Author: stavvers

“The way things are”: smash patriarchy, smash kyriarchy, smash EVERYTHING

One year ago, I started blogging to celebrate International Women’s Day by pointing out that we’re miles off of declaring a victory for feminism and we should fight the status quo.

And we still are. I wish I could say that in this year a switch was magically flicked and everything got better for women all over the world. But of course it didn’t.

Perhaps it got worse. Or perhaps my eyes opened wider, drinking in seemingly every hideous facet of the mesh of lies we inhabit. The way things are, the excuse they trot out every single time, that this is somehow normal: it’s all a big myth. Nothing is all right, and it doesn’t have to be this way.

On International Women’s Day, we must remember that we are all connected. To some extent or another, we are all crushed beneath a complex set of power structures. We vary immensely in how much weight is upon us. To some, the burden is reasonably light; for others, intolerably heavy, an existence perpetually on the verge of buckling completely.

Too many people consider shedding their own load and tossing it down onto those below. This is not the solution at all, for we can never truly be free of the power structure. Our own load just feels lighter. The answer is, of course, to destroy the whole thing.

We must transcend borders, transcend class, transcend race and biological essentialism, sickness or health, age and size and sexual orientation. Each of these struggles is intimately connected, and we must fight on all fronts. We must maintain consciousness that our loads may be lighter than others, and act as allies to one another.

To make a ripple, we must rise together, and the ruinous way things are will be no more.

Kill the manic pixie dream girl

Manic pixie dream girls. You can’t go to the cinema or switch on to the telly without encountering a perfect little bundle of saccharine cutesiness in a floral frock, trotting out radio-friendly indie hits on a ukulele these days. From classic films like Bringing Up Baby, to recent indie hits like Garden State to our televisions in New Girl, the manic pixie dream girl is everywhere.   Hollywood papers over the shallow vapour of its female leads with contrived quirkiness and we get to pretend that there’s no sexism because the character makes an impact on the plot and characters.

Of course, this isn’t right. The manic pixie dream girl (MPDG) trope is sexist as hell. The creeping, insipid nature of the sexism inherent in this character archetype is harder to put one’s finger on; the veneer makes it difficult to tease out exactly what is wrong.

It is best to start with the original definition of the MPDG from film reviewer Nathan Rabin:

The Manic Pixie Dream Girl exists solely in the fevered imaginations of sensitive writer-directors to teach broodingly soulful young men to embrace life and its infinite mysteries and adventures.

Here, it becomes abundantly clear that the MPDG must exist only in relation to the male main character. The entire point of her presence is to bring a little bit of chirpy sunshine to the life of someone else. Without a man to mend, the MPDG simply cannot be: she will instead fall into other character archetypes. The MPDG is not a character with agency: she is a perky, pretty little plot device-cum-love interest. She serves the same function as the Magical Negro, with added sex.

The lack of agency of the MPDG is the most egregious problem with this character archetype, but it is far from the only issue. In its comprehensive collection of pop culture reference points, TV Tropes demonstrates two other characteristics common to the MPDG.

Firstly, the MPDG exhibits quirkiness in a very childlike manner. She is likely to be playful and carefree, climbing trees and bursting into inappropriate song. There is an innocence about the MPDG which enchants the male lead (and, presumably, is supposed to endear the audience to her, too). This childishness is infantilising, a fetishisation of youth. It turns an adult woman into a little girl, and it is intensely, tooth-grindingly patronising. While there is a wide spectrum of behaviour, and no woman should be expected to act in a certain way, it is telling that the media machine loves nothing more than to suggest to we women that we should never grow up.

Secondly, the MPDG is almost always meets the hegemonic Western “beauty standards”. We do not get to see a wide spread of ways in which a woman can be beautiful with a MPDG present. Can you think of a MPDG that is not Hollywood thin? A MPDG who is not white? A MPDG who is butch? My own mind is drawing a blank here. What we get is the standard leading lady that is perpetually shoved down our throats, but perhaps she will have blue hair to make this less immediately noticeable.

