At fourteen-years-old, I was diagnosed with Anorexia Nervosa and Body Dysmorphic Disorder. The former, I’m sure you’re all too familiar with – navigating the aesthetically-minded cultural climate in which we currently reside – and the latter is a disorder that essentially means that you don’t physically see yourself the same way that others do , which becomes evermore scary a concept the more you consider it.
Lena Dunham’s imprint upon our lives hits me with inner conflict on a daily basis. Theoretically, she’s a marvel – a brazen example of the ‘realest’ of ‘real’ women who make zero excuses for their interaction with the world. I mean, any woman in our society over a size 10 whose reaction to shooting sex scenes is “I simply pulled my shirt over my head and dove in” either holds an ego impossibly bigger than the pressures of the media, or just genuinely doesn’t give a fuck and should be duly lauded for that. Admittedly, I’ve always felt a sinister chill of arrogance and self-absorption from Dunham, which was only exacerbated when I read her book ‘Not That Kind of Girl’, in which she nonchalantly describes some arguably disconcerting aspects of her childhood and adult life. One of which brings me to the subject of this piece, a passage depicting Dunham at the age of 7, which has almost hilariously caused a social-justice-warrior meltdown:
“One day, as I sat in our driveway in Long Island playing with blocks and buckets, my curiosity got the best of me. Grace was sitting up, babbling and smiling, and I leaned down between her legs and carefully spread open her vagina. She didn’t resist and when I saw what was inside I shrieked.
My mother came running. “Mama, Mama! Grace has something in there!”
My mother didn’t bother asking why I had opened Grace’s vagina. This was within the spectrum of things I did. She just got on her knees and looked for herself. It quickly became apparent that Grace had stuffed six or seven pebbles in there. My mother removed them patiently while Grace cackled, thrilled that her prank had been a success.”
From this passage, and a number of others which depict Dunham’s tendency to masturbate in the same bed as her younger sister, or bribe her for kisses with sweets (also, as a child), Lena has now been plastered with the tagline of ‘sexual abuser’. Because I find this so horrendously ridiculous, I’m going to have to compartmentalise this response into bullet-points, or it’s going to turn into a verbose and angry rant.
She was seven.
And thus, a child. For people to accuse her of sexual abuse, they are sexualising the anatomical curiosity of a seven-year-old child, which to me stings more in its implication that society is now so fucked up that even the innocence of children is sexualised. Additionally, she didn’t even proceed to do anything sexual, nor did she denote any feelings of pleasure – sexual or otherwise.
How in the sweet name of fuck is it a showing of white feminist privilege?
I don’t even know where to start with this. I know that Dunham has been something of a sketchy feminist throughout her time in the spotlight thus far, but her unashamed sense of self and projection of that onto the lives of young girls/women is, to me, her greatest gift to the feminist movement. The comments raging that she has had the gaul to be so brash about something that would otherwise be treated with complete taboo – thus apparently using her ‘white feminist privilege’ – pissed me off no end. Women should be able to speak of whatever they like but yet, the second someone says something even slightly unsavoury, she must be quelled and banished from the feminist scene, right?
Whilst I do agree that much of Dunham’s success does ride on the back of her shock factor, which she likes to issue out in buckets, it is said shock factor that is encouraging young women to care less about whether they look like a Victoria’s Secret model, and focus more on their pursuit for happiness in life – one that isn’t defined by a number on a scale or how many guys want to bone you.
She has already claimed to be an unreliable narrator.
Granted, from Lena’s reaction to this ‘scandal’, it’s quite clear that it was a completely true story, much of what she wrote in the book is said to be embellished, and she recalls being known for consistently exaggerating details of stories as a child and thus, being a natural writer.
There are better damn things to address.
One of the main reasons that I purposely avoid being too closely associated with the feminist label has been completely reinforced with this case. I hate the nit-picking bullshit that comes so often with anything in the feminism bracket, and it’s something that needs to change before we lose all credibility completely. Calling a grown women a sexual abuser because she acted upon curiosity as a child is pathetic – and especially pathetic when we’re, in turn, ignoring the women and men who are genuinely being traumatically abused, merely because this woman is in the spotlight and to be frank, half of us are jealous as hell of her.
I’m not Lena Dunham’s biggest fan, but all I can say is: Internet, get a fucking grip.
