Sod the sisterhood...

I’ve never been a girls girl. My friends from a very young age have been predominantly boys, I find them more straight forward, less bitchy (though they can be terrible, straight and gay), direct, don’t play mind games and fun.
However, I consider myself a feminist. But a future forward thinking one.
I’m thankful and have the utmost respect for my sisters before me who paved the way for the liberation of women (though we still have long way to go for complete equality) but I don’t hate and chose to get on with things and go so far to elaborate, celebrate and intensify femininity in the way I dress.
I’d consider myself a street feminist. I’m more down with Paglia than Dworkin and McKinnon.

I like gutsy, ballsy, get on with and ‘be it’ women. Those who aren’t passive, personally or in the work place. Those who breed because they want to not because they are expected to, inspirational women who work in whatever way to make the world a more interesting place and those who don’t hate men or other women because of politics or jealousy.

Unfortunately, I don’t like around 60% majority of women I meet. I might be one, but I just don’t understand them. Maybe this is because I choose to surround myself with men. Maybe its because I fancy them and see women and see them in a different way. Who can say?

Despite this, I hate to see women getting treated badly. I’ve jumped in between a man aggressively arguing with a woman on several occasions. Sometimes thanked, sometimes getting a mouthful from the abused woman leaving me thinking ‘why should I bother?’

After performing at The Dirty Red Ball on Saturday (which went really well…see footnote) and walking towards the bus stop in Angel, I saw three young men verbally abusing a woman waiting for the bus. One saying he was going to punch her, another saying that she really wanted his cock and would love it, the other calling her a lesbian. I decided to sit next to her for moral support.
Once they started to move on, I asked her if she was ok and commented that they were childish idiot boys with brains in their pants.
She retorted by saying “Well if you’re going to do something, go and smash their faces in. Don’t just sit there”.
I didn’t know how to respond to that. I was just trying to be ‘sisterly’ and ended up getting a mouthful.

On Sunday I went to a photo shoot in Finsbury Park so decided to pop into the drag emporium that is Paks. I placed a can of hairspray, three pair of lashes, a comb and some wig caps on the counter and a voice behind me said “Why the fuck are you buying black products?”
I turned to a young mixed race girl and said “Pardon? Are you talking to me?”
She ignored me and then said it again. I asked her who she was and why she was giving me grief? She responded by saying “I bet you’re a middle class rich girl, got loads of money yeah?”.
Again I asked what was her problem, who the hell she was and would she please get out of my face.
She started muttering something and then started shouting “Yeah but no but” until the startled guy behind the counter told me to ignore her.
I was is shock and oddly disturbed when she walked off shouting “Yeah but no but” (chunky I may be but I’m no Vicky Pollard).

First off, since when is buying goods from a wig shop ‘black’? I’ve thought a lot about this and could write plenty but its just too much of an astonishing and ridiculous statement to question or argue.
Secondly, I come from a working class background. We were quite poor. Family holidays were spent camping in England, our first car was a second hand Morris Minor and we lived in crappy army houses. Who the hell she is to judge me and what difference does it make anyway? Finally, it isn’t anyone’s business what I buy. In my baseball cap and jeans, I don’t come across as a show girl but this isn’t anyone’s issue if I decide chose to use them myself or shove them up my arse.

After the shoot, I popped over to Shoreditch House to see Jonny Woo do some new material. I decided to keep my makeup on but put my ‘day clothes’ on to travel.
I got on the first train and a woman opposite stared at me with distain and tutted loudly. When I got a wig out of my bag to play with it, she snorted and moved further up the carriage, occasionally looking over and shaking her head.

Fuck the sisterhood is all I can say.
This is not representative of women of course. I just had three rather tedious run ins with women over the course of a weekend which tainted my view of them.

Women are generally envious and judge each other, something I believe to be naturally inherited. For the breeders, they want to appear the most attractive to get the most attractive mate to spawn attractive children so it makes sense that they are competitive with other women who may coax their potential mate away. But to be outright bitchy and unsupportive of each other, is it any wonder I’m not a fan?

I guess I’m a straight, gay man in a queer womans body if that makes any sense.
I don’t understand women, neither do most straight blokes but I’m flamboyant and camp like many gay men are. Yet I’m like any other woman. I bleed, am emotional, get a buzz from finding bargains when shopping etc

I get energised and excited when I do meet amazing women because I find them inspirational and stand out from so many dull, submissive, manipulative and annoying women who either tow the line of what is expected of their gender or are overtly aggressive about it. (I dislike hardcore feminists as much as I don’t like anyone who is aggressively fanatical about any form of religion, philosophy or movement).

Women are amazing, beautiful, intelligent complex creatures but generally and unfortunately, I’m not down with my own gender.

The Dirty Red Ball was very much a female affair, you could smell the oestrogen and despite the above, was a great night. I performed in the cabaret room which without being biased, was the best room in the building. Jonny Woo, Dusty Limits, Barefoot, John Sizzle, burlesque routines and me.
I did a piece based on my recent break up with my partner. Very cathartic.
Started off with my entering the stage to find a letter saying “I’m breaking up with you” and breaking into the Thelma Huston version of Don’t Leave Me This Way (even though John played it just before I went on during the fire alarm going off…everyone loves a reprise eh?). This then mixed straight into The Supremes’ Stop in the Name of Love where I altered some of the lyrics to make them personal to my situation, then Kelis’ I Hate You So Much Right Now while tearing off the heads of flowers with my teeth and went into comedy hysteria. Through all this, the lyrics change from please don’t leave me, stop before you screw me up, anger and finally absolution. I’m heartbroken but its going to be fine and I’ll move on. So the last track of the piece was Doris Day’s Que Sera Sera. Nice to see arms swaying and joining in.

Really glad with how it all went and got a surprising amount of positive feedback.
I’ve told my ex about it and she found it fairly amusing. Yes we are friends and for that, I’m glad.
Writing and performing it has made me has confirmed that things do eventually get better after a break up and to quote myself ‘time heals everything’.
Just because I‘ve written it from a personal point of view, heart break is universal and anyone who has been through it can relate to it and hopefully, get a bit of strength from it.

Like always, I’ve a few things in the pipeline but I really must concentrate on my finishing my Masters daaaahling.
Holestar ND, BA, MA, (pending) DISCO


PS This is stuck to my wall. Funny but so so true.......

1 comment:

  1. The gig sounds great. But please don't call hetros "breeders". I've not heard it used in other than offensive fashion. Sorry to sound santimonious