These two attributes are not unproblematic on their own, but taken with the existence only in relation to a man, the MPDG becomes a very unpleasant portrayal of women. The MPDG is the avatar of benevolent sexism: a portrayal of fragile femininity from which good stems. The MPDG completes her man, she is pure, she is a thing to be worshipped and is better than the man. Almost every item on the measure for benevolent sexism applies to the MPDG very strongly. This is why it is so much harder to decry the MPDG as sexist: many are not yet ready to admit the existence of benevolent sexism.

Even when subverted, the problems of the MPDG apply. There are instances, such as in 500 Days of Summer or Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind where the MPDG exists as salvation only in the mind of the male main character. Here, she still completely lacks independence: if anything, it becomes more of another tedious story about men than the trope played straight. In other instances, the MPDG will turn out to be some shade of crazy: perhaps she’s a psycho bunny boiler, or pretending to be sweet so she can get something from the male main character. In these cases, the trope slips from benevolent sexism towards its more recognisable, hostile cousin.

There is nothing that can be done to save the manic pixie dream girl archetype. It is sexist from top to bottom. The monotonous drone of narrative sterotypes reflects and magnifies attitudes towards–and resultant treatment of–women. The MPDG does not exist in a vacuum, but, rather in a world where benevolent sexism is still seen to be all right, giving men false hope that a tiny tornado of quirkiness will fix their lives, while suggesting to women that perhaps if they were prettier and completely subsumed themselves to the will of a man, they might get laid more. The MPDG is a fantasy, and not a very nice one for anyone involved.

This is not to say it is impossible to make a good film involving a MPDG. Many cinematic works considered brilliant contain Magical Negroes: consider much of Morgan Freeman’s body of work. Likewise, MPDGs can be done well: arguably, Marilyn Monroe’s character in Some Like it Hot is a MPDG. This does not mean we cannot critique these tropes: indeed we must, so that eventually, the fantasy of the manic pixie dream girl will die.

__

In this post, I might have criticised a TV show or a film that you like. Before you leave a comment telling me I’m wrong on the internet, please read this and this so you don’t look like a proper tit in the comments. 

The things we hope we never need

Trigger warning: This post discusses intimate partner violence

Sometimes it’s hard to keep up with the sheer number of cuts made by this sociopathic coalition of vampires. These butchers are chipping away at everything that keeps us safe. Over the years, they have trained us into individualism, and are now removing every single last bastion of support. They target smartly in surgical strikes. They attack the things we hope we never need, the things we don’t like to think about, the things that are so hard to imagine that we fail to adequately fight. Those immediately impacted are too vulnerable to resist. Those able to resist do not want to think about what they should resist, to entertain the possibility that these services may one day be necessary.

We do not like to think how fragile we are. It is a terrifying notion that we are all but one sickness or accident away from disability, that our lives could suddenly change. The privilege of being able-bodied is a difficult one to confront, so we barely notice when the people we don’t like to think about are forced into humiliating tests and then put out to work anyway. So many people do not receive the support that they need and go hungry, become sicker, lose the things that makes life worth living.

We hate to think of our own mortality, of the fact that one day it might turn out that that what seemed like a cough is the beginning of a slow slide into sickness and death. That’s bad enough. So when they decide that terminally ill people are living too long and cut their benefits, demanding they live out their last days being worked to death, it barely makes a ripple.

We do not like to entertain the possibility that we may encounter domestic abuse, despite this happening to thousands of people each year. We do not like to think that one day we may find ourselves in a situation where we must leave our homes if we wish to stay alive, and we will be unable to go to our friends or families, lest we are found or handed back to our abusers. We do not like to think that we may be so bullied and victimised we may find ourselves isolated from our support network. We do not like to think that we may need professional support, that we cannot simply sort it out on our own. And so they cut funding for the services that can provide this last resort.

We find it difficult to imagine that one day we may find ourselves without a home, that renting or mortgage payments can easily suddenly become too much and we can lose the roof over our heads. Yet many of us survive on the goodwill of landlords and the assumption that our bank won’t suddenly go under. They know we don’t like to think about this, and so they cut the benefits that would allow us to stay in our homes, they criminalise attempts to find shelter through squatting, and they even try to ban feeding the homeless on the streets. We do not like to think how easily we could be those people who are prohibited from receiving food.