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You may notice that I infamously promised that I’d be back on the blogging scene sometime last month, and mysteriously vanished shortly after making such a bold claim – I apologise, but I HAVE MUCHOS NEWS. After my fight (which sometimes felt disturbingly literal) to secure a graduate job without drowning to the bottom of too many merlot bottles first, I happened to get an interview for a very exciting position on the still rather new and incredibly dynamic Web Team for Primark.com – and guess who got the flipping position as Womens/Kidswear Content Assistant? That would be me! *Insert many streamer emoticons*
So, since the 3rd August, I’ve been trying to get my head around a completely different town in a completely different part of the country: I’m now a big ol’Southerner and I live in Reading. Bit of a wander from the likes of Lancaster and Manchester that I’m used to haunting, but I’m finally starting to get my bearings and have just put down the deposit for a gorgeous studio apartment that I snapped up this morning – so all systems are go – go – go with regards to new life planning! Since I got here (less than a month ago!), I’ve already experienced some amazing times: snagging a Saturday day ticket to Reading Festival and going with a complete stranger (who turned out to be fabulaaaarse and I can’t wait to hang out with her again), a whirlwind work trip to Dublin and far, far too many bottles of red wine (happy bottles though – makes all the damn difference!).
I just thought I’d drop in and remind you all that I still know how to type and (hopefully) construct reasonably interesting posts – and will be doing far more proactive things with my blog now that I’m officially part of the fashion industry and incidentally, have developed an absolute obsession with buying new (Primark) clothes. So if you want to know anything Primark-related from hereon in; I’m your girl. Once I get settled in my new apartment (which is totally OOTD-background friendly, woo), I’m going to be setting up my tripod (wheey) and posting more fashion-focused posts, rather than my verbose ramblings. You can thank me later.
It’s good to be back. xo
I have news. I have colossal news and, my sweet Mary Jesus and Joseph (paying homage to Grandma there: this post wouldn’t exist without you), you would not believe how psyched I am. The second half of yesterday was spent in a perpetual state of on-the-brink-of-awesome tears and, despite fending them off, I still went to bed with exhausted little piggy eyes and a racing brain. So, what’s happened/happening, you ask? Well… after spending the last six months nurturing an unrelenting sense of financial doom, and fearing that I’d end up stuck back in a box room at my mum’s after university, I finally discovered: I can move to London! It must be the karma train after this monstrosity of a year I’ve had, but everything seems to be aligning amazingly – I came into some money (for the second time ever, I ain’t no trust-fund baby, believe me), and now I’m going to be viewing flats this Wednesday with a view to move in sometime next month. Excited isn’t the word!
Now I have two options. Given I have two job interviews in London on Wednesday, I can hope that I’ll score one of those and start on the career ladder straight away. Otherwise, I’m going to use this (incredibly rare) time in my life to take advantage of the situation (of, uh, being taken advantage of by the fashion industry) and seek out fancy internships whilst I still have enough income to stay alive and, most importantly, well dressed. Today I’m calling out to you wonderful fashion folk and asking:
I cannot wait to properly start my life, get my blog at the forefront of my life and get really involved in Britain’s heart of the fashion industry. Has anyone else got any stories of London life they’d like to bestow upon me? Something tells me I might need some guidance…
Enjoy my posts? Don’t miss a beat on Bloglovin’!
No, this is not a scale that measures how much of a diva you are, or how strong your singing pipes may be – oh, don’t be silly now – this is the latest absolutely ludicrous thing to fall from Planet Beauty, and it’s got my blood boiling so much that I’ve paid £6 for train wi-fi to write about it. Now, on the surface, this looks like a pretty amusing novelty gift that you’d send your best mate for a laugh, right? However, the connotations behind it have got anyone with an ounce of nonce absolutely shitting themselves – or wanting to beat up Superdrug execs. These scales work by calibrating a celebrity’s name up to your weight – e.g. if you’re 14 stone – go you: you’re Adele. If you’re 8 stone: you’re a Cheryl Cole. Now again, when we just look at the very surface, this isn’t too outrageous, surely? Just a bit of fun?
