The F-Word Blog: Posts by Joanna Whitehead

Baroness Warsi is no symbol of Tory progress

2010-02-28T23:51:06Z

For the uninitiated, today is the last day of LGBT month; a time of the year for celebrating, highlighting and reflecting upon issues affecting the LGBT community. Ironically, this coincides with a profile in today’s Independent newspaper of Baroness Warsi and her unique position within the Conservative party. As the first Muslim member of the Cabinet or Shadow Cabinet, British-Asian and Yorkshire born Warsi is being heralded as symbolic of Cameron’s new 'classless' party. Warsi is as far away from the stereotypical, blue-blooded Tories of yore and her place in the party is a major coup in terms of representation and diversity.

Harold Wilson’s statement that “A week is a long time in politics” could not be more poignant, however. Have we become so stirred up with post-election fervour that we have forgotten the delights of Ms Warsi’s 2005 election campaign literature, as per the Guardian’s 2005 article?

"Labour has scrapped section 28 which was introduced by the Conservatives to stop schools promoting alternative sexual lifestyles such as homosexuality to children as young as seven years old... now schools are allowed and do promote homosexuality and other alternative sexual lifestyles to your children.”

"Labour reduced the age of consent for homosexuality from 18 to 16 allowing school children to be propositioned for homosexual relationships."

"I will campaign strongly for an end to sex education at seven years and the promotion of homosexuality that undermines family life."

In addition to the sensationalist and wildly problematic content of the literature, Warsi went further by allegedly distributing the aforementioned material to the Muslim community in the district, whilst campaign literature circulated to the white community allegedly focused on issues of immigration. In an interview in The Times newspaper of February 2008, she insisted that her campaign was “not about homosexuality” but “sex education generally”.

A non-male figure with authority and visibility in a major political party is usually ample cause for celebration, party politics aside. A British-Asian Muslim woman in a politically powerful position is reason enough for a full-blown fiesta, in my opinion. Representation is essential in any democratic society. For me, political parties wishing to attain any semblance of credibility and authenticity need to ensure that the make-up of their candidates is reflective of wider society.

Despite David’s impassioned polemics, Attitude front cover and protestations that they’re now “the party for change”, while they continue to wheel out Warsi as a symbol of their progress, the Conservatives will never convince me that their party is a group concerned with equality for all.

Airbrushing for all?

2010-02-25T17:07:20Z

In a world where women are systematically confronted with endless images of airbrushed female “perfection”, I heaved a large sigh whilst shopping in Boots yesterday. A simple trip to print some photos turned into body insecurity 101 when I was handed a receipt for “25p off” their new facial retouching service for photographs. My heavy eyes turned to the promotional poster which promised to “remove blemishes, smooth skin tones and reduce the appearance of wrinkles”.

Is there no respite? Should I even be surprised? Airbrushing and picture retouching has taken off at an alarming rate in the past ten years, with the introduction and availability of digital photography for all. People retouch their own snaps at home, so why shouldn’t Boots cash in on the same service?

Personally, airbrushed images make me deeply uncomfortable, on both a public and private level. Representations of femininity cannot be dismissed or underestimated when they’re so pervasive. Even if you choose not to read fashion magazines (in which every other page tends to be an airbrushed advert promoting overpriced tat) you can’t avoid adverts at bus stops, on television and on hoardings. Such images are unavoidable and being constantly presented with unrealistic representations of what human beings actually look like can be damaging to everyone, resulting in impossible expectations, insecurity and pressure to ‘conform’. Rubbish.

I also find the increasing desire to airbrush or edit personal photographs slightly odd, too. Why would you want a photograph of a place or a person that bears little resemblance to the actual reality? Surely it’s the details and idiosyncrasies that make each person and place unique and special and interesting? In my humble opinion, airbrushing out wrinkles or spots only serves to reproduce and contribute to the plethora of generic images that already exist in the world. Why can’t we face up to our shared reality?

When I raised this issue with a photographer friend of mine who takes pictures of the rich and famous, he confirmed that virtually all the photographs they take - even of models! - are edited, airbrushed and “touched up”. Rather than lamenting the unfortunate consequences of such representations for us normal folk, he claimed that contemporary photographs, such as those featured in advertising campaigns and magazines, didn’t really qualify as realism, in any sense of the word. Instead, he argued that such images have now become more like paintings, in terms of the work that’s applied to each one. He wholeheartedly agreed that existing pictures were not reflective of reality, retorting instead that it was madness to think otherwise.

Despite this, I still believe that perpetuating this pretence is not helping anyone. For Boots to now offer this service to the average consumer sends the message that your appearance is not acceptable unless it’s been doctored to death. Where does it end?

Do you agree? Or do you embrace this new ‘service’ as positive and progressive?

The politics of porn and pubes: from the public to the personal

2010-02-16T20:40:24Z

Around six years ago, I had unfortunate sex with an unfortunate fellow. It was unexpected and we ended up fumbling around in his bedroom. When we paused for him to put on a condom (one saving grace), he looked between my legs, looked back at me and tugged my pubic hair, pronouncing, “This has got to go…” I was young - and absolutely mortified. Rather than turfing him out of his own room and branding his behind with “this boy is bad for women’s self esteem”, I squirmed and giggled nervously, before getting back down to business. Unsurprisingly, it wasn’t much fun after that, and I sure as hell didn’t feel very sexy.

Last Thursday, I went to a talk at the Women’s Library in London entitled 'The Politics of Appearance'. As is often the case at such events, the audience question and answer session at the end proved to be the most telling and thought-provoking discussion of the evening. One woman put up her hand to say that she had a 20-year-old daughter who refused to go for a cervical smear unless she’d had a Brazilian. A smear test is a standard medical procedure, not Girls Gone Wild. Why should the poor woman feel such shame? Why was it so important for her to be trimmed and “tidy”? And, why was I embarrassed, rather than incensed?