We are all teetering on a tightrope. We daren’t look down, lest we see the rocks below and feel the immediate threat of being dashed to death. We must look down, and see that we have a safety net beneath us, and demand that it stays there.

Rape, the police and political point-scoring

Obnoxious reality TV star and Lib Dem Brian Paddick has done something interesting. Hot on the heels of his whistle-blowing about being asked by the Met to water down a report about rape, more revelations have emerged.

From years of experience in the Met, Paddick has identified certain problems–problems with which regular readers of this blog will certainly be familiar. Basically, the police don’t give a shit about rape. They often assume that the survivor is lying, they try to deny a crime happened for the good of their statistics, they subscribe to rape culture myths, and they just don’t get it. From his interview, Paddick seems to understand the seriousness of rape, and the set of attitudes in the police and broader society which allow rape to happen. It really is quite gratifying to see a public figure discussing these issues openly, and highlighting suggestions for how this can change.

Paddick’s suggestions are very sensible, involving a radical rethink in the way police and other parts of the system treat survivors. He also has ideas for poster campaigns targeted at dispelling rape myths, and offers support to advocacy groups. All in all, it looks bloody good, and it feels like a tiny little victory for feminism to see these issues being put onto the public agenda.

There’s always a but, though. There’s always a sneaky little catch, the barely perceptible string which rather spoils the whole thing.

Brian Paddick is running for Mayor of London. All of what he is saying forms part of his campaign. The criticism of the police only comes now Paddick is safely out of the institution, and control of it lies in the hands of a rival political party. His speaking out serves to discredit his opposition while bidding to win the votes of rape survivors and those who fear it one day happening to them. His suggestions–ideas put forward by feminists and advocacy groups for years–are not framed as things that should be done as a matter of utmost importance, but, rather, as campaign promises.

Paddick probably believes everything that he is saying to be right, and that’s because he is talking sense here. It is just that the stench of politicking rather sullies the whole thing. It becomes a matter of a better approach to rape being useful rather than being the right thing to do. Rape is a deeply traumatic yet horrifyingly commonplace event, and it should be fought against because it is a travesty that this happens, rather than because it might gain Brian Paddick a few more votes.

It is a form of blackmail, to use this as an election promise, particularly when it comes from a member of a party who are not exactly famed for holding to their election promises. All that he has proposed is things that should be happening anyway, not only as a component in a campaign. We don’t need to put a cross in a box in the vain hope that some bloke will possibly try to tweak the system a little bit. With his connections and platform, Paddick can serve as a useful ally, but ultimately the battle is ours.

It is we who need to fight rape culture where we see it. It is we who need to decide whether the state can ever be an adequate source of support for survivors and whether it can ever truly help right the wrongs that have been done. It is we who need to work towards building a safer world.

Rape is not a party political issue.

Rape and “no crimes”: this is a fucking travesty

Trigger warning for discussion of rape

A while back, I wrote about how for many women, not reporting a rape to the police can seem like the best possible option. Information which has arisen in the last week has changed nothing in this thesis: if anything, it is worse than I had previously thought.

A report by Her Majesty’s Inspectorates of the Constabulary and the Crown Prosecution Service on rape investigations has found some pretty worrying facts, but also some good news. More survivors feel able to report rapes to the police, and the police response has improved. On the other hand, police are failing to identify patterns of repeat offences and were using intelligence poorly.

Most worrying of all, though, is the incidence of “no crimes”. According to guidelines, a no crime should be:

Where following the report of an incident, which has subsequently been recorded as a crime, additional verifiable information is available which determines that no notifiable crime has been committed.

The two crucial constructs here are that the evidence the crime did not happen can be proven, and that whatever happened was not a crime. In rape cases, this sounds like it might be pretty difficult to prove, yet the report found that 12% of reported rapes were consigned to the no crime pile. These statistics often involve women withdrawing their complaint, which can be seen in this FOI request to South Yorkshire Police. There are obvious problems with this approach, and these are so apparent that even the police have noticed this:

In reality a rape that has been reported and then recorded as a crime, should only be “no crimed” if for example, the victim states that the crime did not occur. Even in these circumstances it should be anticipated that there would be further verifiable information available to support this, because our experience shows that victims may withdraw allegations because they cannot face the criminal justice process. In other words if there is any doubt the crime remains recorded. There is a key difference between a victim who retracts their allegation and one who withdraws from the investigative process.

