The Gender Politics of the Royal Wedding.

 

From “Theory: Why Women Care About Princesses” by Echidne of the Snakes on Jezebel:

“… What is it that little girls seem, once again, to be emulating in their play? Cinderellas and ballet dancers. I believe that the reasons for those choices (by their parents and the toy industry and the society) are the same old ones: Here are role models for girls which apply even in a world of gender inequality, yet don’t truly alarm more egalitarian parents. Those role models are not that different from the models given to boys: football players, space heroes, characters with gigantic muscles and super-powers. That they are fewer and more anemic goes with the territory of gendered expectations.

“Sure, children grow past those types of toys, and they even grow past the gender-policing stage. But perhaps something remains, something which is then evoked by a royal wedding in women or a football game in men.”

Related: The Royal Wedding: The Other Event of the Decade?

Elsewhere: [Jezebel] Theory: Why Women Care About Princesses.

[Echidne of the Snakes] Homepage.

Images via Legitimate News, Vipfuly, Coco Perez.

The Royal Wedding—The Other Event of the Decade?

Today is Friday (Friday, everybody’s looking forward to the weekend…), 29th April, and you all know what that means: it’s the Royal Wedding, y’all!

Granted, I couldn’t care less, but I will be spending the evening on the couch with some books and mags, tuning in every now and then to check on the festivities (namely Kate’s Her Royal Highness Princess Catherine’s dress and to perve on Prince Harry).

(I also have a special event of my own occurring today that takes excitement precedence, and that is getting my first tattoo!)

But with an expected audience of 2 billion people, is this the event of the decade?

It hasn’t quite been ten years since September 11, so is it possible that the Royal Wedding could take the terrorist attack’s place as the most significant event in the past decade? (On that note, what about Japan’s earthquake, tsunami and nuclear crisis?)

It’s hard to compare the two: one was one of the most horrific events in human history that changed the way we think, act and feel, the other is an exercise in royal extravagance and tabloid obsession.

2001 to 2011 will be book ended by the saddest and happiest televised moments.

How will you be spending the day?

Related: Apocalypse Now: 2012 Come Early?

Images via Think Progress, Great Dreams.

Kate Middleton is Nothing But an Accessory.

 

From “Falling Stars: The Plight of the Windsors” by Peter Conrad in The Monthly, February 2011:

“Some feminist critics complain that during the decade Kate spent waiting for William to propose, she worked only one year, as an accessories buyer for the fashion label Jigsaw. I’d say this was astute training for her role, since she is to function as an accessory.”

Image via This Memphis Belle.

On the (Rest of the) Net.

How to “cure” a feminist.

Zoe Foster at her absolute best in her ode to “second day spaghetti”. Perhaps she should consider penning a food column in addition to relationship and beauty advice?

Overthinking It on the differences, but more so, similarities, of “California Gurls and California Girls”. One choice titbit: “The popsicle melting part means that California girls are sufficiently attractive that, under the right circumstances, they will cause men to ejaculate. Just in case Katy Perry didn’t make it obvious enough with her coy and artful wordplay, ‘popsicle’ means penis.”

More on Katy Perry and how she’s now claiming to be a gay icon. If you think back to her first song, before the success of “I Kissed a Girl” (“which panders to my least favourite cliché ever, that of the straight girls who make out at frat parties to turn on frat boys”), entitled “Ur So Gay”, it was insinuating that being gay “was the ultimate, be-all, end-all putdown to someone that treated her wrong.”

Matriarchy in Glee.

Also at Overthinking It, the likeability of male characters versus female characters is discussed. Hint: female characters aren’t likeable, even if the male characters they’re being compared to are sociopaths.

Jezebel on owning your sluthood:

“… Sluthood isn’t an action, it’s a state of mind.

“I’m telling you this because my sluthood saved me. Sluthood gave me the time and space to nurse a shattered heart. It gave me a place where I could exist in pieces, some of me craving touch, some of me still too tender to even expose to the light. Sluthood healed the part of me that felt my body and my desires were grotesque after two years in a libido-mismatched partnership. Now I felt hot, wanted, powerful. My desire and enthusiasm was an asset, not an unintended weapon.”

You go, girl!

Lifehacker offers up the “Top 10 Tips for Better Writing”.

Hugo Schwyzer on “The Problem With Being ‘Sexy But Not Sexual’”.

“The Televised Guide to Teen Girl Friendships”, featuring My So-Called Life, Full House and Popular.

Jezebel explains our (but not my) interest in the royal wedding by way of Disney:

“For me, an American pop-culture junkie, Prince William and Kate Middleton’s engagement means one thing: She gets to be a Princess. And seriously, some part of me, formed when I was three or four, believes that this means she will be dressed by birds, wear clothes sewn by tiny mice, and have woodland creatures as friends. Oh, sure, there’s a handsome Prince, but more important are the jewels! And the singing! And the castles! And the woodland creatures.”

Apparently positive people live longer. Good news for me, then!

“Do All of Us Need ‘The One’?” at The Ch!cktionary.

A rant on the annoyance of ignorance:

“… In our infoculture, it takes work not to expose yourself to interesting ideas, facts, news and points of view… the average person online spends seventy seconds a day reading online news. Ouch.”

New York, I Love Hate You:

“New York, I won’t miss your fierce morning halitosis exhaled from your subway grates along Third Avenue.

“I won’t miss you drooling on me from your high-rise air-conditioners in the burning heights of summer.

“I won’t miss how… to me you always smelled like Camel Lights, and warming urine, and the No. 14 busa perfume I never could quite embrace.

“New York, I’ll never forget how dating you made me so poor that when I wanted to read I had to unscrew a bulb from the bedroom and carry it to the living room.”