN IN HER HEELS WITH HER LONG LEGS AND MASSIVE BOOBS! TWO TICKETS FOR A POUND!

Just no. I'm not here to be objectified or fetishised.

This may be a shock, but our height does not define our personality any more than our hair or eye colour. Redheads are not more fiery, green eyes don't mean you are more passionate. And I say this as someone with green eyes.

It's just genetics. I'm tall. Society should just get over it. I know I will.

And I will wear the beautiful shoes.

So if you really feel you must describe me in terms of my height, how about just saying tall. That'll do, you know.

And fuck anyone who is threatened by my being tall. It says more about you than it does about me.

On Consent - Guest Post

This guest post is anonymous for a reason. Enjoy is the wrong word. Read and weep. Better still, learn and teach.

On Monday the 2nd of March 2015 I was raped. I wasn’t down a dark alleyway. I wasn’t attacked. I wasn’t in any of the godawful stereotypical situations that society associates with being raped. I was celebrating a friend’s birthday at a club, I met somebody, we went back to my house. I repeatedly said that the invitation did not extend to a cosy conversation between his sexual organs and mine. When my vocalisations weren’t heard I said no. I said stop. Multiple times I said these words. I still wasn’t listened to. I lay there, staring at my ceiling (there’s a crack which I noticed and put getting it fixed on my mental to do list). Giving up my protestations, realising that it wasn’t going to stop and that no wasn’t going to be taken for an answer I waited for it to be over.

I didn’t scream. I didn’t shout. I didn’t fight. I said no and I wasn’t listened to. I was used as a vessel for his sexual gratification. A means to an end. I was the one left to deal with the consequences of his actions. I paid for emergency contraception and I will have to book an appointment for an STI check. I will do all this while he continues with his day to day life, perhaps not even recognising what he did.
I decided to write about this, not only to try and figure out my own feelings about it all but to tell people that rape, that non-consensual sexual acts, don’t always happen to people in the way television, films and the media would have you think. I haven’t cried. I haven’t shouted or screamed. I don’t even really dislike him, after all he seemed like a ‘nice’ enough guy for me to invite him back in the first place.

So I’m writing this partly as a tool to sift through my own feelings but also to demand a more open and realistic dialogue about consent and about rape culture.

After a couple of day’s reflection I’m bloody angry. I’m angry that I don’t feel comfortable taking this to the police, I’m angry that I’m sat here stewing and he probably has little recognition for what he’s even done, I’m angry that had this happened to me two years ago I wouldn’t have recognised it for what it was.

There is no right or wrong way for survivors to deal with this sort of situation. I want people who read this and who can potentially recognise that they have had a similar sexual experience to me, that they have nothing to feel guilty about. That if you didn’t really realise at the time that your voice wasn’t being listened to, that your body was being violated it’s not your fault. The blame is on the perpetrator.

The blame is on the patriarchy.

We live in a society where for centuries upon centuries men have been viewed as the gender with sexual desires that need to be sated at whatever cost. That women function as tools for their pleasure. This has changed somewhat over the last 50 years. People are actually open to discussing women’s sexuality, that women have sexual desires too, and despite some men not knowing the difference between a woman’s clitoris and her nose (jabbing is not a thing gents!), society as a whole realises that no matter your gender you can have lots of sexual desires or simply none at all.

As a society we recognise this but we don’t recognise the need for comprehensive education about consent from birth. As a society we don’t recognise that consent can be rescinded at any moment. That an invitation to my room is not an invitation into my vagina. It is these thoughts and attitudes that silence survivors, that make them even doubt what actually happened to them.

We blame the survivor. We tell them to be more careful, to not drink as much in future, to learn their lesson about bringing people they don’t know back to their house. When did it become okay to say this instead of insisting that people Do. Not. Rape. Of course, in an abstract way we all know this is wrong but a sense of entitlement makes perpetrators act differently.

We need to make sure that young boys and men know that pressuring a woman into having sex with them is not okay. That if someone says no once, they mean no. They should not have to repeat themselves. We need to make sure that young boys and men do not indulge in selective hearing. If your sexual partner says no or stop, guess what? You fucking well stop. If you then get angry because you’ve been told to stop and your pissed because you didn’t get to finish, take a step, raise your hand and slap yourself across the face hard because you’re being a douche and why would you even want to have sex with someone who doesn’t want to anyway? Your male entitlement and what you perceive as your right to sexual gratification whenever and however you want does not outweigh, my feelings, my body and my right to say no at any point.

I’ve had conversations with women where they’ve had sexual experiences that they did not want to have. That they’ve felt guilty for not providing sex and so have done it anyway. This makes me sick. It makes me sick to think that my friends have done this, that our sisters, mothers and daughters may also have done this. That they’ve felt a man’s sexual desire has outweighed their right to say no. That they have felt bad for not wanting sex but have done it anyway.

