Why feminism is still important

There are some things in this world that we don’t really need anymore, or if we do need them, we only find a use for them once every five years or so. We don’t need cassette players because everything is either on CD or download. We don’t need telephone boxes because we all have mobile phones now, and telephone boxes always smelt like urine, anyway. We don’t need Emmanuel Adebayor because we’ve got Robin van Persie (when he’s not injured, that is), just like we don’t need feminism because we’ve got...

That’s the part that I struggle with: working out what it is that has come in and replaced feminism – because I look around me now and all I see is young women and girls shoving chicken fillets down their bras and queuing up to buy a former page 3 model’s latest novel, whose contribution to said novel probably didn’t extend past the main character’s first name. You ask these girls and young women what their aspirations are in life, and either they won’t know what ‘aspiration’ means, or they’ll tell you they want to marry a footballer or go on The X Factor.

How people choose to live their life is their own business, and not for a second would I wish a woman to sacrifice her happiness for a job with more prestige just because it’s more ‘respectable’. The problem is that I don’t believe many of these girls are happy. How can you be happy if you live your life striving towards an almost completely unobtainable goal? How can you be happy if you want to be a singer but can’t sing, if you want to marry a footballer but the only ones who will look at you play for a Championship side and already have wives, or if you want to be a model but your breasts are too small?

You can have surgery, of course. Surgery seems to solve most of the world’s problems these days. You don’t really need to be able to sing if your face and body can do the job instead (going back to what I said earlier, I guess we don’t need Aretha Franklin because we’ve got auto-tune now), and if you’re a B-cup and only attracting attention from Championship footballers, move up to a DD-cup and I’m sure John Terry or Ashley Cole at least might throw you a bone (pun not intended). But what happens when you’ve had the surgery and that’s still not good enough? Do you keep going? The breasts are bigger but the bum is still too small; you’ve fixed your nose but your chin is still a little wide; your ears have been pinned but you’ve still got that mole under your eye; your tummy has been tucked but your lips are still too thin. When you’ve finally exhausted all of the above, then you can move onto labiaplasty (if you don’t know what that is, it’s when they perform plastic surgery on your labia to make it look prettier), and then maybe go out to a club with nothing but a belt covering your nipples, and hey presto: you’ve made it! (Or at least until the next talentless nobody comes along and uses her HH-boobies to barge you to one side.)

Just because women won the right to vote doesn’t mean that we can all hang up our knickers and call it a day, but according to some, that’s it now: mission accomplished. Apparently, we now have all the rights and freedom men have. 94% of rapes go unconvicted in the UK, but that’s OK because ‘sexi ladies’ get free entry into clubs before 11pm; men earn 27% more than women, but what the hell are we complaining about? We get to dance round poles half-naked because it’s fun and empowering and we’re taking control of our sexuality!

The thing that saddens me most about my generation is that it does not know what feminism is and therefore cannot judge whether or not we need it. We’ve all heard that feminists are lesbians, have hairy legs and hate men; it’s funny, because 300 years ago, any woman who went against the status quo was accused of being a witch and burned at the stake. Obviously these days we can’t go around murdering women just because they happen to be capable of independent thought, but call her a feminist and people will automatically assume she’s nuts and disregard anything she says, so at least in that sense little has changed since the times of witch-hunting. But just for the record, let me set one thing straight:

Feminism does not care if what makes you happy is being a doctor or a model, a lawyer or a singer, future Prime Minister or stay-at-home mum, but feminism does care that you are happy, and that the decisions you make about your life are based on what you want, and not what our patriarchal society has led you to believe is important. Put ten teenage girls in front of this article and I bet you that nine out of ten of them will tell you that they know their own mind, but the reality is quite different. If you are one of those ten and you often find yourself dreaming of fame and glamour and men falling in love with you, ask yourself this: are you happy?

Now tell me we don’t need feminism anymore.

Maybe it's because I'm a Londoner

I was at Elephant and Castle underground station the other day (not because I wanted to be; line closures forced me to take a massive detour), and noticed a poster advertising all the wonderful things about being a Londoner. One of them went something along the lines of “Joining the army of commuters with your cup of coffee.”

I stood there for a couple of minutes, waiting for my train, glaring at the poster like it had just said “Yo mama” to me. Maybe it’s just me, but I don’t think that being sandwiched between a person with bad personal hygiene and a mouth-breather first thing in the morning is something to celebrate. Don’t get me wrong, there are plenty of things about London that I love: I love the fact that you never have to walk for more than five minutes to find an open shop (even though that shop most likely won’t stock what you need); I love the diversity, and the fact that even if 99% of people get on your nerves, there will always be that massive 1% who are completely amazing; I love that it’s home to Arsenal FC; I love the fact that you can travel across the entire city without a single person talking to you. In fact, I’m not sure I would be able to live anywhere but London.

But because I was born and bred here, it’s my right – no, it’s my duty – to talk about all the things I hate about London. It’s therapy.

1.   Too many people. There are 7.5 million people in London, and sometimes it feels like all 7.5 million are on my train, in my carriage, breathing on me.

2.   You could die, right in the middle of the street, and no one would stop to see if you’re OK. They might slow down and look at you with a puzzled look on their face, but help? There's probably more chance of them stealing your shoes.

3.   People walk really slowly. I don’t know about you guys, but when I’ve been at work for eight and a half hours, when I’m tired and I have to be up early in the morning, I just want to go home, eat my dinner and go to bed. Some people appear not to mind stretching out their journey. They might dawdle, get in front of you and then stop to stare at the wall, or walk backwards, I kid you not.

4.   Tourists. I’m sure I would be equally irritating if I went on holiday, but since I haven’t been on holiday in ten years, I cannot sympathise. Is it really necessary to wear such massive rucksacks which hit me in the face as you clamber onto the tube awkwardly? Must you take pictures of me as I eat my lunch? Believe it or not, our underground system seems to be somewhat of a tourist attraction. Come to London, where you can experience for yourself what it’s like to have your face squashed up inside a smelly stranger’s armpit. Sounds exciting.

5.   If you are very old, very young, pregnant, or have a physical disability, do not expect a seat on the train, bus or underground. Everyone buries their heads in their newspapers when any one of the above climb aboard.

6.   No gratitude. Last year, I tried to offer my seat to a young child. The mother of that child yelled at me for getting in her way as I stood up.

7.   House prices. Apparently, I am never leaving home.

8.   When I blow my nose, the stuff that comes out is black. Yummy.

9.   Our mayor is Boris Johnson. If the rest of the UK thought the same way Londoners do about politics, we’d probably have The Monster Raving Looney Party in government right now... Actually, maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing. At least it would keep the Tories out.

10. There’s no point in having a car. I passed my test in 2006, having spent over £1,000 on lessons and tests, and now I wonder why I bothered. Not only are cars too expensive to run, but in London, there’s nowhere to park, and if you want to go anywhere exciting, you have to pay the congestion charge.

Rest assured I have more than 10 things I hate about London. I will most definitely be back later, when my anger with those 7.5 million people has gathered some more momentum.