This Girl-on-Girl Action Ain’t Sexy

I was recently utterly enraged by a couple of articles on the Metro website, which claimed that women should know by now that it is practically illegal to venture out in public without first either shaving or waxing their underarms, and that to transgress this long-established social law is to announce to the world that they are disorganised, dirty, and lacking in self-respect and in that mysterious quality known as “class”. To let other people see your hairy pits, claimed the author, is both disgusting and unacceptable.

The articles focused on the so-called “major beauty faux pas” made by Pixie Lott at the London premiere of the latest Batman movie, at which she flashed a spot of pit fuzz; the journo in question likened it to a similar incident over a decade ago when Julia Roberts proudly aired her (admittedly rather more copious) armpit-carpet at the London premiere of Notting Hill. The photographers went nuts on each occasion, of course, which is why these non-events got in the news.

Stunned that such petty bile could be deemed true journalism, through a red mist I scanned the offending pages. I was looking for the name of this perpetrator of male chauvinism and despicable misogyny, this no doubt doddery old bastion of alpha male behaviour holding out stubbornly against the progressive views of a modern society. And then I found it. Amy Duncan. Hmm, that’s a funny name for a bloke.

Well, it turns out that I’m just plain old naïve – and, in my own way, sexist – because not only is this woman expounding the views I most commonly associate with “unenlightened” males, but she is very much not alone in this activity. Apparently, tearing down the fragile walls of female self-esteem is extremely lucrative – if you’re a woman. The Daily Mail’s “Femail”, for example, is a veritable breeding-ground for these shallow, scathing and often pointless attacks on women, by women. It’s big business – but why?

According to psychology studies conducted at two universities in Canada last year, women are programmed to behave this way. We’re in competition with other members of the same sex, and often feel threatened by those we perceive as more attractive than ourselves, which invariably leads to hostile behaviour, such as that which abounds in most newspapers and in every women’s magazine on the market. The authors of the studies, T. Vaillancourt and A. Sharma (both female, just so you know), maintain that once we have acknowledged this behaviour we can begin to address it. After all, if we were incapable of breaking our programming and of controlling instinctual behaviour, then rape and paedophilia would be socially acceptable. Saying that women are “born to be bitchy” (thank you, Claudia Connell of the Daily Mail, for that one) is really just an excuse for not trying to improve our behaviour – but I doubt that women like Amy Duncan will ever amend their views based on such silly things as rational arguments, scientific studies and the ideal of behaving decently to their fellow humans.

Oh, I should be sorry for picking on you, Amy – after all, you’re just one of many awful women who seem hell-bent on making the rest of us feel like shit, and singling you out sort of makes me as bad as you, I suppose. I promise, though, you were just the closest example to hand (I did try picking on Liz Jones, but that’s a real minefield there). I mean, come on – you’re condemning Julia Roberts for being “totally unaware of the furore she had created” when people caught sight of her armpit hair, all those years ago. You know why she was “totally unaware”? Because it wasn’t a “furore” to her; it wasn’t even an issue. And to judge by Pixie Lott’s lackadaisical Twitter response to this latest outcry, it isn’t an issue to her either, so your horrified bleating is a bit of a lost cause there as well. I’d love to know why this kind of thing bothers you – and so many other women – so much. Going by the results of Vaillancourt and Sharma’s studies, I would assume you feel threatened by these beautiful celebs, who are so imbued with self-confidence that they can happily attend high-class functions without worrying themselves into a frenzy over whether someone might be judging their armpits. Or perhaps you are genuinely disgusted by body hair on a woman, in which case I would imagine that you’ve been made to feel ashamed of your natural physical state over the years, which again points to low self-esteem. Is this why you’re trying to make other women feel insecure: so you’re not alone?

As someone who has always been just a bit paranoid about her own underarm hair, mostly as a result of knowing that these callow bitches are on the lookout, what surprised me most about the photos of Pixie and Julia was how un-gross a healthy crop of pit fuzz looked alongside a pretty dress. Sure, it was different, but it was also completely natural and entirely their own damn business. It’s emboldened me, pit-wise, I have to say. Certainly less “disgusting” than, say, a red-raw axilla cut almost to the bone by over-shaving, or sporting the red welts that so often come after a wax. I’m not in the habit of elevating pop singers and actresses as role models, but on this occasion these confident, carefree women are leading the way, whereas the venomous proclamations of Amy, Liz and all those other self-haters are just holding us back.

The Genius Behind Celebrity Culture and Tabloid Journalism

The word ‘celebrity’ is one used so often now it has virtually evaporated into the realm of nothingness. Where once it was used to denote someone worthy of ‘celebration’ and signify a prominence in the public consciousness, with ever expanding media outlets, sports, films, music, television and opportunity for pure notoriety, nowadays the label is thrown about just as liberally as if we were labeling ourselves.

