'You only work in a shop you know. You can drop the attitude." EDINA MONSOON

Tuesday, 6 December 2011


Being home allows me to catch up with the modern world via the sad and depressing world of reality TV. Having witnessed my first episode of 'Desperate Scousewives' I couldn't help but think 'yeesh, these girls don't half look rough with all that heavy foundation.' Never once in my life have I ever wanted to look like a man in drag, but apparently this resemblance is the key goal to their efforts. How laborious it must be to spend THAT LONG getting ready everyday to still end up looking terrible. And yes, they DO look terrible. Haggard, unnatural and devoid of any idividuality that might suggest an iota of personality under all that orange slap.  But the most repugnant aspect of their lives (and a reoccuring theme within this integrity deprived world of the faux celebrity) is their awful fixation with money, especially when considering potential suitors. Get a grip girls! Large wallet doesn't equate happy ever after! Did Disney teach you nothing?!  Combine this with an absolute and misguided belief that the more expensive something is, the more worthwhile or glamourous it must be brings a whole new level of meaning to the phrase 'money can't buy you taste.'

After ranting at my mum about not being able to understand this 'celebrity' culture and wondering who the hell buys the Katie Price paraphanelia let alone how people could ever find her a useful role model for young women (she's famous for her bouncey castle tits. Like, come on people!), I came across this (heavily abridged) attack on the insidious 'glamour' obsession of modern women in today's Guardian by Harriet Walker:

'Their style is more porn than practical and terrifyingly, we're told they exist in the same sphere as the rest of us. The rise of this sort of 'celebrity' doesn't just give rise to anorexia and insecurity- it also goes a bit further towards making us hate the every essence of being a woman. Our breasts are not big or pert enough, our skin not silky or hairless enough, the hair we haven't had compulsively waxed off must be supplemented with acrylic ringlets; our clothes must be tight and tiny....Our towns are filling up with pornified Barbies, with walking talking blow-up dolls. The cult of sex industry glamour, the beauty regime that takes up every waking minute, has become the most insidious aspect of our pbsession with celebrity culture.'

I couldn't have said it better myself, really, I couldn't.

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