Our conversations about consent in society have to change. We have to take the focus away from survivors and onto perpetrators. We need to be teaching our children consent, be talking to our teenagers about consent, be having a dialogue with our partners. We must talk about consent in our individual spheres but we must also demand that the rhetoric about consent and rape culture changes in the media and wider society. We must be demanding that our police service does not ask a survivor what they were wearing, how much they had to drink or doubting whether they gave consent or not. We must be demanding that people, our institutions and our government believe the survivor and vow to change our culture and societal attitudes towards rape and consent.

Rape doesn’t just happen to people in the dark as an attack. Rape is the result of a society which perpetuates ideas of male entitlement. It is not necessarily a pre-meditated act. It is an act where someone decides to, quite simply, not listen.

On My Experiences As A Minority In The Metal Community - Guest Post

Now, this one is from a very good friend of mine called Erica. He is awesome and funny and ridiculously talented at art and being an all round good egg.

This made me shout FUCK YES! on a packed train today. Enjoy!!

I am a metalhead. I am also queer (a more accurate description would be something like “bisexual and genderqueer”, but I prefer to just use the word queer*). These are two aspects of my identity and they are both very important to me. Within myself, I know the two are compatible. Outside in the world, I feel like an irregularity, a weird lump in a wooden carving that quickly gets glossed over.

The “metal community” is a weird one. I guess it’s pretty comparable to a nerd culture in many ways- a group of people brought together by a shared interest (in this case, a type of music). People celebrate their affiliation with this subculture through the way they dress, going to events like gigs and festivals, etc.

The “metal community” also has a history of supposedly “supporting the underdog” as it were. Many people who feel drawn to the subculture felt “different” growing up, or felt like outsiders, and I think many would agree there is a feeling of solidarity, co-operation, openness and tolerance within the community as a result of this. The S.O.P.H.I.E. campaign (Stamp Out Prejudice, Hate and Intolerance Everywhere) for example was set up to promote tolerance following the tragic death of Sophie Lancaster, who was attacked for the way she dressed. On the whole, it is a space which is largely accepting of anyone who is “different”.

But that’s not the whole story. Fuck knows how this happened, but the metal community somehow manages to be super lovely and welcoming, and simultaneously the most disgustingly hyper-masculine dick-worship fest you could ever imagine. It’s nothing new, really- just a different colour of patriarchy. A very fucking loud and obvious one. In ways I like it, because it’s so blatant. No one’s trying to deny how male dominated metal is (unlike people constantly claiming there is equality in the rest of society la la la the patriarchy’s a myth la la la protect my privilege please).

So what does this mean for me as a queer person? How do I exist in this space? With difficulty, is the answer. For example: how do I act in a way that reflects my gender, so that others see me the way I want to be seen? Part of me really wants to engage in the hyper-masculine dick worship fest, because it’s really fun, and I really enjoy getting thrown around by massive men and chugging pints of cider out of some drummer’s disgusting walking boot (no, really, I do). I like being a boy. But I know I shouldn’t have to do this to prove my masculinity, and this sort of attitude to masculinity actively supports oppressive structures (hint: ones that oppress me). I don’t like that.

I dare to exist in this space as genderqueer, and that alone is pretty fucking subversive. I want people to SEE my gender, but they don’t. People are conditioned to ask “are you a boy or a girl?”, to do a quick calculation in their head (“well that hair is pretty short… but then there’s those legs… not much breasts or hips… the face shape… soft arms…. Make-up? Hmmm I’ll go with girl” (No you fucker my body is not some fucking puzzle for you to solve)). It makes me feel so conspicuous. And people let me know I’m conspicuous.

If you’re not familiar with mosh pits, it’s like a very rough version of the hokey cokey. I thoroughly recommend them. Very cathartic. But I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve had men run into issues with my gender in the pit (Note: their issues). It is scary for them to see a queer body transgressing the roles of its perceived gender in a space normally for white, cisgender, straight, able-bodied men. It would be easier for them if I didn’t exist, because they could continue their hyper-masculine dick worship fest without questioning what’s going on. People try very hard to ignore the existence of queer bodies. We’re made invisible. But they can’t ignore me when I physically fall into them. So they panic and say things like “wow, good on you for being in the pit!” and “Don’t see many people like you in the pit!” or give me patronising high-fives. They panic because they realise the tolerant community they prided themselves so much in is completely alienating to that queer kid and they start choking on their own hypocrisies. Save your breath. I don’t need you to tell me how much you accept me in the pit. I will mosh because I fucking want to, not to validate your desire to appear accepting. I know you’re trying to be nice, but I’m here to get drunk and fuck about, not have a nice equality and diversity chat (hint: I’m not nice, I’m angry).