I disagree, solely due to one incredibly influential factor: comparison. The media makes life absolutely rife with comparison, especially with regards to the beauty industry, and its consequential effects on the esteem of women young and old. This comparison sets us up for feelings of inferiority and the sense that we’re not trying our best which, in turn, often creates a sense of competition. Said sense of competition is fine, when we’re thinking about sports games and school grades – but when this product which, let’s face it, is clearly marketed to the younger generations, unleashes an element of weight competition: we’re in big fudging trouble. As a young teenager, I was diagnosed with Anorexia Nervosa and believe me, nothing made me feel more motivated to starve myself that little bit more than reading forums where girls would compare and boast about their tiny BMIs. I used to bore the shit out of my school friends by enquiring about how much they’d eaten that day, or trying to find out their clothes size – just so I could feel accomplished at something. This is what we’re now marketing and manifesting into products for young girls. No wonder B-eat are going insane about it.
Of course, the element of competition that can be garnered from a standard set of scales will always be there, it’s practically inescapable. But, when most women are unprepared to divulge the actual figure of their weight, this element remains happily under the carpet for most – whereas, these scales are set to undoubtedly cause a social craze. Picture it: one schoolgirl gets the scales as a silly gift from a friend or unknowing parent – cue the next sleepover, everyone’s having a go on the scales and finding out ‘who they are’. The girl that’s stuck in between Ellie Goulding and Beyonce (or whatever other celebrities it uses) is jealous of the girl just below Ellie Goulding – so she goes home, internalises this and hey ho, potential low self-esteem and a potential consequential eating disorder. In eating disorder documentaries I’ve watched in the past, which focus on child inpatient carehomes, a girl cited a playground weight-loss competition as the trigger for her eating disorder. And now folks, we’re getting that packaged up in a little box from Superdrug and we’re making eating disorders even more marketable. Well fucking done Superdrug – well fucking done.
Am I being over the top because it’s a personal issue, or do you think Superdrug are clearly thinking out of their arses this week, too?
Lena Dunham is everywhere. Everywhere. I mean, I’ve seen her breasts more than I think I’ve seen my own in the past few days – although admittedly, I have been having a marathon GIRLS catch-up this week. Since the kooky show dropped its pilot on the world in 2012, Dunham has become this burgeoning beacon of ‘hope’ for the media: but, I have to ask, is this the kind of hope we really want? I started watching GIRLS about a year ago now, in quick succession, and the overbearing sense of ‘wait a minute, this is supposed to relate to me!?’ prevailed throughout. The show follows four New York-dwelling early-20s ‘GIRLS’; three-quarters of whom are presented as absolutely abhorrent, over-privileged twits. Let’s do a little character run-down:
Main character – main bugbear. Hannah is depicted, on the very fine top onion layer, as your typical neurotic 20-something: confused, fighting her way into the big bad world, neurotic – you get me. However, early in the first series, we discover that – oh fresh hell: Hannah is getting ‘cut off’ from her parents and will now have to fight her own financial battles. Instant dislike. If, like me and the majority of the people I’ve ever known, you’ve been living off your own back (give or take the government’s help for uni alone), since the tender age of 18, Hannah’s plight will evoke nothing but aggressive malteaser-pelting at your TV screen. The sense of entitlement that absolutely resonates from every HD pore of these characters just really puts me off. Hannah is brattish, obnoxious and ultimately selfish. I know living in NY is supposed to do that to people, but jeez guys… seriously?
Dunham consistently seems to write herself into character scenarios that, in the stark light of reality, just wouldn’t ever happen. The biggest one of these has to be the time she ends up sleeping with the stereotypically very attractive older man and staying at his apartment for the weekend. Now, this may just be my internalised self-deprecation and institutionalised sexism but, in the real world, whether I am being cruel or not – Lena Dunham, nor Hannah Horvath would ever pair up with that guy. Maybe it’s supposed to be ironic? Maybe it’s supposed to show real girls doing the things that we generally only see on TV? But I am so fucking sick of seeing her breasts by now. And yet I’m still watching away in Series 3.
The one saving grace of character: Shosh. If it wasn’t for her, I’d have probably thrown the towel in by now. Yes, she may be over-the-top and constantly spouting insane quips that, if your friends in real life started saying – you’d probably have them sectioned by now. Yes, she may sometimes seem as narrow-minded and shallow as the rest of them (e.g. starting a conversation about how her neckerchiefs may just be her best collection) – but she gets away with it. Predominantly due to the fact that she doesn’t psychobabble every other sentence, or make out she’s the guru of the world like Jessa.
