Gappy Tales

I have been struggling to write a post about women’s relationships with their bodies (or in other words themselves) for a while now. Unsure how best to approach it, I have written, tweaked, deleted, sighed and given up many times over. But a recent occurrence has given me just the inroad I needed.

You see, lately I have put on a little bit of weight.

And for some reason this appears to make a lot of people feel very very uncomfortable.

The reason I have found this post so difficult to write is because I have a body that conforms to current fashionable notions of what is meant to be attractive. Had I lived in the Rubenesque period I would no doubt have been considered unwomanly and underfed, but in todays mind, an hour glass shaped British size eight is considered about right, despite being way below the female average.

Now I am well aware that just as being white in a racist world, and male in a patriarchal world confers a certain degree of privilege, so does being slim in our current body fascistic culture. I know that my life is made easier in many subtle and not so subtle ways because of how I look, but I don’t want that to exclude me from talking about body image and self hatred, and how these things affect us all as women. I hate how this issue divides us so crudely into fat and thin, ‘real’ and not, sisterly or traitorous, and so dreaded writing this post in the anticipation of provoking other women’s anger. “Oh yeah?” I imagined people saying. “Well boo fucking hoo. Who the hell do you think you are writing about the trials and tribulations of being thin? What do you know about struggles with weight and self image?”

But I am a product of the same woman hating culture as everyone else. I too am constantly bombarded with the airbrushed images of ‘perfection’ that make us so dissatisfied, and I have also given birth to and breastfed three children. I am not a body issue free zone, and neither are any other of the supposedly ideally sized women that I know. In fact I have never met a woman who could stand up straight and declare, without embarrassment, that she liked her body. And I find that ineffably sad.

And so back to the beginning in which I state that recently I have put on a little bit of weight. My clothes are feeling a tad tighter than usual, and my face has filled out a little. I honestly couldn’t care less but it seems that other people really really could. They have taken it upon themselves to care on my behalf. Friends are making faltering, nervous comments about how “well” and “healthy” I’m looking, their faces betraying their true feelings of discomfort and worry, and the other day when I stated to a colleague in a completely neutral, matter of fact tone, that I had put on a little weight lately, her response was to cock her head to one side and say, “Aw Gappy”, her expression full of knowing sympathy.

And it was then that it struck me; they all think that I’m unhappy. I have put on a few pounds, making me a slightly larger size eight than before and they all think that I’m unhappy!

I cannot begin to tell you how much this assumption that my happiness and self esteem is dependent on my thinness pisses me off. Like being slim is my greatest fucking achievement; my most treasured quality! What about my sharp brain? My kind heart? I mean really. Fuck. Off.

And so I will say here that thin privilege is really not the ticket to nirvana that many people assume it to be. What I have found over the years is that being the size and shape I am has meant my body being viewed as public property by both men and women. That just because I am slim people seem to feel perfectly entitled to declare open season, as though I am inviting comment merely by daring to exist. My experience is that both genders make unsolicited remarks about my body often, stare rudely, touch without invitation, and offer lecherous and/or envious ‘compliments’. Women in particular ask odd questions about my eating habits, scoff if I dare to so much as open a packet of biscuits in their presence, and have entire conversations with each other in my presence, speculating on my dietary and exercise routines in a way they would not dream of if I was heavier. Not only do I find this disrespectful and embarrassing, but I wholly resent the subtle implication that I represent some sort of treachery to the sisterhood, due to nothing more than my genetic make-up.

The point I’m trying to make is that body fascism hurts women of all sizes. Societies fear and hatred of fat puts pressure on all of us. The fact that we are expected to be thin, attractive and fuckable at all times is a shit deal for everyone. Fitting into some fashionable ideal may be advantageous to a degree, but you are not spared any of the self doubt and are thoroughly objectified as a result.