But at the same time, I relish this split second of visibility, uncomfortable as it is, because it’s all I get. I think I have had one conversation with a trans metalhead, ever. I saw his home made back-patch that said “Fuck heterosexuality, yes homo, hail satan” and thought FINALLY my sort of person! We had a nice chat about how it’s very uncomfortable moshing in a binder, how it’s hard to look metal when long hair makes you dysphoric, and other trans metalhead problems. It was great, y’know, getting to talk to someone with similar experiences. That one time. For five minutes.

I am sure there are loads of us out there. It’s just hard to find each other when we’re silenced, made invisible, ignored, avoided or excluded. If the metal community wants to continue to claim to be inclusive and tolerant, it’s time it did more for minorities. Don’t give me that “but we can’t help it, there are so few women/queer/trans/people of colour in the subculture” bullshit. There are loads. You just don’t want to look at us.

*NOTE: I self-identify as queer, and wish to be referred to as queer, but not all LGBTQIA+ people do. The word has a history as a slur. In this case, I am giving you permission to call me this. Please do not suddenly start throwing the word around willy nilly if it’s not yours to use.

Erica, 18. Likes: Cats, art, cycling, toilet humour. Dislikes: Cheese, underwear, trimming my toenails.

On Fat Shaming - Guest Post

This one is from a very good friend of mine who wishes to remain anonymous.

Very personal and very powerful. It is a must read.

Hi. My name's [redacted]. I'm 29. And I'm fat. And I don't mean model fat. I don't mean feeling a bit bloated today fat. I mean fat fat. I'm 5'4, I currently weigh 19st 4.5lbs (or I did on Monday) and I wear a size 24. I'm fat fat. And I refuse to apologise for the fact. Because you know what, I'm happy. Or I was until I read this article in the Daily Mail. Admittedly, that was my first mistake. Reading the Daily Fail. But it passes time in work, and it often posts articles about cute animals that make me happy, like the one about Budi, the baby Orangutan. It started sad but it's getting good. And look at the concentration on his little face while he eats that orange. Adorable! But yeah, I read the Mail, whatever. But today I read the article about that atrocious little man and his 'constructive fat shaming'. It enraged me. It made me furious. Allow me to explain. Fat shaming is a subject that has pissed me off for my entire life. I could write volumes on it. On how it has personally affected me, and how I know it affects friends and family. I won't. But I could. And yes, I'm fat. It's not a new thing. I've always been fat. And I've always been fat shamed. So have my parents, on my behalf. When I was little, the dentist couldn't figure out how I could weight as much as I do and have perfect teeth, not a single cavity. I mean, my parents were obviously filling me full of sugar right? I had to get that size somehow (FYI it was cheese, not sweets. Cheese is AWESOME!). The doctors accused my parents on more than one occasion of over feeding me, abusing me. They told them to make me exercise, eat less, everything. They didn't need to. When I was little I did ballet, tap, swimming, cycling, went to Brownies and was always doing something with my friends in the outside world, involving moving around. I was a kid for fucks sake. I was doing kid stuff. But I remained fat. I got bullied in school. I don't mean some kid called me names and I got upset. I mean begging not to go to school, making myself ill bullied. I'm talking parents going into school to discuss the situation with teachers. It was serious. And it started when I was 5 and it finished when I was 18. And it only finished then because I left school. It was the worst kind of fat shaming. From the kids stating the obvious, to the ones discussing the food on my plate in secondary school. It was awful. But it was bullying and I had an understanding of that. I could manage my way through the little fuckwits I was forced to be around ever single day of my life for 13 years. It was a thing. It isn't now. Now it's sneaky. It creeps up on you out of nowhere. Because we're adults now and it's not socially acceptable to walk up to someone and call them names (or, it isn't for the most part. I can't account for everyone, unfortunately). When you're an adult, it's for your own good. You need to be told. Whether it's the doctor informing you that the cold you have is due to your weight, or the sales person telling you, with inevitable disdain (imagined or real) that the item of clothing you want doesn't come in your size. It's there and it's meant to make us change our fatty little ways. Enter 'Life Bitch' Steve Miller. What an odious little creature he is. He believes that calling a spade a spade, or in this case, a fatty fat, will make them change their ways and lose weight. Telling them that their weight will kill them will make them slim down. It'll save their life! Woo, go Steve. Or not. If that shit worked, I'd be a size 0, minimum! Because that's all I've heard all my life. He claims it's for health reasons that he does this. And admittedly, I am trying to lose weight for those reasons. I'd love to walk somewhere without my ankles, knees, hips and lower back giving out because they've carried almost 20 stone around for too long. I'd love that. But don't come all saintly when you're bullying and shaming people into conforming to your norms. Remember, it's the slim and healthy people who pay for your treatment when your health fails. Why should we pay for your lack of self-control? That SCREAMS helpful, constructive slimming aid doesn't it? I mean, I certainly feel inspired. Not inspired to lose weight mind, more inspired to see if all that time spent watching Sherlock and Dexter would make it possible for me to actually murder someone and get away with it. I think I stand a fair chance. I actually hate the assumption that fat people have no self control. I have tried every diet known to man. Atkins, Low GI, Rosemary Conley, WeightWatchers, Slimming World, calorie counting, fasting, 5:2, Slim Fast...I could go on and on for DAYS! Following all of that shit takes control. Masses of control. Especially when all you want is something yummy, a sweet maybe, a bag of crisps, pick your poison. You get it in your head and you need it. You obsess about it. You consider fashioning a shiv out of a biro and shanking a co-worker in the kidneys just to get that bar of chocolate they have in their drawer...I mean, you obsess over it. But it falls outside of your current torture of choice and you refuse yourself it. Not giving in to the ensuing obsession takes every last bit of control in your body. Don't tell me I lack self control. He's even written a book for fatties like me. 'Get off your arse and lose weight'. Well fuck, I never thought of that! Kindly fuck off you horrendous excuse for a human being. Take your pseudo-compassion with you. Then there's Katie Hopkins. I won't lie, I didn't watch her show about getting fat and losing it. Isn't she wonderful though? Her high metabolic rate makes it really hard for her to gain weight, so she really stuck with the weight gain to prove a point that it's super easy to lose four stone. Yup. Now make that eight stone. Or fifteen. That 'little bit' of weight is suddently Everest and it's impossible to climb. Even with your desire to prove the world wrong fueling you, and that image of a pretty frock dancing about your head. It's Everest. And you struggle to hit base camp. But I won't dwell on her. She isn't constructive. She doesn't even pretend. She's just a twat. Back to using health against us. Fake concern. My weight concerns me when it comes to my health. I'd like to not be punished by my ankles or other joints for walking about too much. I'd like to not be surprised by how swollen my toes can get after exercise. And by God, I would love to have less natural insulation because fuck me it is WARM up in this bitch! I've had friends tell me how badly they need me to lose weight. How worried they are. And it's sweet of them but it's not their concern. They just hang around with the fat, they don't live inside it. It's not like I love living here. But you know, there are worse places to live and I'll take it. Maybe do a bit of remodelling. Whatever. But, of course, the horrid little man has a success story to go with his article on the correct way to mentally abuse a friend or loved one. Tracy, 34, 19st, size 24 clothes. Having read her testimonial I prefer to think that it was in spite of Steve and not because of him that she lost weight. After all, if having a nasty little man telling you how fat and awful and lazy you are was enough to make you lose weight, I honestly would never have gotten fat in the first place. But what I'm trying to say here, in a rather rambling, largely angry way, is that hurting someone's feelings, belittling them and making them feel less of a person is not constructive. Its abuse. It's bullying. And you wouldn't allow your child to behave in that manner. So set a good example. Don't be a twat. Be helpful. Be supportive. Be nice, it takes absolutely no effort on your part. So go forth, lovely people, and don't give side eye to that fat bird or bloke you walked past, wearing something you feel is inappropriate for them. If it makes them feel good, feel happy for them. Don't be that guy. Don't be a dick. Don't be Steve Miller.

