I am a feminist.

Sheeyit, just realized I've become a rampant, hairy feminist since my last post, after reading Caitlan Moran's "how to be a woman". Now I must incorporate my new views into a blog that essentially spends the best part of its days musing over some of the most shallow pursuits on earth.

So I went to a party celebrating the success of Recyle Boutique tonight.
Tere were a lot of strong females there.
OK nah... but I did view the event through my new "feminist" specs ... (I actually am thinking of getting some clear lense specs to look more serious).

Cuplee positive notes anyway -

Most girls there were dressed in second hand clothes and when complimented would boast about how cheap or after how many cycles of handmedown-ness they got whatever was being complimented. I really enjoy this kind of environment, seeing as the sport I most often take home the gold in is "getting cool shit cheap as".

This may not be a feminist issue (ah probably is if u want to take it far enough) but I kindof like it as an indicator of where the world is going. One attendee was accidentally wearing the old shirt of another attendee, by total chance - no one was embarrassed.

Everyone was clearly admiring everyone elses clothes (God knows I'd spent hours designing and actually constructing mine for the evening) BUT everyone was dressed so oddly that no one looked bad!! Yup, that's the solution. If a 22 year old girl had walked in wearing an outfit off Mrs Smith from HNPS circa 1992 everyone wouldve just accepted it. Granted that style is kindof the go right now but still.. thats my kindof do.

There were greasy beanies. Led Zep' t-shirts (really??). Chapped lips and pancake foundation from the night before. Many looked as though they'd just woken up.. with a hangover. It was all being pulled off though. I'm not gunning for female dominance ABOVE males, but I really do love when you see girls embracing trends that you know the average guy wouldn't find sexy - you know its just for our own sisterly, jelous enjoyment. For example one girl was wearing a long sheer skirt over a pair of clearly visible black undies and over the knee socks with platform shoes, (with Led Zep tee and beanie). Bless! I burned with desire to whip into the changing room and try it all on right there (as we were drinking and mingling right in the shop).


We went to SFBH afterwards and I realized I had brought no cards with me - as in no ID. I freaked out thinking it was bedtime for me but the bouncer just halfheartedly asked me my birthdate which I soberly and obediently reeled off... "da dadda da 1987". He didn't even wait to hear the end before shoving me into the bar. I prepared to feel depressed but then... meh. It really didn't bother me. I am a

w o m a n

afterall, and what better way to express and celebrate this fact is in the natural and beautiful progression of my unique body aging.

I'm not even kidding.