Given the high prevalence of no crimes, it seems that the verification that no crime occurred is not being followed through adequately. In some forces, it was found that only 40% of the no crime decisions were actually correct.

This is a fucking travesty. Thousands of people who have shown the courage to enter the agonising process of rape reporting are being let down, and their complaints dismissed away to nothing. When even the police think it is a problem, it is a serious problem indeed. This has very serious implications. For the survivor, this must be a thoroughly horrific experience: he or she will be unable to access the support provided by the system, and will experience doubt and guilt over what has happened. More broadly, it will make it harder to identify repeat rapists if a crime is not investigated or recorded.

It gets worse. Former police officer, politician and rather irritating public figure Brian Paddick recently testified at the Leveson enquiry regarding his time in the Met. He said that he had been asked to “tone down the criticisms and water-down the recommendations” in a previous report on rape reporting and investigation. In the light of this, what has been identified in the recent report may well be downplaying the problem rather than reporting it accurately.

Certainly, in my reading of the report, it was difficult to find some crucial data. For example, the statistic that some police forces have very low levels of correctly no criming rape allegations was fairly well-hidden and no attention was drawn to it. The problem of burying bad news remains in a desperate attempt to maintain a good reputation.

This PR exercise has major ramifications and can ultimately only make things worse, rather than better. Rather than frantically flapping around to cover their arses, the police need to admit honestly to their failings to create real solutions. Trust in the police is low. Most rape survivors do not report their rapes to an institution that should, theoretically, be on their side and help amend what has happened to them. This is not happening: it is merely an illusion of aid.

People are being failed due to severe problems which may be worse than imagined. Lives may be destroyed. This needs to change.

Ad campaigns that need to die: transphobia edition

Advertising, as I have noted before, loves nothing more than to try to grab our attention by playing loudly and proudly to societal prejudices. It is hardly surprising, then, that transphobia features so prominently. Two campaigns have come to my attention in the last few days.

The first campaign provoked controversy when it first aired, and rightly so. In a short thirty-second advert for betting on a horse race, viewers are presented with images of women, some of whom are trans, and are invited to guess whether they are “stallions or mares”. A voice-over cheerily narrates “that one’s a man” “ooh, that’s a woman”, finally concluding with “dog… er, I mean man”, adding a charming little soupçon of misogyny to the mix. Every second of the advert seethes with transphobia, bristling with the form of everyday oppression faced by the very people who are the butt of this supposed joke. As one commentator puts it:

The problem with “spot the trans lady” though is that, for one person in the game, it’s really not that fun. Ask any trans woman. Most of us, at some stage, have faced the humiliation of strangers playing it on us, (I use “on” as it’s something that’s done to you, not with you, and rarely with permission). You know it’s coming, as you walk down the street, like any other member of the public, on your way to buy milk. You see the curious look in a stranger’s eye, the excitement as they wonder if it could truly be – if they could really have found someone as laughable and as exotic as you. You note their lack of subtlety as they nudge the person next to them. They walk by. Seconds pass. And, no matter how you try to prepare for the certainty of what comes next, the phrase “Is that a tranny?” stabs like a dagger every time.

I find it staggering that this advert is recent; it stings of something from a hackneyed seventies sitcom, tedious trope upon tedious trope. It is so overtly hateful, that it provoked a number of complaints. The people behind the ad responded with a fairly typical lack of grace.

“I’m really surprised that it has had some negative responses but overall it has had a mixed reaction. It won’t be pulled because we then run the risk of taking ourselves too seriously or pandering to political correctness.

To them, it is all a big joke. The issues mean nothing to the pack of cis men who make up the company’s executive board and marketing department, and anyone who kicks up a fuss must be some sort of hummus-munching killjoy, yet to blithely pursue such salient oppression in the name of a cheap laugh at a group of people who live under the threat of violence is sickening. Continuation of applied pressure in the form of complaints and boycotts may force a better apology, but if not, I’d give good odds for a well-deserved brick flying through their window.