Slap *is* a Feminist Issue - Guest Post

So the wonderful Ang is back! This time on make up.
Enjoy!

Slap *is* a Feminist Issue,
(or Just *how many* eye liners are *too many* eyeliners...?)

So, here's the upfront anti-spoiler alert. The 'Slap' in this GoddessDeeva guest blog isn't about domestic violence or violence against women, against men or any people of trans- or non-binary gender.  No, no, no.

For the record, by 'Slap' I use the word here in the sense that most women I know, plus how various actors, dancers, wardrobe mistresses and several transvestites of my genuine acquaintance use it, namely make-up, beauty products, that stuff.  You know - the mascara, lippy, eye liner (guy liner) bit of face-colouring goo? Yes, that.  Everyone sitting comfortably?  OK, let's move on...

I'll 'fess up. I have an absolutely *HUGE* collection of Slap.  Monumental.  Trays, boxes, bags, metric feck-tonnes of the stuff. Lots of my Slap haul has been gathered through free samples and gifts from tactical buying on posh beauty counters over the years, where samples are loyalty currency, but I confess that I have spent a small fortune on the stuff. (And yes, I know that there are several teenage daughters of my friends who are actively lobbying to inherit said Slap collection when I die. Hum.)

As an aside, I remember in the early 1980s (when I was an undergraduate university student) that The Slap was a front-line feminist issue.  In the sense that, on one side, there were women living in bender camps in freezing conditions surrounding the US nuclear missile base at Greenham Common, and it was cool, right on, not to indulge. Armpit hair was A Thing, almost trendy.  And yet, at the same time when I was a student,  when the New Romantics were "It", and those first year uni bands like The Cure, My Bloody Valentine, The Wedding Present, Pixies, were super cool, uni students wore more Slap than I'd ever seen or knew how to deal with at that age. You can't be a proper pale-faced Goth without a trowel-load of The Slap, right? (Not as if I liked most of that music, but, hey, I duly back-combed my hair and learned how to do proper eyeliner. Ish.  I was rubbish at it, and I looked crap.)

