A Real Grown Up Conversation About Armpit Hair

OK, come on then, sit down. It's time we had a Grown Up Conversation. I try and not talk about gender politics too much, but tough, my blog, I'll write what I damn well like. So. Grown Up Conversation.
OK, one quick funny first. NT and I were looking at the website of a Berlin sex club which Lady Gaga once took Caitlin Moran to. It has an event called 'Filthy Farm'. The description for this event was simply 'FARMER'. This is simultaneously the most and least worrying description on the website. 
So, Conversation. I want to talk about hair. No, not head hair, or vagina hair, before you start going on. You're just putting your own filth in now. No, I want to talk about armpit hair. 
You just flinched, didn't you? Don't deny it, I can tell. 
So, long story short, if you are a woman/girl/lady/drag queen, I do not care if you have pit hair. I do not think it makes you any more or less of a woman. I don't think that it makes you 'masculine', or dirty. I think if someone really cares that much about whether or not you shave your armpits, they really need to reconsider their life choices. 
A lot of people recently have been talking about vagina hair, and the two different parties on the topic seem to be either 'you should shave it, it makes you prettier to men', or 'you don't need to shave, it's a waste of time and makes you look like a twelve year old'. Personally, I'm with the second group. I don't really care if you shave your lady bits or not, and I don't think it's my place to tell you what to do, I just don't see why everyone seems so fussed about it. 
The whole lady shaving thing kicked off with legs, somewhere in the twenties. A company thought  "Hey, the birds are starting to get their pegs out, how can we make a bit of cash off the back of this?" and hence, the leg razor was born. Armpits were the next to fall, and vaginas (vaginae) came quickly after, succumbing to the wishes of the lady razor. It literally is nothing more than a marketing ploy, that somehow managed to crate a social taboo. I remember a while ago, Cosmo ran an article where they dared a journalist to go a month without shaving her pits. She reported that if she raised her arm in a club to summon the bartender, he would flinch. All I have to say to him is grow up. Men do not shave their pits, and no one cares. Why should it be such a social boundary for a woman to occasionally say, "No, not now, I'd rather watch Eastenders than scrape a very sharp piece of metal over my skin at the moment".  
I admit, I do shave my armpits. Of course I do. I go to secondary school. Not shaving my armpits would be like wandering around school with a huge 'kick me' sign on my back. But instead of being stuck to my back, it would be nailed to my forehead, and instead of saying 'kick me', it would say 'please bash my face in with a hammer'.
Two of my biggest role models are Amanda Palmer, and Louise Brealey. Both very talented women, and both massive feminists, and both very, well... feminine. Amanda does not shave her armpits. She appears in nearly all of her music videos half naked, makeup on, and armpits hairy. And she doesn't look disgusting. She just looks strong, and a little bit sexy. Louise Brealey is currently appearing as Helen of Troy, in a play called The Trojan Women. In one scene, she has to appear naked. She wrote an article for The Times, talking about how much it terrified her, to go on stage in front of a hundred people, night after night and drop her towel to the floor. She also wrote that to help herself, she grew out her armpit hair. The feeling that she didn't have to follow the beauty ideals of society made her more confident. 
And this is what I'd like to impart to you, whomever may be reading this. You do not have to have a perfectly round arse to be sexy, and neither do you need to have naked armpits, or stick glitter to your vag. Strength is sexy. Promise. 

Bereavement Mood Swings And Custard Muscle

My Nana died on Saturday. Which is a god-awful beginning to a blog post, but I really just need to put it out there at the moment. For those who don’t know, Nana, or Nan, is a colloquial term for Grandma, usually maternal. I have (had?) my maternal grandmother, Nana, and my paternal grandmother, Grandmama. Spot the posh side of my family. I dare you.
We've been expecting this for a long time, if I’m honest. She’s been ill for months, which caused quite a bit of disruption in our house, before she was finally rushed into hospital last Thursday. She died very peacefully in her sleep, and we’re all just glad that she isn't in pain anymore. 
Because she’s been ill for so long, we've all been reacting quite oddly to it all. Mum’s been on tenterhooks for the last two months, and now it’s finally happened she seems to have relaxed, and stopped being so nervous. Which is nice, but has also given way to, what I call, custard muscle. This is a made up disease, where someone has been tense for so long, that when they finally relax, they become a puddle of custard on the floor, and then fall asleep.
Personally, I don’t think it’s really sunk in yet. I found out in the afternoon, on Saturday, while I was at a Welsh farmers market with my Dad, (see, posh side). Mum rang me up, and we had a very brief sob, before I put my mascara back on, and went to buy a lot of cake. Today I’m referring to it all as ‘bereavement mood swings’. I've spent the day either clinging desperately to everyone I know, or screaming at them to leave me alone (sorry, Ben). 

This is the song that’s been getting me through the day week month. It’s one of the very few songs that I've ever listened to and gone, “yes this is exactly how I feel and also the most inspirational thing in my whole life”. So I kind of recommend that you listen to it. 

While I’m here, I’d also really quite like to thank imjohnlocked for this stupidly lovely review of my fan fiction, If Your Memory Serves You Well. Gave me the push I really, really needed, although I'm pretty sure I don't deserve it. Also to Holli, for being my human teddy bear/hairbrush/masseuse.  Thank you. xx

Trying to stay optimistic, things that are great this week:
Kimberly and Pasha dance to Those Magnificent Men
Anwen and I upset some social justice bloggers with a post about tea
This photo of Robert Pattinson

Just A Quickie

Oooh, I haven't been on here for a while.

OOPS.

Live with it, it's my blog. ANYWAY, I've been busy. Like really busy. Let me tell you...
So I had my school play, which, oh God, it was amazing. Honestly, we did Dahling You Were Marvelous, a mostly unknown comedy by Steven Berkoff. It's an ensemble piece, featuring a horse of stuck up actors, directors, writers and designers all waiting for their big break, alternately complementing and bitching to each other in a ritzy West End cafe, after a show. I was playing a bloke (har har har), called Sid, a left-y fringe elitist, with a passion for expensive champagne. I loved him. 
My Dad moved house! He's in Wales now, in a sweet little bungalow, near his mum and my step mothers parents. It's nice, I know the area pretty well, and I've got my wee doglett up there, so yeah, Lot of getting used to, but it's nice. Also, I have a kick ass en suit. 
I have my grade seven speech and drama exam in two weeks! Don't get me wrong, I'm looking forward to it, but OH GOD it's scary. I have one last piece to learn, as well as my theory. It'll be fine. It'll be fine. Fingers crossed. 
On a similar vein, I'm doing a concert with my singing teacher next month, which, I'll be honest, I'm terrified about. I'll be doing a solo (!!!) of Let It Snow. I have to sit down, or I do the Nervous Sway. To be honest, I never stop doing the Nervous Sway, so I think I'm ballsed for life. 


THINGS I LOVE THIS WEEK

Neil Gaiman's books
Amanda Palmer's music 
This photo of the Queen
This blog post about Merlin

Whats new on my tumblr... 

Fuck Yeah Thespian Peacock is my life