Speaking of. Fighting her way into the lead position for my biggest GIRLS character disdain is Jessa. Jessa is like that girl you know who’s snorted a few lines, banged a good 40+ guys and hell, maybe even had a threesome – but then, they see this as entitlement to be the smuggest, most unfoundedly ‘world-wise’ twit known to any guy going’s manhood. She is the know it all that, contrary to her allegedly wise and all-seeing ways, has no job – ever – and by Series 3, is even getting screamed at by Shoshanna for doing sweet fudge all. Are we really making role models here? I just do not understand what this show was trying to convey. And she punched Roy from the IT Crowd. Unforgivable.
I’ve just realised that every character’s initials are the same for their first and surname. Really now? Marni is the ‘beauty’ of the group – she’s stereotypically tall, skinny, attractive – but still, all she does is whine. Is this program simply a social commentary implying that all girls ever do is whine? She begins the show in a promising light – the only one with a responsible job at an art gallery, but soon that goes under and she ends up scrabbling like everyone else. What I want to know is – how is everyone affording to live in NYC on invisible funds? If I thought all you had to do was excessively whinge and say vapid prophetic nonsense to live in New York, I’d be there in a heartbeat. For all the gritty realism of this show, this loophole never fails to baffle me.
What is the purpose of GIRLS? Is it simply an excuse for Dunham to just play out her life in a visual “memoir” just like her character in the show? Why isn’t it renamed the Lena Dunham show? Either way, I just can’t help myself from loving to hate and hating to love it…
Are you a true fan, or are you stuck perilously on the fence like me?
(oh and just to make it more fashion-related, here’s my favourite Lena Dunham wardrobe mishap):
Every single year we torture ourselves with endless lists of things we find particularly shitty about ourselves, that we find need to be changed. ‘I’m too fat’ – New Year’s Resolution to lose 15lbs/join a gym/eat less awesome things. ‘I don’t try hard enough’ – New Year’s Resolution to strive more, and then beat the mental living crap out of yourself when it transpires that you can’t always give 100% because, hey: you’re only human. My point is, every damn year we turn New Year into this self-deprecating spiral, subjecting ourselves to inescapable impending self-hatred – of our own making! So, this year – given I’m usually renowned for being a negative nancy (my boyfriend was disgusted that out of 13 Snapchats he received on Christmas morning, 12 were of happy smiling friends saying ‘Happy Christmas’, then there was one off me with a santa hat over my face with ‘My eyes are bleeding’ – you get my drift) – I’d opt for a happier tone this year.
And how better to achieve this, than for us all to rally together, and each create a post in which we celebrate the things we actually do like about ourselves, instead of focusing on the stuff we hate? If you want to be part of this tag, write a blog post listing 5 – 10 things you love about yourself and link it on here, or to me on my Twitter (@Ebzo) for me to promote. It would be so amazing if, by New Year, we could have a collection of these to look through – great for those days when you forget just how un-shit you actually are. Who’s with me?
Here’s 10 things that I don’t think are completely bloody awful about myself:
So there you have it – that’s my list. I’ve heard from a few bloggers on Twitter who are going to get involved, let’s try and make this big. Down with the resolutions, hear hear to celebrating who we actually are!
Zoella – Arguably the UK’s most successful fashion/beauty vlogger.
Vlogging – a fine way to show your pretty face and yanner on about the contents of your make-up bag to the World Wide Web. I do like the occasional mooch through bloggers’ YouTube accounts, especially anything intrusive, like ‘What’s in my Handbag?’ – but I’ve got to put it out there, I’m no vlogger at heart. Hate/despise/abhor the sound of my own voice and I’d spend the duration of the clip poring over whether my teeth looked particularly wonky that day. However, I have done a good bit of research into vlogging in my time, lest I ever brave the big(?) screen…
Yes, I understand that having a 30+ minute video may appear like you’ve put in a lot of effort but, on the whole, I could bet that you’re just waffling on about what you had for dinner last night by 25 minutes in: keep it snappy. In this glorious digital age of lunacy, its a rarity when someone dedicates more than 10-15 minutes of their life to watch the creations of some random Internet person, so be sure to get your point across cohesively in as short a time as is humanly possible. If your clip is ridiculously long, get editing and cut out that major tangent about next door’s pervy grandson at the Boxing Day party…
If the prospect of sitting in front of a camera for an elongated period of time fills you with dread, look for different methods of video production. If you’re artsy and like to think outside the box, perhaps consider creating a nifty little Instagram piece – something animated or heavily edited, if you’re that way inclined. This way, you can ensure you keep your viewers’ interest and still make sure they know exactly who you are, what you do, and how damn good you are at it.