So what changed over 20+ years?  I realised that The Slap has proper super-power, true purpose for most women. Let me be clear, this isn't at all about wearing makeup to look pretty for a man, for a partner, for a date, for sex.  No. Can't be arsed.  Sod off with that. I wear my Slap for myself alone, with no obligation towards anyone else. (And let's face it, my husband Clive has seen me more often Without than With The Slap.  No probs. He used to wear more Slap professionally (and with four inch heels) than I ever have, but that's another blog story...)

However, I'll put it out here that there's a HUGE confidence boost for all women that comes from The Slap. Just ask Macmillan nurses why they take bags of lovely lipstick into hospital wards to help women recovering from cancer and chemo. It helps women who feel like shit feel as if they can face the day, face life again.  It has power, in the way that gravity as the weakest force in the universe has power. Huge power.

So here it is. I'm just laying it out here in GoddessDeeva space that Slap is a deeply feminist issue. It allows, it facilitates, it strengthens so many women to go out daily into the (mostly male-dominated) workplace and (dominated by the patriarchy) world feeling just that bit more confident, that bit more Can Do, maybe a little bit more Empress of the Universe. It says soft,y, so quietly "Yes, Khaleesi, you can rule the world. I understand you may have needed a bit of Slap to stand up and claim your rightful place in the world order.  That's OK. Nice shade of lippy, btw.  OK, let's go rule the world."

That's all OK by me. Excellent, in fact.  Why not?

So I'll reserve my right to paint my fingernails some dark, gothic colour while yelling at Newsnight or Question Time. Nail polish does not dim my intellect. Nor does it impair my dim view of selfish, bigoted, money-driven politicians on all sides. I can wear this season's most fashionable shade of Chanel nail polish and still argue the political toss.

If I have a Big Meeting to go to, one where I need to be shiny and full of win, I'll Slap Up.  Skin-matched base, concealer, neutral blended eye, mascara, eyeliner, lip liner perfect. The Works.  No shit. I got this.  And frankly, I know it works. I'll go into that meeting feeling just that bit better prepared, better armoured. Teflon on.  And I'll win.

Game on. So, get that mascara and lippy on. Let's go run the world...

Ang, known in some online places as Lady Clanger, is an atheist, Socialist republican, a keeper of parrots and humongously large felines.  She's an activist in mind and at heart, who strives to Do The Right Thing, even if daily life sometimes gets in the way. Views here exclusively her own. 

Depression Part 2 - Guest Post

When I wrote part 1 of this guest blog, I thought I had a pretty good knowledge of the subject. Having suffered my own dark time and had previous discussions with friends and acquaintances, I saw myself as some kind of all-seeing eye,  I can now admit that I did not know as much as I thought!

I received many comments, it definitely split opinion. Everyone agreed about the value of talking and being supportive of your friends, but that is something that I think everybody should do as a matter of course in everyday life. The main thing that split opinion was the value of medication.

The trouble with it seems to be, that no two people are the same. What works for one person doesn’t for the next. Much like the cause of depression, the number of potential remedies seem enormous. I have since spoken with people who spend large chunks of their life switching meds trying to find one that works for them, others who have found what works for them and are much happier because of that fact. There is also the group  who decided meds weren't for them and tried to wean themselves off, to varying degrees of success.

Suffice to say I opened up the proverbial can of worms. The only conclusion I can draw from this is that you have to find your own path. If something doesn’t feel right to you, change it, seek the advice of friends, family, a doctor... There are very many support groups available, be it NHS or privately run community groups. Hell, even at your local church! These are all places you can go to meet like-minded people who are going through or have been through a similar situation. Sounds easy right? I think not.

 A friend of mine made a good point about their particular experience of group meetings. Whereas his experience was a positive one and he found that these groups really helped, he also felt due to his working class background, that it was hard to talk about it with work colleagues, associates etc. due the stigma attached. I'm inclined to agree with him. However, I don’t think it is confined to the working classes. It is, I feel, a general almost fear of people who suffer with depression, like it might rub off on you, which of course it won't.

He went to an NHS group and only had good things to say about it. Which of course is not always the case with said organisation. Other people's experience was that you got treated in a matter of fact way and got rushed through as if it was a case of one cure for all. It tickled my interest so I started looking in to the cost of mental health care in the UK. The first thing I came across was an article by Charlie Cooper of the Independent.