In 1961 a man called Daniel J. Boorstin wrote a book called The Image: A Guide to Pseudo-events in America. In it, he defined celebrity as “a person who is known for his well-knownness”. Saying that due to a technological revolution, ease in communication and a cultural change in journalism, that the term had “severed fame from greatness” – effectively saying the relationship between what you did and how famous you were had become virtually non-existent. That was over 50 years ago.

In 2012, rich and famous like Kim, Khloe and Kourtney Kardashian, Paris Hilton, Katie Price, Amy Childs and more are some of the many individuals who have risen to the forefront of our awareness, becoming household names and making millions to boot – but for what? An interesting characteristic of the phenomena that is 21st century celebrity culture, is it’s peculiar (at worst, vulgar) fascination with personality, rather than craft, creed or contribution to society. ‘Celebrity’ enthusiasts in 2012 are much more likely to care about a star’s ‘dirty secrets’ (which in all, aren’t that secretive) than they are to find out about their latest film role or album they’ve spent nine months molding in a high-rise New York studio. The perception of what equates to success has changed drastically, who gives a fuck what you do – as long as people pay attention. Even the idea that modern ‘reality’ stars represent a fascination with character is flawed; I mean, look at this video of Kim Kardashian on Alan Carr’s Chatty Man – I’ve seen turds with more personality.

So if celebrity culture is so vacuous, empty and superficial, what’s the big deal? Where does the fascination, obsession, exposure and fortune come from? The answer is altogether a more clever affair.

If you’re a citizen of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, you’re probably aware of one of the less appetising aspects of our nation. While our Broadcast Journalism oozes sophistication, sensibility and stoicism (a trait that makes the likes of yankee Fox News look like a live feed from a mental asylum) our newspapers, tabloids and print media is where our share of the nutjobs lie. With an obsession with scandal, exclusives and sensationalism wrapped in a confidently crude preoccupation with anyone off the telly – the British press and magazine stands present a fertile patch for celebrity culture to grow, and grow, and grow.

The thing is, the likes of OK!, More!, Hello, Now and every other similar magazine in existence (not to mention the tabloid’s gigantic appetite for anything ‘celeb’) are widely assumed to have a tough job on their hands. You’d be forgiven for thinking that your favourite members of the rich and famous are much too busy to deal with the likes of an army of Entertainment Journalists, and that the thought of a gabbling sweaty intern looking for column inches would be enough to convince anyone to temporarily abandon the public sphere in favour of a glass of champy and a bubblebath in private seclusion. No, not quite.

The fact is, whether it’s our luminous “prince charming” Peter Andre, or DIY SOS presenter Nick Knowles (no, i’m not even fucking joking) every single one of these ‘celebs’ will rely on these publications to some extent, whether it’s an extra buck or the basis for their entire wellbeing. Kerry Katona might rant on about ‘press intrusion’ and respecting privacy, but if it weren’t for her staple in the British magazines and tabloids, she’d be behind a till at Tesco, on top of the mountain of ‘those who were famous but aren’t anymore’. There’d be no TV interviews, no reality programmes, no fly-on-the-wall documentaries – because nobody would give a flying fuck, simple as.

‘Dramality’ programmes like TOWIE, Made in Chelsea, Geordie Shore and Keeping Up With The Kardashians essentially survive on coverage of the cast’s extra-curricular activities – and others’ interest in them. Now, imagine if the entire media simultaneously stopped giving a fuck; these people would drop off our radar like a sack of shit, but they won’t. Extroverted, fame hungry individuals like these present an opportunity for endless content, it’s a dream come true.

The magic thing about Celebrity Culture is it’s virtually self-sufficient. Publications need their column inches, celebs need their space in the spotlight, less they face the reality of a life of perceived ‘mediocrity’ – no attention, no sequins, and no glitter and champagne. OK!,  Hello and their compatriots are willing to satisfy this desire in return for endless details of your life, elaborated emotions and saucy stunts. Their very presence fortifies the myth of what’s hot, who’s in fashion, who’s worth talking about and who isn’t. Their ability to create and manifest their own stories and plot lines, only for people to lust after them later is at best a con (and at worst a travesty). The fact that Britain’s biggest selling newspaper has a Politics section dwarfed 10-fold by its Entertainment coverage is a sad sign to say the least, all the worse considering it floats on a bed of bafoons. And I’m sorry, if you’re still paying money to read about Kerry fucking Katona 11 years after she left Atomic Kitten, you’re a moron mate.