The second ad campaign I spotted presents a less-immediately noticeable form of discrimination. It follows the latest fad for interactive billboards, using face recognition technology to identify the gender of the viewer, and only those it deems to be women get to see the ad. The stated aim of the campaign is to teach women about their sisters in developing countries and the oppression they face, while teaching men that gender discrimination exists by not letting them see the ad.

There are so many things wrong with this campaign that it is hard to know where to begin. First of all is the horrifying implications of the technology, allowing an era of ever-more-specific targeted advertising to take hold: think Google Ads with all of its data collection, but in the meatspace. Secondly, it seems misguided to believe that men do not know gender discrimination exists without letting them feel a little kick of oppression by denying them access to an advertisement. Likewise, women are unlikely to be the only ones who care about the plight of girls in poorer countries.

Perhaps most importantly, what of all the people who will be mis-gendered by this ad campaign? The publicity materials admit to a “90% success rate” in identifying the gender of the target, though it is unclear as to how this was piloted–on whom did they test the technology. I can see numerous instances wherein it would be difficult to determine someone’s gender based on facial features such as bone structure and jaw shape. Trans people are likely to be smacked with an ad targeted at their birth gender. Cis people who do not conform to the ideal standards of masculinity or femininity in the genes they are given are also likely to be mis-gendered, as will children: face shape changes during puberty.

New avenues for bullying and discrimination open up when in the middle of a public street, a billboard decides to label you. It seems as though this issue has not been given much thought.

One can argue that this campaign is for “a good cause” which will do good, and therefore should not be criticised too heavily.  This logic is faulty: any good it can do is at the expense of others, and transphobia has no place in feminism. The number of people helped by a billboard advertising a charity is likely to be smaller than those harmed by the existence of the billboard. We must be critical of this campaign in order to help effect change.

Ultimately, these ads buy into the myth of acceptable targets. Whether by malicious bullying or unthinking ignorance, advertising still buys into the myth that it’s all right to dehumanise trans people. It is an unflattering reflection of societal attitudes on the whole, and these attitudes must change. Taking out these adverts is a good place to start.

Dear Unilad, reloaded: an application

Unilad are advertising for new writers. I couldn’t resist…

Dear Uniladmag,

I notice you are looking for new writers who are–as you put it ‘banterous’. I should very much like to apply for this position.

I have several qualities which I feel would be of vital significance in my contribution to your publication, and which your current and former writing team appeared to lack.

Firstly, I have a good command of the English language, and do not make up stupid words like ‘banterous’. Indeed, my command of English is so comprehensive that, unlike your former and current writing team, I actually understand the meaning of the word. Your present gang of witless wankrags appear to lack the basic intellect to construct a good joke and are amused by, frankly, very worrying things.

This brings me on to my next point, Unilad. With me on the writing team, you’ll never fall prey to the dreaded Twitterstorm, as you will sort out all the shit in your backyard. I will not have you lot belching out guffaws of K Cider laughter at the notion of violent crimes, and develop a higher calibre of discussion than ‘Ooh, boobies’.

With my help, Unilad, you could cease to be the furtive wank-material of a Lynx-reeking fuckstain.

Looking forward to hearing from you!
Stavvers xoxoxo

Update: Unilad replied! It looks like they just can’t take the banter:

Thank you for your application. We regretfully decline.

As it looks like they are going to continue to be a festering pit of misogyny and grunting tedium, I wish all the best to my fellow applicants Chris Coltrane, who wrote a satirical application so good they may just fall for it, and Chris Nicholson who put it gloriously succinctly. I have now decided to apply to compile cryptic crosswords for them.

How to banter (without being a nasty little prick)

This is one of those posts I can’t believe needs writing. Moving in the social circles I do, among intelligent and sensitive people, it’s easy to forget that unpleasant, obnoxious individuals exist in the real world rather than merely popping up in the pages of the Daily Mail.