I was shocked to read that "There are 3,640 fewer nurses and 213 fewer doctors working in mental health in April this year compared to staffing levels two years ago" (the article was written august 2014) and that funding had been cut by 2.3 per cent. This equates to £253 million! So it is no wonder people's experiences have not all been good. It is, I feel, important to point out that the NHS is not at fault, they have to work within the constraints dictated to them by the government... But that’s a whole new can of worms so I'll leave it there.                                                                                                                
Coincidentally, I'm writing this on the 5th of February, Time To Talk Day! Such things as Time To Talk Day can only be a good thing as it raises public awareness and goes some way to reducing the stigma. We should all get on board with it. Social media should also be put to positive use. I know that there is a certain cynical group who use it as a tool to inflict harm, however the more socially aware of us use it for good. Take the sad passing of Robin Williams for example. I believe he would have been proud to see the amount of people who started writing and talking about their own problems after his death. Would a more open and aware society have prevented his death? Who knows. We must strive to be open, aware and above all sympathetic to our fellow human beings.

As a final word for now on this matter, a good friend came to me after my previous piece was published to say how touched they were to read it and how good it felt to see that they where not alone, that it was good to see that there are ways to get through. To see that other people had been through this before them. They could see that there is light at the end of the tunnel and you don’t have to spend your life in the dark.

It's good to know you're not alone!

The caveat though, is that 'The black dog,' as Deeva so succinctly put it, will always be there for most of us, we just have to find a way to make it behave.

Drake, formerly of another name. Green fingered life enthusiast.

On Depression - Guest Post

This one is from my friend Drake. I haven't known him that long but he is one of the good guys and we watched Massive Attack in a field as the sun went down.

I don't actually agree with the bit about meds but this is his take on it and I am hoping that it provokes discussion and debate.

Here it is!

At some point in our lives we will all experience some form of depression. It might last for minutes or years. The cause of it can stem from virtually anything. I stop short of calling it an illness as that suggests that the person is broken. They are not. 

You may turn to a doctor, who in turn will, in all likelihood turn you to drugs. These anti depressant drugs will probably work for a short time but having spoken to friends who have been prescribed them, it appears they only work in the short term. The equivalent of the Dutch boy sticking his finger in the dyke, it doesn't solve the real issue merely covers it up for a while, sooner or later it will burst through.

I personally believe the best way of dealing with depression is talking about it. The irony of that solution is that a depressed person is unlikely to be the one who makes the first move. 

When you have depression it seems the whole world is against you. Your closest friend can seem like your worst enemy, your brain will make things up about them forcing you further away from them. You retreat into your shell and step away from the world. 

I am fortunate enough to have some incredible friends who noticed when I was going through my own dark time and they did their best to help me out, they showed love towards me and gave me an understanding ear even when I didn't want it. They were, I now realise always there even when I tried to push them away. 

We all have friends no matter what you may think. If you are one of these friends and consider yourself to be a true friend, you should be there if you suspect someone is going through these troubled times. Don't take exception if the person is curt with you or if they appear to not want your help. And don't make the mistake of thinking they just want cheering up, obviously that will help in the short term but what is really needed is for you to try and understand why they are depressed. That and being a constant presence in their life will eventually get through, and hopefully that person will start to open up.

I understand that this will not work for everyone, the person suffering has to try to help themselves as well. So if it's you try and reach out to someone, if they are a true friend they will stop and listen and try and help you. 

There is NO shame in asking for help.

I firmly believe that if you do reach out to people, that it breeds confidence both in you and the person you have reached out to. They will see you as a strong person for being able to do so and the chances are they will then see you as someone they can confide in.

It is tough but with the love and support of friends and family it is definitely achievable.

Drake, formerly of another name. Green fingered life enthusiast.

Ched Evans v Football - Guest Post

Yet another guest post! This time from my good friend Kerry Fairless. A man who spends more time than is healthy at Roots Hall and used to be a referee. 

And here it is.

Despite the name, I'm a bloke. And I'm a bloke that does football. And I am going to talk about rape. And football and morality.

Ched Evans. Convicted rapist, professional footballer, scumbag…. Call him what you like. The fact remains that he is a convicted rapist, and should be treated like all convicted rapists.

He has no more rights than you or I.

If I were a rapist, I would lose my job. I would not be welcomed back with open arms once my prison term was over. I would do what everything other rapist has to do, and that’s apply for jobs with new employers with the word “rapist” on my CV.

And I am not special. You won’t find any teachers, policemen, fire fighters, doctors, civil servants, etc with “convicted rapist” on their CV. Whilst forgiveness is to be applauded, there are certain things your history won’t forgive.

You cannot be a role model and a rapist. It sends entirely the wrong message out to young and impressionable young men. Don’t believe me? There were a small group of Sheffield fans singing “Ched Evans, he screws who he likes”. Luvverly.

That hasn't stopped a couple of clubs sniffing around nor has it stopped a couple of Football People speaking out in favour him. But they’re wrong.

Gordon Taylor, as Secretary of the PFA, you were very, very wrong to question the conviction and then bring Hillsborough into the debate as an example when a judicial ruling can be over turned. As a union rep, I know sometimes you have to defend a member you’d rather not, but you massively dropped the ball. You should resign. Now.

