Friday, July 13, 2007

Why I'm not a third wave feminist and other, equally riveting, stories.

Having indulged in some explicitly feminist reading recently, I’ve been thinking more closely about what I believe *my* feminism to be. More particularly, I’ve been trying to process why I feel so uncomfortable identifying as “third wave”. You know what? Really I’m not third wave at all. Yes, yes – shock all round I’m sure.

I’m going to try, in my next few posts, to explain why this is. I don’t want it to sound offensive, or as though I am being disparaging of other feminists (many of whom are of my generation) who *do* choose to identify this way. Feminism needs support, from as many people as possible. However, I do want to make it clear that I do not think that one type of feminism is more “feminist” than others – feminism, like most schools of political thought, is made up of many variants and the most sensible thing to do (rather than dogmatically picking one theory and sticking to it) seems to be to pick up the bits that work, acknowledge the bits that don’t and think about why that is.

Sooo… that is the mammoth task I have set myself. We shall see how I manage. I’m a little rusty on the ole constructing-a-valid-argument type thing so you’ll have to cut me some slack/hound me mercilessly until I get better at it.

In other news, I’m completely flabbergasted by the whole Jacqui-Smith and her amazing cleave story. I have to say, in the blanket coverage of news I was subjected to over the terrorism-weekend (the perils of a politically aware SO), I completely failed to notice it. The cleavage that is. I certainly noticed the *story* in the papers over the next few weeks. Christ almighty – this is the Home Secretary being calm, unflappable and apparently competent, yet all some people seem to have noticed is her cleavage. She was wearing a suit, as far as I can remember. I think I admired her necklace (yes, charmingly *female* of me). Boobs? No.

The only conclusion I can come to: too many people are dangerously obsessed with breasts. Interesting as they can be – I should know, I have grown some – really, it’s time to seek help.

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