It’s been a rough week. I won’t lie to you. Thank goodness for writing, which always helps. Last week’s blog, Christine Keeler’s Eyelashes, hasn’t done what all my other pieces do. I think about them, write them, publish them and let them amble out into the world by themselves. Christine won’t leave. Like a shy child hiding behind its mother’s skirts, she’s still very much on my mind.
The very last scene in “The Trial of Christine Keeler” just won’t go away. Out of jail, pretty much friendless, still young, still beautiful, Christine walks into a club and pushes her way through the crowd on to the dance floor. She dances with abandon, her eyes closed, her arms up in the air, not for attention, but for herself.
She dances with abandon, her eyes closed, her arms up in the air, not for attention, but for herself.
I found this scene incredibly poignant as that’s the last image the viewer has of her. Not the tired and ravaged face of a woman who has had to fight all her life, or the hunched figure walking down the street, head bowed, or the worn-out woman dying of a pulmonary embolism. A final hurrah before the millstones of the establishment grind her down.
Driving back from gymnastics with my 11-year old on Monday night, Lizzo came on the radio. “I love her!” my daughter exclaimed, turning up the volume. “She doesn’t care what anyone thinks about her.” We sang along (me badly, her well) to Good As Hell, a fine track. I watched The Brits on Tuesday night and there she was again, dancing, singing and radiating positivity. I sat there, beaming ear to ear. Why? Not just because I like her (I do), not just because her songs are unbelievably catchy (they are). It’s because she is who she is and she is comfortable with that. Her backing dancers are called The Big Grrrls. I’ll leave that there for a minute.
Lizzo is big on body positivity. Nearly every interview you read about her will mention that. Should it have to? I think not. Who cares? She sings beautifully, she’s a great role model. Does it matter what she weighs? Reading through the papers, apparently it does.
Since I started writing this blog, I have posted it first thing on a Thursday morning, every week. I’ve never been late. I was kind to myself last night (cold coming on, very tired) and decided to finish and post it this morning. Funnily enough, just as I was putting it together, a post popped up on Facebook. It was from a person I like and respect. She is a doctor, has two young children and is incredibly eloquent and principled. She was furious as what she described as: “Utter, misogynistic bulls**t. In a world where people are feeling so inadequate already this is just toxic! Nice job, patriarchy - well done for ensuring she never shirks her caring responsibilities for one moment.”
The post which had enraged her was an update from a couple called Sharny and Julius. I’d never heard of them. They are a “fitspo” couple who post to their followers about their fitness programme. There is absolutely nothing wrong with that. Fitness and health are something to aspire to. However, on the latest post, the following words appeared, about Sharny, who is a mother of six:
“Instead of raging or hiding, she has the energy to outplay her kids with boundless joy until they are laying on their backs, completely exhausted, deeply contented and infinitely loved. Instead of headaches and arguments, she’s still got (lots of) energy for loving after the kids go to bed, and lots of time for meaningful work after her profoundly satisfied hubby drops off to sleep.”
You could look at this as a testimonial for the fitness programme FitMum which Sharny and Julius run. It’s obviously working and that’s great. However, what is deeply concerning about these words, to me, and to my friend, is that they underline the constant feelings of not being good enough, too tired, too fat, too worn out to be all the things a woman wants to be. I am delighted that Sharny feels so energetic. I’ve researched her page and it makes me happy that she stands proudly in a bikini with her stretch marks on show. She’s birthed six children and doesn’t pretend to be perfect. But that second paragraph concerns me deeply. After a full day of working and parenting, she loves her hubby till he’s profoundly satisfied, then when he’s nodded off, she addresses her meaningful work. Is it just me or does that have an echo of The Stepford Wives?
“Instead of”. Instead of – what? Ordinary mortals, juggling work, families, housework, responsibilities could read this and think “Why can’t I be like that? What’s wrong with me?” This world is not short of messages telling women they’re not good enough. I’ve got a headache as I write. I have no energy. But I know that I am a good wife and mother and that I do my best. What about a woman struggling with depression, or low self-esteem, or an abusive relationship? What might she think, reading these words?
And finally, I can’t sign off without mentioning the death of Caroline Flack. You won’t have to spend much time googling before you find examples of the kind of toxic, cruel, abusive journalism that surely contributed to this woman feeling that she had no alternative but to end her life. Lighting the fire last night, crumpling up balls of newspaper to get it going, I read a news snippet by a syndicated national woman columnist about Caroline Flack which made my blood boil. Her entire page was thinly veiled criticism, snide remarks and downright unkindness. Isn’t life hard enough already? I am writing these words with passion. I am aware that some of my readers may not agree with me. But that’s fine. We live in a democracy and I would be happy to hear your thoughts.