Foxes and Feminism

I was brought up by parents who were (and still are) feminists. They taught us that no-one should be limited by their gender (or class, or race, or disability status, or sexuality, or all those other tick boxes you see on forms) but that, world over, they are. We were dressed in gender-neutral colours, we cooked, we gardened, we climbed trees, played football, played with Sylvanians... We wore clothes that were handed down from my sister, our baby-sitters, the boy down the road, the girl across the field - they were just clothes (I mostly favoured a heady combination of orange leggings and a lime green t-shirt). 

When I cut my hair short with the kitchen scissors behind the sofa, my dad neatened it up and I chose never to grow it long again. When I was seven, I decided I didn't want to wear a skirt or dress to school, so they bought me some trousers and shorts. I was the first girl at my primary school ever to wear trousers; people teased me but I didn't care. A couple of years later, a few more girls were wearing trousers. I bet if I went back now any girl who wanted to would be wearing them without question. What can I say? I'm a trend-setter. 

I went into a primary school in London quite recently and asked the pupils to divide the list of jobs I gave them into 'Jobs for Boys' and 'Jobs for Girls'. I felt like I had been transported back to the 1950s when they wrote:

BOYS

Farmer

Doctor

Lawyer

GIRLS

Nurse

Beautician

Receptionist

In a secondary school the other day, we discussed what words girls who are perceived to be sexually active get called. They said:

Slut

Sket

Whore

Hoe

Slapper

Slag

Thot

[700 more....]

I probably get new ones every month. Then I asked them what boys get called:

Player

Legend

Man-whore, man-sket, man-slut...

One of the girls looked at me and suddenly her pupils went big and she just said: "But that's not FAIR!" I looked back at her: "Of course it's not". And then I taught them the term 'double-standard' and we talked about why it might be there and how we could try and get rid of it.

What can I say? I think (I hope), I'm making my parents proud. Certainly my Dad's eyes went equally big when we had a conversation recently about to what extent gender was essential or socially constructed; he had a light-bulb flash the next morning and turned to me over breakfast and said: "I could wear a nice dress if I hadn't been socialised not to". Yes, Daddy, yes, you could.

A couple of weeks ago I got married. I heard afterwards that my mum had gone around telling the guests it was a 'feminist wedding'. Was it? I don't know - I'm not sure what the criteria would be. It was an excellent wedding. It was excellent because I got to marry the person I'm in love with. The WOMAN I'm in love with. And because it didn't cost too much, the food was great, we made it ourselves, people danced The Snake like children and sang 'She'll be coming round the mountain', getting sweaty and kicking off their shoes. We used, ignored, altered and borrowed traditions, based on if we liked them (no-one 'gave us away' *shudder* and our mums walked us down the aisle, but my father still gave a speech because he's ace at speeches). It was excellent because everyone there got to bear witness to our love and commitment to each other and to celebrate it with us. And because my beautiful wife made a speech about same sex marriage which made half the room cry (men and women), and we toasted Equal Love and sent our hopes and our love across the world to those who aren't as lucky as us and are punished for 'doing nothing more radical than loving each other' (as Gem said over the noise of tissues being madly scrabbled for). 

Posers.

Laura Bates, of Everyday Sexism Project fame, wrote in her article 'How to have a feminist wedding' in the Guardian last year: 'Until I told my friends I was getting married, I didn't know marriage and feminism could be considered mutually exclusive'. Marriage has been branded an out-of-date, patriarchal institution (cue comments about property, chattel etc), and although when I was little I used to design wedding dresses with a particularly artistic babysitter, I'm not sure if I ever thought I'd wear one. A friend of mine recently said, "I don't know why anyone bothers getting married any more. Unless it's a right that's previously been denied to them." Could I use this as a handy Get Out of Feminist Jail Free card? Should I need to?

For me, equality is about opportunity and choice, having the right to choose. Cool if I don't want to get married, but if I want to then why should my genetically identical twin be allowed to marry her boyfriend if I'm not allowed to marry my girlfriend? And people might say we're 'aping' heterosexuals (I found Straight Expectations a really grating read), but a) there's nothing like a really animalistic term to degrade someone, and b) why should commitment be considered 'heterosexual' anyway? Equality is partly the right to legal recognition, and although that might not sound sexy, I like that my wife and I are now legally family.

Growing up, my mother always said, on the topic of changing your name: "It's one man's name or another". She'd changed her name when she married, no biggie, no desperate attachment. Yet over the years her views have changed and she has now begun expressing her disappointment at any of her daughters changing their names upon marrying. I think my view has secretly always been more based in vanity than politics and I'd always thought I'd just go with the better name. Massey-Chase isn't super hard to beat (although some people have, in recent years, bizarrely expressed their love of it, when I was younger it was a bit of a yoke/joke). My mum also hadn't anticipated our rather unique situation. It's not one man's name or another. My wife, Gem, doesn't have her dad's surname. Or her maternal grandfather's. Her dad is a massive shit, so she changed it a few years ago to a name of her own choosing. And who doesn't like Fox(es)? I don't know whether I would have changed it or not if this wasn't the case. I quite like Massey-Chase now. As a freelancer, generating and collecting my own work, it is also my currency, my reputation. So - solution: I'm using both. 

