So there I was at Sunset Coasters, sent by She for Whom We Jump to supervise Young Oliver (erstwhile Ad Man of OUTinPerth) and his camera, with a perfectly delightful group of professional gentlemen assembled in the sultry summeresque evening at the Lucky Shag. Marvellous folks really – if you’re interested check out Sunsetcoasters blogspot for details of their Christmas function. Civilised as it was, I was the token girl there. I was feeling a bit out of place, out of sorts and then, while musing on a theme that has had me fascinated for the last few weeks, I hit what was more of an Unlucky Snag.
But I need to back up a bit here, and explain that this convoluted tale of woe is mostly the fault of the patriarchy. Yes I did say patriarchy – and for the quarter of readers who didn’t just find something more fun to do, like seeing if anyone noticed your Manhunt profile in the last five minutes, I’ll run you through my education in the ways of the world.
Firstly, I was target for a bit of bringing up by that most judicious of educators, peer pressure. Young Oliver of the fastidious grooming decided that I’m not quite up to scratch as a girl. I think I’m fine – so what if I have bad hair (all over) and sensible shoes – I’m a lesbian and that’s what we do, right?
Apparently not. That was the seventies.
So he tried all sorts of persuasions – from the charming to the unsubtle. ‘You can have a lift to work today because it’s raining – but only if you dress like a girl. ‘ Hideous, hideous – somewhere all my girl clothes were hiding but damned if I could find any that a) fit and b) hadn’t suffered from my aversion to laundry. Half an hour later I was tripping down my garden path. Tripping because I had stupid shoes on, was sporting a skirt and was suffering from mascara that was causing my eyes to stream with tears hence blocking my vision of the garden hose I’d left lying there. What on earth was I thinking?
Although I failed feminism at uni (too busy at the time studying beer and how to play pool – also complete failures in my book) I’m pretty sure the readings on the Beauty Myth suggested dressing all femme ‘cos a boy said so was Not On. Despite feminism still being the only fail on my academic record I’m far too fond of the cool things about it to adopt a more chic anti-feminism attitude. Cool things? Well, yes, like about being able to vote, leave the family home, have an education all that crazy stuff. Quite pleased too that my women friends who are married can keep their jobs afterwards – and I’m sure if I was allowed to get married I’d appreciate that too. Anyway, I digress.
As I’m a bit of a feminista and I guess probably because I come from a family of what my mother describes as ‘bolshy women’. I’ve always believed that the glass ceiling was one of those concepts that floats around and people (mostly women) moan about for no very good reason.
Having previously worked in industries that were dominated by women (and hilariously low paid – I once found it soothing when faced with a particularly annoying child to realise that in terms of pay they were worth less than a Snickers an hour) – I never really quite noticed before that everyone wasn’t on an equal footing. Surely if one works hard enough and is good enough at one’s job the sky’s the limit?
This whole glass ceiling thing has had me fascinated. I don’t know why I suddenly noticed – possibly a smack of fear about what happens to local newspapers when national competition arrives (as the capitalist market invariably dictates that it does) – but somehow suddenly I’ve become aware as never before of the networks that women are not able to join, and will never be able to join as they’ve packed the wrong tackle in their fishing box. All sorts of deals are done, negotiations are made and alliances formed in the old ‘boys only’ sandpit that one just can’t join. ‘What is this?’ I’ve been wailing. ‘Why is it so?’ and most of all ‘It’s not f-airrrr’.
Pondering all of the above, I fetched myself a glass of white from the Lucky Shag bar and teetered back to the Sunset Coasters. As I firmly wedged the left heel of my girliest of red too-high-stilettos in the sizable gap between the wharf style floorboards and elegantly threw said glass of wine over myself and several others, I realised I’d made a big mistake…
And, as Carrie (Bradshaw, as if I needed to clarify) would say, there it was.
It wasn’t that I couldn’t see the glass ceiling, it wasn’t even that I couldn’t take a crack at it if I felt like it. It was simply that, unlike Carrie, if you want to break any kind of barrier girls, (and boys) you better channel your inner lesbian and pack your sensible shoes.
To get another sensible lesbian’s take on feminism today, check out Zoe’s interview with Daniela Sea.
***
Disclaimer: Blog contents express the viewpoints of their independent authors and are not reviewed for correctness or accuracy by OUTinPerth, nor do they reflect the viewpoints of OUTinPerth. Any opinions, comments, solutions or other commentary expressed by blog authors are not endorsed by OUTinPerth. If you feel a blog entry is inappropriate, please notify OUTinPerth by emailing us via info@www.outinperth.com.