Steve Bruce, a fine footballer and a half decent manager, you do not have any legal qualifications that permit you to voice your opinion that the conviction was wrong. You were not on the jury, you have not seen the evidence, you are speculating. If I were you, I’d be concentrating on keeping your team in the Premier League and not spouting shite about something you know fuck all about. On Match of the Day tonight, you should consider apologising for sticking your face in where it is not wanted.

But, despite some high profile rape apologists, there is a massive positive coming out of this…

We are not dealing with another Jimmy Saville or Rolf Harris when it was easy to understand the rights and wrongs of having sex with children. We are dealing with a rapist. A male of consensual age who has raped a female of consensual age.

Many football based forums have seen debates that have moved from people saying “yeah, we should sign him” and “what he did was ok” to “no we fucking shouldn't sign him” and “what he did was disgusting”.

This is primarily down to people speaking out against rape and explaining exactly what rape is, what it constitutes, how you should treat women, what saying “no” means and so on.

Many have now got an education on what exactly rape is. Yes, there is a laddish culture in football, but that is being chipped away at. The message is coming across loud and clear “NO MEANS NO” and silence must not be mistaken for “yes”.

In the real world outside football, I hope Evans apologises properly to his victim and his friends and family stop their campaign against her.

But I really hope that everyone learns a lesson from this, and if it prevents a young man becoming a rapist because he didn't know the rules then this entire debate will be worth it.

Hi, I'm Kerry. I was the man who "used to..". Nowadays I've a job that involves me knowing more about screws than is healthy........

On Women Who Pull The Ladder Up After Themselves - Guest Post

This is by my good friend Angela. One of the best women I know.

GoddessDeeva and I first met in the noisy, crowded and suitably-Socialist-sounding bar tent called Bread and Roses on the Thursday evening at the Glastonbury Festival in 2013. We were in a huddle of reprobate Lefties, trade union activists and social workers, all soaking up the Workers' Beer Company's finest and looking forward to a full-on festival weekend. Loud music was involved.

Deeva and I have become firm friends since (which goes to prove that new friends met at Glasto aren't just for festivals), and we've found that we have similar views on a lot of what I'll call "rights issues".  As a former Director at Amnesty International, I do have my own personal soap box when it comes to human rights, labour rights, women's rights and more, so it's been great to meet someone in Deeva who can get as passionate and agitated as I do about these things.

So Deeva's union work and blogging got me thinking about my experience of what the world of work is like for women, particularly women in senior management roles. You know what? It can and generally does suck. Big time.

Over the last thirty years I've worked in the public, private and voluntary sectors, and, frankly, I can hear the same slow sucking sound in all three.  They each suck in their own slightly different musical key, but they've all got the same problems with a lack of pay equality and unhealthy gender imbalance at senior levels. Yes, there are opportunities for capable, confident ambitious women in each sector, but those basic inequalities are still there, despite all the good work of great trade union representatives and organisers like Deeva.

What *really* gets me back up on my soapbox however, is how piss-poorly most senior women behave in the workplace. Given the choice, I would *never* opt to work for a woman as my line manager, given my experiences. The ones I've worked for have either been macho ball-breakers in pin stripe suits, all trying to bully and out-tough the senior men, or the girly flowery-dress-and-matching-cardigan kind, who are all pretty, pretty smiles and a bit flirty on the surface, but are devious, lying manipulative bitches underneath.  You know who you are.

Now, I'd *love* this not to be the case, and to be able to say that I've had really great, supportive, mentoring professional female bosses.  But *everywhere* I've worked, the higher up I've been in the management hierarchy, the fewer women there have been and those above me have been either those Ball-Breakers or the Pretty Bitches. (I can only think of two exceptions in my direct experience, and I am still friends with them both after many years. No names.)

Getting on my soapbox yet again, the worst of this by far is that both the Ball-Breakers and the Pretty Bitches, the BBs and the PBs, treat the women who report to them so badly.  They seem to be able to relate to male colleagues, peers or seniors, but female subordinates = fair game, allegedly.

Somehow calling this behaviour "inappropriate" or "unprofessional" doesn't quite cover it. To give a couple of examples, I've had a female Deputy CEO (a BB) make jokes to an entire senior management team about how fabulous my breasts are, with *those* hand gestures. The gestures which sad, misguided, ill-informed men make in lingerie departments.  (My male manager, the CFO, was mortified, and told me after it had happened in my absence. I did not take it as a compliment).  In other news, I've had an annual performance bonus down-rated by a female manager (a PB) on the alleged grounds that I was "stubborn and always right".  Yes, I was right. PB simply failed to respect my professional property expertise and didn't understand that I was actually correct and knew what I was talking about. If I hadn't been "stubborn" and I had followed her advice, the organisation we both worked for would have lost a deal worth over £8 million. I'd probably have been sacked if that had happened...

The big, whopper elephant in the room problem here is that the BBs and the PBs both advance themselves and protect their own seniority in the workplace by *putting other women down*, particularly those women who are their subordinates and direct reports. That's not OK, and for me that's a soapbox issue.