I am Kate Massey-Chase for work.

I am Kate Fox at home. For me, Gem and the extended skulk. And, hopefully, one day we will have fox cubs and we will all share our own, chosen, name as a family.

So, yes: I am a feminist fox. 

It's amazing what you can find in google images...

Facilitate (said in the 'exterminate' voice)

Here I am, facilitating. With the fan heater pointed directly at me. And biscuits on the table. I know how to work.

There is also an errant ironing board, which has nothing to do with me. I don't iron my own clothes (nothing wrong with the shake and 'hand-iron' rub), let alone facilitate domesticity in others. For that sort of thing, indeed to make it easy (sophisticated pun on the etymology of the word FACILE-itate), I'd be better off handing over to my good friend, Lotta Quizeen.

She even knows how to fold a fitted sheet. And since I'm moving in with my girlfriend this week - and apparently the bed is not an acceptable place to leave a cereal bowl, who knew - I might be in serious need of some tips from Lotta, in the 'rituals, responsibilities and realities of domesticity'. The beautiful Miss Fox not only has high standards, but also has an impressively popular blog (it's a good thing I'm not competitive, she lies) as a platform for mocking me. Might need to up my game. And stop looking confused when she mentions cleaning products I've never even heard of, let alone knew you needed a special product to clean whatever it is she's brandishing. I wonder if Lotta does home visits?

Feedback

Everyone needs a little confidence boost sometimes. I certainly needed one this week - not due to work, just life-stress. And this fitted the bill perfectly:

I come for the educating, I stay for the compliments!

These general feelings of self-worth were also aided by the fact that two of my recovering addicts group on Monday skipped their one-to-ones to come to my session, feeling it would be more beneficial. I love my sessions at CRI (Crime Reduction Initiatives) - the adults in recovery are so insightful; I learn so much from them, and always appreciate their honesty, humour and integrity. I also laugh so much at some of their stories. And when they finish a session by saying:

 'I didn't want to come today, cos I thought it was going to be shit and not for me, but actually...it was alright, y'know'

 'This is the first time I've made eye contact with anyone in the group and I've been here two weeks'

 'I haven't laughed this much in ages; it's great just to be a kid again, or maybe for the first time, cos I never got to be a kid much when I was one'

 or

 'I'm going to play this game with my little boy on his next visit - I think he'd like it'

there is no feeling like it. What can I say, I'm a junkie for this shit. I need it. I love it. I want more. So I keep doing my workshops, and yes, sometimes people walk out or don't turn up, but when they do, my god they can astound me. 

Puurrrfect

New Year's Eve, 2012. 

I haven't written a post in ages and to make up for it I'm letting you in on a secret regarding how cool I am: I'm writing one now; I'm not an a party; I'm not shit-faced. I'm writing a blog post. And (as my students would say) what? As a complete sentence, obvs. And what? You need to to do the eyebrows and the hand gesture to go with it, to really convey the sentiment. 

I'm having a wicked evening. And by writing this blog post now, I'm actually making myself feel more relaxed. Cos not writing one for such a long time has meant that I keep putting off writing one, because there's a list of about seven posts I've half written on the bus in my head that I want to write before I write the next one. But screw it. It's the end of the year, and one of my resolutions will definitely be to write more on here. So, this is the segue post. I bloody love the word segue.  

NYE is a time to reflect. Whether we want to or not. And despite being 25, I've reflected that it's OK that I'm spending the evening with my beautiful girlfriend, having an indoor picnic of tasty treats, and playing with the cats. Rather than lashing it large. We might even have a bath later and read some Caitlin Moran. And watch Jools. There's alcohol in the cupboard if we're feeling extravagant. And did I mention there are CATS. Jasper and Jessie, the newest addition to the family. They're rescue cats and a bit mental, but hey, that just means they fit in. Although none of our family have a penchant for hiding under beds, going and sitting in the bath at every opportunity (oh, except maybe Gem - being clean is one of her favourite things; sometimes I think she prefers long, hot baths to me. And I know she prefers baby animals), and licking plastic bags. I think the second parenthesis was really important in that last sentence; she's Miss Fox, not A fox.   

My mum bought us treats from M&S (feeling guilty, I think, that she's got a more active social life than us) and we're in a house where there's heating and everything. We are lucky. We are. I've got a cold, which I've given to Gem, and once it's turned midnight we might go to bed, but right now I'm happy. She's got a job in the new year; I've got ten. I need to sort out my work-sanity balance, but that's a job for tomorrow onwards.

So, I'll being saying HELLO TWENTY THIRTEEN (is that what we're calling it? Has the consensus been reached?) with Gem, Jessie, Jasper and Jools - which almost entirely alliterates!!! What could be better?