For the uninitiated, a “Brazilian” is when all your pubic hair is removed except a neat “landing strip” of hair on your pubic bone. They have become de rigour amongst many women, some of whom apparently consider anything resembling natural pubic hair as “grim” or “gross”. Why is this?

One response to this question argues that the increased availability and (some could argue) prolificacy of pornography in society has seeped through from the public to the personal domain. Virtually all females in pornography are shaved and plucked within an inch of their life, and many people view this online and then request it or expect it from their real-life sexual partners.

If feminism is about choice, then women who make the decision to embrace the Brazilian, in isolation, should be respected (although as we don’t live in a vacuum, such a choice is no mean feat). Those who succumb to peer or partner pressure, body issues or unrealistic images of femininity, should also be respected, at the same time as being treated with compassion and empathy. The politics of disgust are hugely complex and it’s not easy to stand tall and furry while people crinkle their noses in disgust at you.

More worrying is the reality that looking at pornography is increasingly many teenagers’ first exposure to sex and sexuality. I acknowledge that in some instances it may offer an educational insight but, for the most part, pornography presents a very distorted image of sexuality. Female roles and basic female physiology is particularly problematic; available women with a very specific and narrow body type (in every sense of the word), who tend to perform rather than engage, is not the most positive representation of consenting sexuality, a concept I believe to be absolutely crucial for young people.

My escape from feeling insecure and inadequate about my body was increased security, maturity - and feminism. I still wouldn’t be 23 again, with all the body insecurity, loathing and shame that this entails for the average female. Let’s hope that time enables the 20-year-old referred to above to feel more comfortable in her own body.

Exploring feminism, educating myself and gradually accepting myself as I was my salvation. And it’s a work in progress. That and recognising that a partner who pulls your pubes without your permission is no rock and roll fun at all.

Gym changing rooms: the last bastion of body realism?

2010-02-04T17:58:52Z

Enjoying drinks with colleagues at a leaving party of late, I was surprised to hear giggling over how one colleague had caught a glimpse of another senior colleague “in the buff” whilst changing at our company gym. With much mirth, colleague ‘A’ recounted this experience in a confiding manner, expressing faux horror and distress at witnessing this. A conversation then followed about individual attitudes towards the issue of undressing in public places i.e. the gym changing rooms. Colleagues ‘A’ and ‘B’ were both vehemently opposed to taking their clothes off in a designated changing area, fleeing instead to the individual changing cubicles.

When I heard this, I was shocked - and then I was sad. Shocked; because I couldn’t quite believe that seeing someone naked in a traditionally naked place (i.e. a changing room) was even worthy of comment, never mind revulsion; and, sad because I wondered how and why the sight of a naked body was enough to provoke such disgust and discontent.

From my experiences and discussions on similar matters with other girls and women throughout my life, these issues seem to be depressingly familiar: that women tend to feel shame and revulsion at their own bodies, and those of other women who deviate from stereotypically acceptable body types. Why is this so? Is it the fact that we’re constantly confronted with unrealistic portrayals of what the human body actually looks like? That media representations of women tend to be ‘girls’ who are unhealthily thin and airbrushed within an inch of their lives?

Could it be that such feelings are part of a wider and more ingrained campaign to control women and their sexuality by attaching guilt and shame to ideas about the female body? It could be argued that this has certainly been true throughout history, where women have been contained, constrained and controlled.

I suspect that many people struggle to differentiate between nudity and sexuality, although content can often help to clarify this further. Although it may stir the loins of some women, being naked whilst ill in hospital could generally be agreed to fall into the realms of non-sexual nudity, for example, whilst being naked on a beach could be viewed as more ambiguous. I have to stress that I intend to pass no judgement on such scenarios, and fully accept that all situations are entirely subjective and open to differing interpretation.

As you can see from my comments above, I have lots of questions and very few answers at this stage. Returning to the issue of gym changing room nudity, however, I can say that I have sometimes found communal changing room experiences to be life-affirming, rather than fear-inducing. Being naked in such close proximity to a group of strangers in a relatively confined space requires one to surrender a degree of control. Nudity is often equated with vulnerability, and when female bodies are subjected to such judgement, it’s not hard to see why. In such situations, respect for others and their multitude of differences is surely the desirable sentiment, rather than fear and sneers?

I also feel a strange degree of responsibility to other women whilst changing, which means that I refuse to cover up just because I might not fit someone’s limited scope of the female form. In this way, changing room experiences could be argued to be almost educational, in that they involve visibility, in the most meaningful sense of the word. Where else do teenagers and young women see the female form in its most natural and varied forms? Pornography certainly doesn’t fulfil this criterion, and accepting diversity in appearance can be intensely reassuring for young women struggling to feel comfortable with their changing bodies and overwhelmed by the limitations of media representation.

I also note that there are varying reasons and exceptions to communal disrobing, and categorically state that these should be respected. As someone who is not restricted, however, I feel entitled to disrobe in such an environment, rather than hiding myself away. My reasoning is based on a simple fact: my body works, and while it continues to function healthily, I should not feel shame at its mere aesthetics, but exceptional and infinite thanks for its very functionality [Please note that this is not meant to imply that this only applies to 'working' or 'healthy' bodies - see comments for further discussion on this].

NB: To avoid any untoward accusations, I must also stress that my changing room routine normally looks something like this: enter, change, exercise, change, get the hell out.