I have personally found this constant objectification to be really damaging. For me the effect has been to make my body feel like something separate from myself: a ‘thing’ that I choose either to show or to try to hide. My options are either to swathe it in shapeless clothes in order to attempt invisibility, or to wear more form fitting clothes and as a result feel very much ‘on display’ and forced to deal with the inevitable predatory looks and comments that go with that. I don’t want to be invisible – I don’t think that being a feminist and enjoying looking and feeling attractive are mutually exclusive – but neither do I wish to receive inappropriate and unwanted attention. So what do I do?

Ultimately what I would like to see is an end to the divide and rule aspect of body politics. In my ideal world this would mean women of all shapes and sizes coming together to reject absolutely the notion that there is only one kind of acceptable body type. It would mean all of us, without exception, giving a big Fuck Yooooo to the magazines and myth peddlers that tell us only thin can equal happy, sexy and attractive, and that even thin women are only there to be gawped and leered at anyway.

Because honestly, this isn’t about fat versus thin, ‘real’ versus ‘boyish’, or sisters versus sell-outs. It is about the injustice of women being – still! – judged primarily on the basis of their looks. An end to fat hatred will help all women to feel better about their bodies. What unites us is always more compelling than that which divides us.

Driving in my car the other day, listening to the radio, I heard Plan B’s new single, Ill Manors for the first time. It is the most genuinely exciting, relevant, and important piece of popular music I’ve heard in an age. I got home and immediately fired up my computer to watch the video and listen to an interview on Radio 1Xtra in which Plan B talked about the thinking and motivation behind his new release.

Plan B (real name Ben Drew) has drawn his inspiration for Ill Manors from last summers riots, although the song also deals fairly uncompromisingly with much wider issues surrounding the civil unrest such as social exclusion, alienation, and class hatred. Drew has really captured a mood with Ill Manors. A mood that cackles humourlessly in the face of any talk of a classless Britain and increasing social mobility. He speaks of a society in which an increasingly poor and frustrated underclass is openly ridiculed and denigrated by those more fortunate; where the word ‘Chav’ is thrown around carelessly, unrecognised as the hate speech it really is. A society in which great swathes of young people could not care less about how having a criminal record may affect their chances, because they do not see themselves as having a chance anyway. It is so very very timely.

On the subject of the riots themselves he has this to say:

“I’m not trying to condone what happened during the riots. It disgusted me. It made me sick. It saddened me more than anything because those kids that was rioting and looting they’ve just made life 10 times harder for themselves. They’ve just played into the hands of what certain sectors of Middle England think about them.”

A self fulfilling prophecy perhaps. If society is seen to care little for the lives of those living in our poorest and most deprived communities; if it portrays them as worthless scum who contribute nothing of value; if the members of those communities feel looked down on and socially excluded; then it is perhaps inevitable that they will go on to reject the values of this wider society they see as having rejected them. And when people feel utterly disempowered and disenfranchised, they will seek to flex their muscle in whichever way they can.

Our current governments austerity measures and welfare reform policies, which boil down to little more than a brutal attack on the poor and most vulnerable, will inevitably cause this situation to deteriorate further. An ever increasing gap between rich and poor already makes our society the most unequal since modern records began. Riots do not occur in a vacuum; they take place in a surrounding context. Dismissing rioters as mindless thugs may help some of us to feel temporarily better but it does nothing – indeed is counter-productive – when it comes to helping prevent future riots.

With this in mind Ill Manors becomes not just an astute tackling of current social issues, but portends to the future as well. Because unless we learn the necessary lessons from last summers riots; unless steps are taken to improve the conditions under which they occurred; we will again see young people taking their anger and frustration out onto the steets.

Plan B’s message is certainly not one that we can afford to ignore.

Rihanna. One of the most high profile victims of domestic violence in recent years. The receiving of a Grammy award by her abusive ex-partner Chris Brown, coupled with their recent collaboration on two remixed records, has meant their relationship is once again back in the public eye, and that Rihanna is, predictably enough, having again to face an entire world of judgement. A quick poke about on the internet turns up just as many, if not more, negative comments and assumptions made about her as about Brown. She who is the victim, and yet is continuing to be held up to the most scrutiny.

