Lady Gaga is a force of nature. So was Madonna. Victoria Coren is a modestly fierce arse-kicking entity. And that's about it for female role models on my part. I'd love to add Caitlin Moran to that list but her narrow-minded views on parenthood and general sweeping comments on what we've all experienced nark me off a little. Whilst she can still idolise Germaine Greer, extracting her 'nuts' view on trans issues, I can't fly the Moran flag with enough confidence yet.
You know who else I do include in the list, however? Eva Holloway. She works at The Junction in Harborne. She didn't go to University. She's a year younger than me. She spends money like a drunk Greek and spends most of her time impersonating one. But bloody hell she is brilliant. Her attitude on nights out, events and parties is that if she doesn't take up an invitation she's missing out. Even if there isn't an invitation, if she gets wind of her friends going out and doesn't have plans already, she'll be there in a shot to get a slice of the action. Fantastic. I can't imagine her quietly enjoying a film at 7pm unless she finished a previous night at midday and is nursing the mother of all hangovers. Only once have I had to cheer her up.
On Saturday night, I was a very grumpy version of a woman. Various elements of the evening were adding to me being disgruntled. Eva bravely and fearlessly pinched my cheeks and said, "Cheer up grumpy-gills", maintaining similar attempts whenever we crossed paths. Of course she understood that my retorts - variations of "I hate you so much right now" and "I will hurt you" - were all in jest and my way of appreciation for her efforts. What a fantastic person. She finished that shift at about 10pm when, I'm sure, she joined and caught up with one of her friend circles for some sort of unbelievable night.
I'm glad Caitlin included a chapter about role models 'and what to do with them'. The majority of it is an account of an interview with Mother Monster followed by a vodka-fuelled visit to a sex club in Berlin with the beautiful hurricane herself. The disappointment of this chapter falls with the acceptance of glossy magazines to the tune of OK!. It's tripe. Really, giving a quid to my housemate would be more beneficial (he'd stick it in his pocket then lose it down the back of the sofa or spend it on a bag of coffee to be consumed within two days). Moran gives some balls excuse for buying OK! in the form of it being the only accessible piece of literature that keeps us up to date with the female role models of today. Sorry, what? Female role models of today are the Kardashians, Kerry Katona and whoever reality TV decides is 'hot'? No, no, no. On top of this, the only thing we care about these icons of the XX chromosome are how they look in bikinis, how awful their hair is and who designed their shoes.
I can side with Moran in that since the vote we've been faced with the pressure to actually produce something worthwhile but react more so like a deer in headlights or being woken up after a long sleep to be forced to tell a good joke: "Er, two drums and a cymbal fall off a cliff?" For most of us, it'll take a while to warm up. For the excellent few, however, it would be hugely appreciated if the mainstream consciousness could let go of the pressure to find fault in female celebrities and celebrate how bloody fantastic Lady Gaga's voice is (as well as her artistic flair, her commitment to her fans, her determination to express herself rather than her record label's front, her political activism, her fight for equality and her incredible resilience).
My despair stretches as close as Google. Curious whether Mother Monster has released, or is due to release, a new album, I start typing her name. Auto-fill suggests 'Lady Gaga weight gain'. Since when did a music artist's produce centre on her body fluctuaton? What is wrong with the world? At least Moran is conscious of this in some respect. She urges her readers to stop revolving around weight loss and accept that human-shaped is fine.
Women: quit concentrating so hard on your body shape and focus a little more on being good at what you're good at, whatever you identify that as. And find inspiration close to home. My Mum is awesome. At roughly 50, she finally quit her mundane job and went to excell herself in an entirely different field. And she keeps surprising herself, bouncing back from knock-backs. You're never too old to make some amazing happen. Or too young. Or too middle-aged. As Razorlight once enlightened me, it's the distance you travel and the fields unravel rather than the bars on your cage.
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