Boobylicious

Like 72.9% of the time my experience as a woman is like the bit in Lush Life where Zara Larsson goes ‘yeaaaaaahh’ really passionately before the third chorus- the rest of the time, however, is sadly less magical. You see the problem comes when, as a massive advocate for free the nipple, breastfeeding in public and general boob related antics, I have to admit that that is the only massive part about me. Especially biologically. Because I have no boobs. And even though I’ve learnt to appreciate what I’ve got (which didn’t take too long because realistically there’s not a lot there) as the queen of complaining I couldn’t resist a cheeky hopefully #relatable post in order to try and find my people in a world of DDs.

The Small Boob Struggles

Lost at C I always see posts about girls having no boobs and the introduction will read something like ‘honestly, I can’t bear being a C, they’re just so tiny’ and I feel a metaphorical tear roll down my poorly contoured cheeks (the struggles of not being Kim K) because since when was C not goals? Obviously, you have a right to be unhappy because we’re all miserable here but, do you really have to rub that much salt into the wound when you’re at least 2 sizes bigger than me? I mean, come on, Beyoncé is a C.

The Sex Effect

Bear with all the panty puns as I have just returned from the compulsory middle class birthday experience otherwise known as going to an underwear exhibit at the V & A and now I want to do some thon(kin)g out loud. Because at face value ‘Undressed’ was simply a showcase of everything ever sold in Ann Summers from corsets to Spanx via Juicy Couture, however once inside you realise it represents the looming question which has divided feminists for centuries:

Sexualisation: Empowering or Degrading?

Full of history students (recognisable by the manic scribbling on Pukka Pads and huge undereye circles), old people (aka the ones pointing to the 1890s whale bone bodices and mumbling ‘oh we used to wear them didn’t we Vera? The youth of today don’t appreciate what we went through’ between mouthfuls of Soreen fruit loaf) and pervs (like me) who just want to creep on some undies and maybe even gather some inspo for my next pair- everyone was commenting on this key question, regardless of which side of the bikini line they fell. Are thongs anti-progressive? Do body sculpting tights purely appeal to the male gaze? (Why the feck were swimsuits ever made of out jersey? Or maybe I’m the only one wondering that. Probably more for the dressmakers to answer than the freedom fighters of the world.) Is the little cheer that my mum and I did as we walked past the display reading ‘the feminists decided the bra was a symbol of oppression and are often seen without it’ supporting some kind of distasteful, (bum) cheeky view of women? Would it be better to go back to the days when petticoats landed at the floor to prevent any ‘obscene’ sights?

Panic Monster Abroad (part 2)

Teamales, I made it. This time last week I was in New York City, despite what felt like hundreds of nights made sleepness by my level of worrying, I went, I conquered and I blady loved it. In the part one of this post I discussed all my travelling fears (you can find that bad boy here– although if you work for border control and/or are an angsty flyer, I would recommend giving it a miss) so now I’m going to return to that piece, re-evaluate whether those things were worth worrying about and what thoughts I actually should’ve been prioritising.

But firstly, the winner of my Blogiversary Giveaway is……… the darling Victoria from Viicreative (it’s in the post as we speak)

Thank you to everyone who entered, tweeted about it, sent links to friends and were just generally lovely- hopefully things will be even bigger if I can make it to year 2!

My Femme Cup

Since WordPress has updated, my faith in scheduling posts has massively increased so hopefully you’ll be reading this at around 8pm on a Monday (while I’m up the empire state building or in central park or trying to translate my accent into an American friendly one- be ready for a Panic Monster Abroad part 2 next week). Today, however, I thought I’d reintroduce an ongoing project (blogject?) on HGHT. You may have noticed one of the tabs at the top of the screen is ‘The Femme Cup’ which, to cut a long story short, is a tag about feminism. I nominate a few people each week and I’ve received some really interesting responses so far but I realised that I myself have never taken part in my own tag. #Awks. So here we are: my femme cup.

Are you a feminist? Yes. I never used to like that label but now I want to fling mouldy sausage rolls at my 14 year old ignorance. It’s very easy in the Western world to both sugar-coat the society you live in and assume your rights are held by women elsewhere. Denying there aren’t gender inequalities does nothing except indicate your lack of world-awareness and incapability to make social progress- 2 attributes that you’d hardly be sticking on your CV. Or your Tinder profile for that matter.