It would appear we have very exacting standards for how victims of domestic abuse ought to behave and that poor Rihanna is getting it all wrong. How interesting (and depressing) to see the various subtle, side-stepping nuances of victim blame at play here. No longer acceptable in politically correct society to state directly that it is a woman’s own fault if she is violently assaulted, we choose now to blame Rihanna for the fact that other women are being assaulted instead. It seems we are determined to make domestic abuse the fault of women somehow. So now if Rihanna dares to sing a song that contains sexually explicit lyrics? The sexualisation of violence is all her fault. If she appears in a sado-masochistic inspired video? Women being trapped in the cycle of abuse is all her fault. If she sends her ex-partner a message on Twitter amid rumours that they may reconcile? The shocking prevalence of domestic abuse among young people is now entirely her fault. For no other reason than that she herself has been a victim.

Can you see what’s happening here?

As a victim of violence, her behaviour is now being pored over and judged in much the same way a rape victims might be in court. Any failure on her part to then act in such a way as is deemed ‘right’ and ‘appropriate’ for female victims of violence, and her victim status is muddied, she is labelled a ‘bad influence’ on younger women, and domestic abuse becomes all her fault. Chris Brown may still receive his share of criticism (after all everybody knows that ‘real’ men do not beat up weak, inferior women) but the real villain of the piece is Rihanna, who has failed in her apparent duty as ‘role model’ to young girls everywhere.

But Rihanna did not ask to be violently assaulted by her intimate partner on the night of the Grammys in 2009. She therefore did not sign up to be any kind of ‘role model’ for other potential victims of domestic abuse. She is being assigned a great deal of responsibility on the basis of something she was never responsible for.

Rihanna did in fact briefly reconcile with Brown after the assault, a choice for which she was labelled ‘stupid’ and ‘irresponsible’ – the implication being that not only would she now deserve what was coming if Brown continued to abuse her, but that she could also consider herself to blame for any continuing abuse of other young women. But statistics show that women on average are assaulted 35 times by their partners before they seek help, and that they attempt to leave the relationship 7 times before finally making the break for good. Reconciliation with abusive partners is common for many reasons: women sometimes fear that they will be murdered or that violence and harassment will escalate if they leave, they are often financially dependent and socially isolated and so feel they have nowhere to go, plus there are all kinds of conflicting emotions and loyalties at play that can leave victims feeling confused and trapped. When asked in an interview why she had not left Brown immediately, Rihanna herself replied,

“He was my best friend, we were in love, it just takes time. Love doesn’t go away right away, you know…. I had to protect him. The whole world hates him now? His fans, his career? I just need[ed] to let him know, don’t do anything stupid.”

These are the words of a woman who is bewildered by what has happened to her. A woman struggling to come to terms with the fact that the person she loves has hurt her so badly. A woman who still feels in some way responsible for the emotional well-being of that person. Put yourself in that woman’s shoes and understand why it is not so easy to just walk away and never look back.

There are, as well, many reasons why a woman may choose to continue some degree of friendship, or at least cordiality, with her abuser after the relationship has ended; the main one being that she simply wants to put the trauma behind her and move on, and believes that remaining hostile forever will prevent her from doing so. Rihanna has also been quoted as saying that hating Chris Brown was “taking up too much of her time.” The point is that a woman’s recovery is her own business. She has the right to get on with her life in whichever way she sees fit, free from the judgement of others. If Rihanna engages with Brown on Twitter, or invites him to her birthday party, or collaborates with him on a remix of one of her records, this does not equate to some kind of endorsement of domestic abuse.

I will say it now, and I will keep on saying it: domestic abuse is the fault of the perpetrator. Always. Every time. Without exception. And I will continue to call out attempts to make it the victims (or any other woman’s) fault, wherever I see it. Rihanna is not to blame for her own assault. Neither is she to blame for anyone else’s.