As soon as I started reading Caitlin Moran’s “part-memoir, part-rant” How To Be a Woman, I devoured it. Moran is so sane, and as a result, makes me feel less insane, like most funny feminists do.
I earmarked most of the book, while making “unnuhhhh, yeahhhh” noises as I read. I picked up a lot of what Moran was putting down, especially her assessments on both bikini waxing and strip clubs:
I can’t believe we’ve got to the point where it’s basically costing us money to have a fanny. They’re making us pay for maintenance and upkeep of our lulus, like they’re a communal garden. It’s a stealth tax. Fanny VAT. This is money we should be spending on THE ELECTRICITY BILL and CHEESE and BERETS. Instead we’re wasting it on making our Chihuahuas look like a skanky Lidl chicken breasts.
(did I mention she’s very British?)
On strip clubs:
Recently it has behoved modish magazines to print interviews with young women, who explain that their career as strippers is paying their way through university…look!, clever girls are doing it- in order to become middle-class professionals with degrees! I can’t believe that girls are saying “Actually, I’m paying my university fees by stripping” is seen as some kind of righteous, empowered, end-of-argument statement on the ultimate morality of these places. If women are having to strip to get an education- in a way that male teenage students are notably not- then that’s a gigantic political issue, not a reason to keep strip clubs going.
Strip clubs let everyone down. Men and women approach their very worst here. There’s no self-expression or joy in these joints- no springboard to self-discovery, or adventure, like any decent night out involving men, women, alcohol, and taking your clothes off. Why do so many people have a gut reaction against strip clubs? Because, inside them, no one is having fun.
Moran isn’t breaking new ground here, but she’s making a shit ton of sense.