If you’re one of those lucky famed bloggers – candy coloured hair, stick thin legs and a £1,000+ DSLR type – maintaining the image of a super cool, hip’n’happenin’ fashionista is highly important. Personally, I’m in this for the words – I don’t have the camera for taking fancy pictures, and I don’t always have much patience for leaving my bed – but, professionally-made video production could be a great option for well-known bloggers. If you’re Manchester-based like me, have a gander at this Northern Quarter company.
Creating a series is a brilliant way to get viewers returning to your site. Make it something relevant to now: e.g. a new upcoming make-up product with different colour swatches being released over a short period of time. That way, once your viewers have checked out your first piece, they’ll be more likely to subscribe to ensure that they don’t miss out on the next instalment. Be sure to name each video with the same clause so that people know it’s the next one!
I know it’s lame as hell, but us fashion/beauty blogging lot – we’re big fans of all things aesthetically pleasing, so make sure that your videos are all-singing, all-dancing super edited masterpieces. The most successful V-loggers out there use all sorts of fades and effects to make their videos stand out from the rest, so be sure to do some homework before you just throw any old thing at YouTube. Remember, whatever you post in connection with your blog will represent you: don’t do a shoddy job!
It’s been nearly six long months and, were you as odd as some of my YouTube followers, I’d be receiving a new batch of “R.I.P Ebony” posts by now. Fortunately, I am very much alive and finally, so again is my blog. It’s been quite so long that it took me literally ten minutes plus to remember how to even log-in, nevermind plan my first returning post. In regards to excuses for my prolonged absence, I’ve recently been so barrel-scrapingly skint that squandering money on anything, other than dirt cheap children’s ready meals, has been 99.9999% impossible. However, today I’ve been absolutely blessed by my lovely friend Cally who has loaned the hosting fees to me, after I got scammed last week by a freelance client. Should’ve realised it was a scam when they started asking me to write about pills that ‘increase semen production’. You live and learn, eh?
So here’s a little update on me. Right now, I’m in Dover (yeah, quite a far stretch from my usual Lancaster), escaping after the absolutely tyrannous first term of third year. I’m going to use this week to get in some reading, masses of chilling out, tackling my gargantuan washing pile and, all-importantly, catching up with the beloved blogosphere. Expect lots of posts from me in the next couple of weeks – reviews, post about my DIY vintage fringe cut, rants… They’re all coming.
It’s good to be back.
And after finally checking out the hype – YES, I’m bloody happy about it. I saw the endless tweets last week, which caused a stir about the bizarre news that Primark was to finally be available online through everyone’s favourite online shopping portal: ASOS – but I was not convinced. The first thing I posted went along the lines of ‘OH shit, let me guess: the prices are horribly inflamed and have rendered Primark/ASOS into something completely alien to Primark, which is marketed heavily on its affordability’, so I didn’t bother having a look. And then I got tonsillitis. Probably karma for being a presumptuous cynic, but there you go – until recently, I hadn’t checked the line out. But hot damn, hats off to you guys: it’s impressive, and most importantly, quintessentially Primark-priced.
The main trends that I’ve noticed are sport/varsity, denim and florals (oh, and an odd array of random onesies – bit weird for summer), which all seem to be aimed at a younger buyer: I could quite easily see the entire range on the post-sixteen-year olds wreaking havoc on Leeds/Reading Festival, which’d be a nice change from the bum-revealing shorts that we ended up dubbing ‘womb-lining shorts’ by the end of the weekend last year, due to their lack of leaving much to the imagination. Anyway, the line is definitely young, flirty and really quite damn cool. Here are some pieces that I’ll be hoping to snap up:
1.Polka Dot Cut Out Denim Shirt Dress – £15 | 2. High Neck Cold Shoulder Crop Top – £6 | 3. Floral Print Prom Dress – £17
What do you think of the new collection?
