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. Continue reading

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:

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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? Continue reading

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 fcfeminism. 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. Continue reading

Stardolls in their eyes

After the success of a post back in August where I revisited Club Penguin, it only felt right to endorse my nostalgia further by revisiting another childhood site: Stardoll. The harmless dressing up game aimed at tweenagers. I know what you’re thinking because I’m thinking the same, Jess it’s half term you should be writing that essay about 1848 Revolutions in Germany, revising how to draw an alpha glucose molecule and reading Tess of the D’urbervilles, instead of spending three hours deciding which hair colour looks best on a virtual doll, but I’m sure it’ll be fine. It’s not like Tess is 60 chapters or anything…

Quite possibly the most tragic part of this experience was before I’d even really begun- the part where I realised Stardoll have deleted my original doll due to inacitivity. RIP Laceilee (in my head this scene is happening to the When She Loved Me music from Toy Story 2 and involves lots tears as her Bonjour Bizou clothes are donated to dolls which a) aren’t premium members and b) don’t appreciate the amount of denim needed to duplicate French couture). Crying over, I made a new Stardoll and gradually began to notice elements of the site that massively encouraged the stereotypical woman- regardless of whether this stereotype is good or not, the problem seemed to be the lack of alternative. It got me thinking, is Stardoll a feminist site? rsz_begonnen

When you begin you’re given a white, skinny, blonde doll as the default model, which seems strange because surely you could just be given a completely blank mannequin? For a site that encourages creativity, giving you what is essentially an Ellie Goulding stunt double doesn’t make sense. Plus you’re given open toe shoes which is just gross- put your feet away gal. Continue reading

The Barbie Dilemma

I have a confession that Aqua summarised perfectly in 1997: I’m a Barbie girl. Maybe not so much anymore, but bb Jess had all her latest luminous pink gear inc skipping rope, bike, shin pads, themed parties and sunglasses (which I dropped in a river when walking the dog and cried for at least a week #CountryBumpkinProblems) so no one was more excited at the news that Mattel had reinvented the Barbie doll than my 8 year old self. And initially Twitter seemed pretty excited too. barbie wars

Gradually, as more investigating was done, people started to turn on the new dolls as not being ‘enough’, but I think before we explore the dark side we should focus on the positives (I feel a bit like the David Attenborough of doll world ngl). Continue reading

Victoria’s Worst Kept Secret

It wasn’t until I took my German exchange student to London last year (shoutout to Marie-Jeanne) that I realised how much of a big deal Victoria’s Secret is. Such a big deal in fact, that despite all the incredibly exciting things you can see in London ie. Big Ben, Buckingham Palace, the Gherkin, MJ decided to spend three hours looking at kinky pants to take home for her friends and family- no questions asked- because apparently there’s no Vicky C’s in Germany and that is such a tragedy. Now if I’m completely honest I probably didn’t go in there with an open mind; we’ve all heard the stories of VS Upon arrival(for all those acronym fans amongst you) models, otherwise known as ‘angels’, going on cotton wool diets and renting rooms at their local gyms just to stay skinny but I was sure I would’ve been able to ignore those rumours if the shop had a body positive atmosphere that I’d just missed amongst its promotion.

 

Seriously, when I first entered the New Bond Street store- which is probably more the size of a small country than a shop- I was excited to discover a place where women would unite over the inconvenience of needing a bra. Where mums would take their daughters to make boobs seem a little less daunting. Where people would be measured casually in the middle of the shop floor, because who cares? It’s all women here. I had really high hopes. Continue reading