I manage a lot of people in my current job, men and women alike. I try my hardest to treat them all professionally, fairly and equally.  I don't always get it right. I sometime wear a pinstripe suit. Some of my staff colleagues are more capable than others, but that doesn't mean that the best should get treated better by me than those who are less capable and need more of my support.  But what I never do is seek to make myself look better by putting *any* of them down. I'm hanging on to the thing that if they do well, all of them (female and male alike), then our whole team will do well. That means we're doing our job.

So why is it that there aren't more and better senior role models for women in the workplace? It is 2015, after all.  Why do the upper echelons have a female population of lots of BBs and PBs who treat other women badly? Maybe it's because there just aren't enough women in senior roles, and those who are have had to be either a BB or a PB to get there, to climb the greasy pole. I think that's just taking the worst of how senior men behave and copying aspects of that.

I do think there's a better way. It needs senior women to actively choose to behave differently, to be better role models for younger women coming into the workplace.


Meanwhile, I'm not putting up with it. I'm calling it out every time it happens, in the same way I'd call out poor behaviour by a male manager or colleague.  The BBs and the PBs are on notice from me.  It's time, ladies.

Ang, known in some online places as Lady Clanger, is an atheist, Socialist republican, a keeper of parrots and humongously large felines.  She's an activist in mind and at heart, who strives to Do The Right Thing, even if daily life sometimes gets in the way. Views here exclusively her own. 

On How To Be A Friend Or Not - Guest Post

This is my first guest post of the year. Hopefully it won't be the last. If you want to write one for me then let me know either on Twitter @goddessdeeva or by email goddessdeeva@gmail.com

This one is from my lovely friend Tina O'Farrell. Who, I have to say is one of the best friends anyone could ever ask for.

Anyhoo. Here it is.


A phrase I hear people saying to each other quite a lot lately, and indeed I use it myself is “you know how to be a friend”.  So, what does this mean exactly?  I can only give you my take on this but hopefully it will ring true.

Since I was old enough to understand the meaning of it, I have tried to live by the motto “do as you would be done by”.  I say tried, because sometimes I have failed miserably.  For example no one wants to be dumped but this is something that all of us have to do to someone else at some time in our lives.

What does friendship actually mean?

People use the term in different ways, for example, referring to all work colleagues as friends when, in reality, if you left that company you would never see them again.  Facebook calls everyone we interact with “friends”.  They are not all friends; they are contacts or acquaintances - just people we know either personally or by the wonders of social media.

Some of those people whom we have never met, however, do behave like proper friends.  They are there when you need them, ready to lend a sympathetic ear or help if help is needed.  They will come to you for advice or ideas.

During 2014, I have lost my best friend.  The trigger for this was that I said that I didn’t want to exchange gifts any more as I simply cannot afford it.  She took such umbrage at this that she just said “not happy”, immediately restricted me on FB and has been ignoring me.  I thought she would get over it and get in touch but so far, nothing.

There must be something else to it, surely!

Yes, I could ask but do I want to?  No, and here’s why:

Other friends say that this is a good thing and I am better off out of it.

Now that I am on the outside, I can see it for what it was and that was, I am afraid, an abusive relationship.  Many others saw this a long time ago and were telling me to ditch her as a friend.  I would defend her to the hilt, even through floods of tears at times.  “But she so often hurts you and makes you cry. Dump her” is amongst advice I was given. Well, turns out I didn’t have to cos she’s now dumped me for the most ridiculous of reasons!!


“Abusive” can be true of a lot of what we consider to be close friendships.  Whilst people normally reserve this word for a partner or a parent, it is startlingly real of friendships and we allow it to happen because we just don’t see it or appreciate it for what it is.

Think about those you consider closest to you.  Are they really?  Or are they just close when it suits them?  Do they ignore your texts and messages for days on end and then suddenly, when they want a favour or when something irks them and they want someone to moan to, you are absolutely the only person that will do and they have to talk to you now, this minute! No, what are you doing – I NEED YOU NOW!!!!  Are you only ever good for listening to their problems or cheering them up when they feel low?  What about when you feel low?  Are they anywhere to be seen?  Do they drop you like a hot potato when a new love interest comes along but then want to cry on your shoulder when it all goes wrong?  Are you always the one who has to stay sober and drive when you go out?

A proper friendship should be give and take and compromise.  If it’s all give on one person’s part and all take on the other’s then that isn’t a friendship, the giver is being used and abused and the more they allow it to happen, the more it WILL happen.

Ditch the deadwood from your life.  Surround yourself with people who DO know how to be friends and are there to both take and give, in good times and bad.  And make the effort yourself to think about how you are behaving towards others, because karma can be a funny old thing…..

50 year old inhabitant of darkest Cornwall. Tried marriage twice but now a happily single, pole dancing medical secretary.