I banter with my wonderful, intelligent, friends, and it is a hoot. Banter is fun, it’s lively, it’s an art form in and of itself. Outside of this bubble, though, it is something else. It’s used as nothing more than a word to add a veneer of acceptability to bullying, to oppression, to being a witless tosspot who fancies hurling a bit of abuse around without being called out on it. This is most obvious in the recent Unilad fiasco, where banter translates as threats of rape and violence for its braying mob of fans, though it has also been used as an excuse to cover for unacceptable language from pointless oxygen-bogarts Jeremy Clarkson and Ricky Gervais, to name but a few.

And it’s not on. Were banter-masters Oscar Wilde or Shakespeare alive today, they would wince at the sorry state of their art form. It’s time to reclaim banter. It’s time to kill the popular perception of banter as nothing more than bullying.

What is banter?

Numerous dictionary definitions of banter exist, and all fall on the same two crucial characteristics. Surprisingly, UrbanDictionary manages to sum up the meaning of banter rather well.

Supple term used to describe activities or chat that is playful, intelligent and original.

Banter is intelligent. It is witty wordplay, a game of verbal jousting. Banter is also playful: it is harmless, fun and pleasant. Vast swathes of the “banter” that the gaping chancres of lad culture struggle to preserve fall completely short of both of these goals.

Banter and wit

Most of the population believe they are more intelligent than everyone else. Statistically, almost half of them must be wrong in varying degrees of magnitude. It is due to this effect that grunting nincompoops tend to believe that their banter is worthy of Shakespeare himself. Chances are, you are nowhere near that level of greatness. You would probably find your arse intellectually handed to you by Stephen Fry and wander off thinking you had won, because that’s how your brain is set up.

Be aware of this; be wise to the fact you are probably not as clever as you think you are. You will be less likely to defend your banter tooth and nail if you consider every word to pour from your mouth to be a fecund fountain of foetid faeces.

A rather useful heuristic for checking if your banter is in the slightest bit witty is to imagine a six year-old child saying it. If you are faced with an amusing mental image of a precocious child saying something incongruous, then you might be on to something. If that hypothetical child sounds right at home speaking what you believe to be a blistering comeback, you probably lack the art of banter and should accept defeat.

Playing safely

The point of play is that it is fun for all involved. In some scenarios, there can be a fine line between play and abuse, wherein one person is having fun while the other is not. Banter is one such scenario. Sex is another. We can learn rather a lot from how to play safely in a sexual context and apply these insights to our banter.

The key thing here is enthusiastic consent from all parties. Some people don’t like to banter. This is fine, and you shouldn’t inflict it on them: it doesn’t mean they lack a sense of humour. For those that do, some topics are likely to be off-limits. If your verbal sparring partner appears to be upset by one of your remarks, apologise. Again, they do not lack a sense of humour. You (probably) unintentionally upset them, and most decent human beings do not revel in hurting others.

In short, exercise sensitivity and don’t be a cunt. I cannot believe there are people out there who do not understand this very simple matter.

Topics to avoid

Let us remember that humour hinges on something unexpected. It is therefore completely unacceptable to drag everyday oppression into your banter. Avoid misogyny, racism, ableism, homophobia, transphobia and class hatred, for example. People from oppressed groups experience derogatory language and treatment throughout their lives. It ceases to be funny fairly quickly.

In a few select instances, it may be all right to use such topics in your banter. In general, it tends to go down better when your jests are about oppression itself rather than the colour of your banter partner’s skin or their genitals, e.g. Ultimately, make sure it is all right with your banter-buddy. If it is not, then, once again, they are not at fault.

Public banter

The internet age has pulled banter from the parlours and pubs into the public domain. Other people are now party to your banter. Your banter may not take the form of a conversation at all, but a piece of writing. Even the conversations are visible if you are bantering through Facebook or Twitter. In this case, be super-mindful of all of the above. Perhaps the person you are tweeting at doesn’t mind you joking about rape. This does not mean that the whole world doesn’t mind you joking about rape: you may be called out on this by a complete stranger.

Once again, don’t be a dick. It is not their fault for being offended. Take this criticism with good grace.

Banter is an art, and it is one I would like to see survive. By not acting like a prick and by exercising intelligence, banter can be saved.

Nothing says “I love you” like reinforcing stereotypes for profit

Sometimes I wonder if the capitalist calendar is marked not by months, but by abstract concepts from which to draw profit. March is the month of maternity; October, horror; April, rebirth by the medium of chocolate. And so forth. February happens to be the month where romantic love is the money-spinner, by accident of having the feast of an early Christian martyr plonked squarely in the middle of it. This has been twisted into tawdry pink cards, oversized teddies, lavish dinners for two, knickers, flowers and chocolate. Nothing, we are told, says “I love you” like excessive consumption.

To sell this idea, the marketers and media-types operate in stereotypes. It’s easier for them, that way. In the first few weeks of February, therefore, we are bombarded with narratives of “getting him to propose” and “getting her in the mood”, because of course men only want to get laid and women only want to get married. The tropes of hegemonic monogamy are paraded around, playing on the niggling fears of the masses that they may end up alone if they do not capitulate and buy that heart-shaped box of champagne truffles.

It’s all grindingly awful for those of us who do not subscribe to the ideals of the default brand of monogamy. It is probably worse still for those who believe, but are single. It is the sort of thing that makes one want to leave the country and head far, far away, were it not for the fact that flights seem to cost more in the middle of February due to the glut of minibreaks for two. Instead, I learned to filter out the monotonous drone of “BUY BUY BUY”. It is only the truly terrible that makes it through. This year, I have noticed–rather fittingly for National Monogamy Day–two particularly horrid ad campaigns.

While walking through Waterloo, I encountered a set of billboards featuring a model in underwear covering herself with a bunch of flowers. LOVE STUCK? it proclaimed, before breathlessly telling me to hold my smartphone up to the poster and view it through an app to “see the model come to life” and get gift ideas. I didn’t bother. I guessed that what would happen would be that the flowers would fall away, leaving the nubile young model prancing about in her scanties. One quick Google later, and I was proved right.

This ad campaign features several of the oppressively tiresome Valentine’s Day ad tropes. It essentially says “Hello men! I know Valentine’s Day sucks, but if you buy her some nice undies, she’ll have to let you look at her in a state of near-undress. Then you’ll probably get to have a go on her tits.” It unabashedly, unashamedly advertises to the male gaze, taking the objectification of women to giddying heights. The only thing that differentiates this ad campaign from the dull static hum of the rest of it is the technological side of things. It is, at its heart, the digital age equivalent of pens that reveal a naked lady when you click the top.

The other campaign that came to my attention was one flogging gin, using the folk tradition of women being “allowed” to propose on the leap day by putting on murkily misogynistic events. Here, if you are a woman, you can learn “the knowledge and skills to trap your man” in a way which is presumably unrelated to how the words “gin” and “trap” traditionally fit into a sentence together. In order to provide equality in advertising, men may attend a “school for scoundrels” where they may learn how to “retain their liberty”. I would say that implicit in this campaign is the stereotype that women want commitment while men do not, but it is actually spelled out in the top of their publicity materials. 

Far too many young women run the risk of a Horrendous Disappointment – and too many men may succumb to dread ‘Commitment’…

What is to be done about such egregiously awful ad campaigns? So much of what they are trying to do is to gain attention, and by being so overtly hideous, they are bound to draw the eye. I have purposely avoided naming the brands in the post for this reason, and I have a personal policy of not buying from brands whose advertising has really pissed me off.

The problem is not so much that these campaigns will cause controversy: neither campaign has provoked more than a tiny murmur of frustration. The issue here is that to most people they are eye-catching not because of their flaws, but because they’re a little bit different, a little bit exciting. There is a fine line to walk between discussing misogyny in advertising and accidentally publicising companies that blithely push stereotypes to make a little bit more money in the post-Christmas slump.

The fact is, it is simply not acceptable to turn humans into cartoonish parodies: the ogling, horny man and the woman who will do anything to marry him.  It is patronising, dehumanising, and reinforces a power structure which reifies these archetypes, while wiping away any person who does not conform. This wearisome shit needs calling where its seen in the faint hope that one day we can chip away enough that February is just a short month and if you fancy giving a lover a present, then that’s absolutely fine, but nobody’s going to try and make you.

There is no ad-blocker for life, unfortunately. We need to work around that.