“…let’s face it, next time you lose your remote control, it’s going to be easier to have another one delivered by a robot through a conveniently open front-room window than it is to effortfully take all the sofa cushions off, and see if it’s fallen down there.”—Caitlin Moran on our Amazon drone future | Times UK (via megcouch)
“Out of seven billion possible conversations, the one you started in 1995 and haven’t finished yet is the best one I’ve ever had.”—Caitlin Moran, 30th November 2013, “To my husband: 14 things I love about you.” (via poopingoutwords)
“Love isn’t about drama and tears and burning. It is, instead, the construction of a tiny bubble-world – like a snowglobe. One in which you stand, in view of everyone, on the mantelpiece. Sometimes it is calm inside the snowglobe. Sometimes everything turns upside down, and it fills with a panic of snowflakes. But you were made as the two tiny figures in the snowglobe, hands joined, and you do not make sense anywhere else.”—Caitlin Moran on love (via fuelledwithtea)
I won an award last week, as this page subtly hints. In the cab on the way home, this made me reflect on the entire nature of “awards” and “winning”, as I entered a philosophical fugue state, wearing only one shoe, knocking back the free miniature gin from the goody bag while taking 900 selfies of the award wedged in my mouth.
“between 10.30am and 4.30pm you might as well be looking at a single, still photograph of me, with that music playing underneath it that they used to use for The Gallery on Take Hart.”—Caitlin Moran on being a writer [x].
“Men are obsolete? Man, that I should be this obsolete: holding 99 per cent of the world’s wealth, totalling 66 of Forbes’ “71 Most Powerful People In The World” list, being every single pope, American president and secretary general of the UN, and in charge of every military force on Earth. If this is men being obsolete, I’m intrigued to see what they will be able to achieve once they’ve downloaded some manner of software update.”—Caitlin Moran: Women may be the hot new thing, but men still hold most of the power | The Globe and Mail (via megcouch)
“Nearly every aspect of modern culture addresses teenage girls as a newly formed problem that will take a long, expensive, often painful lifetime to fix. This messy, loud, exploding 12-year-old will – by the time she’s 14 – have learnt to shave/wax her pubic hair, her legs, her underarm, her arms. She will painstakingly straighten her hair every morning, before school; pluck her eyebrows; expertly apply foundation and mascara until doll-like and smooth. You only have to stand in a shopping mall on a Saturday to see a crushing, nervous high-maintenance homogeneity of appearance in teenage girls that you don’t see in boys of the same age, happily lolloping around in jeans and unwashed hair. A teenage girl will not see anyone – not in TV, movies or photoshoots – who looks like her when she first gets out of bed. Teenage girls looking into the mirror of society to see themselves will find that they do not exist – until, of course, they paint their faces on, and pluck, and shave, and put aside their comfortable shoes for those thin-soled ballet pumps, through which you can feel the pavement, like vulnerable street ballerinas.”—Caitlin Moran, ‘How to be a girl’ - The Times, 09/11/13 (via empoweringredlipstick)
“So this is why I can’t agree with “don’t feed the trolls.” When millionaire celebrity broadcasters and entire publications start trolling, ignoring them isn’t really an option anymore. They are gradually making trolling normative. We have to start feeding the trolls: feeding them with achingly polite emails and comments, reminding them of how billions of people prefer to communicate with each other, every day, in the most unregulated arena of all: courteously.”—Caitlin Moran (via ciaoveneca)
“Masseuses do not operate on the same principles of feedback as sexual partners. For years, I presumed the masseuse would want some kind of “commentary” – to know if they were doing the right thing. Until recently, the method I used to indicate this was a series of “happy noises”: “Mmmmm,” “Phwoargh,” “GET IN THERE!”, etc.
This all ended a year ago, after a reflexologist came to my house. Although the whole experience was delightful, there was one particular spot she hit – on the side of my ankle – that was exquisitely pleasurable.
“Oooh, can you do a bit more?” I asked, when she tried to move on to a new spot. A minute later, she tried to move on again. “Keep going!” I said. “Mmmmmmm! MMMMMMM! Oh God, yes.”
When the massage finally ended, she moved away from me rather rapidly. “Out of interest,” I said, to make pleasant conversation as she rammed her treatment table into a canvas bag, “what area of the body is represented by that bit I kept getting you to do?”
“Your vagina,” she said, bolting from the house.”—
Caitlin Moran - “Agony and ecstasy on the massage table”, The Times - 19/10/13
“It’s difficult to see the glass ceiling because it’s made of glass. Virtually invisible. What we need is for more birds to fly above it and shit all over it, so we can see it properly.”—caitlin moran (via justroise)
“You should write, write, write every day, and learn to edit and pare it right back so you’re proud of every sentence, and each one is either being useful or beautiful, but hopefully both.”—caitlin moran (via pura1vida)
“The bill is filling up SO quickly with three amazing and famous actresses on board to read the testimonies, and with Caitlin Moran, Suzanne Moore and Nina de la Mer performing, and with SINGERS, that I’m struggling to keep it down to an hour. But I personally don’t care for sitting still in theatres too much, and I love the idea of an hour of sorrow, then three hours of DISCO! All the while raising money and consciousness for this great cause. So I think I will be MERCILESS with our poets - three minutes tops!”—
Julie Burchill Raven, writer and trouble maker, founder, End Of. (via theendofproject)
“What is feminism? Simply the belief that women should be as free as men, however nuts, dim, deluded, badly dressed, fat, receding, lazy, and smug they might be.
Are you a feminist? Hahaha. Of course you are.”—How to Be a Woman? -Caitlin Moran (via crush-the-patriarchy)
“Lipstick is such a beautiful idea. Once you’ve seen Elizabeth Taylor wearing something the colour of damask roses, it’s hard not to want to join in.
But what you have to ask yourself is this: what are the practical implications of applying a thin, greasy layer of highly pigmented ointment to the part of the body that talks, eats, drinks, smokes, sucks nitrous oxide out of balloons, kisses, gurns, gets two fingers put in it to whistle for a cab, often makes first contact with the ground when you fall, and is right next to the unfortunate yet undeniable capillary action of the lady-moustache?
Let’s be honest, using lipstick is like painting your front door with jam – a very jolly idea, but one ultimately doomed to failure. You’re just going to end up with jam all over your doorstep and your front door looking, at best, patchy.
We either need to start putting lipstick somewhere with far less through traffic – I nominate “the forehead” – or just give it up completely.”—Caitlin Moran - ‘My make-up mantra’, The Times, 21/9/13 (via empoweringredlipstick)
“When did feminism become confused with Buddhism? Why on earth have I, because I’m a woman, got to be nice to everyone? And why have women—on top of everything else—got to be “lovely” and “supportive” to each other at all times? This idea of the “sisterhood” I find, frankly, illogical, I don’t build in a 20 percent “Genital Similarity Regard Bonus” if I meet someone else wearing a bra.”—Caitlin Moran, “How to be a Woman” (via kfeldbauer)
As the end of 2013 hoves into sight, CW feels it’s getting to the point where one can point at things and go, “Yep. Yet, that is the most unexpected headline of 2013. Even if random words were being picked out of a hat by a team consisting of Lear, Dali and Stanley Unwin, then arranged in the most unlikely sentences they could conceive of — backwards — this is still more wiggy and ‘jazz’ than that.”
And so to Monday’s thrilling newsflash, “Mumford & Sons Thrown Out Of Atlanta Strip Club”.
If you do not know of Mumford & Sons, it’s difficult to describe how unlikely this headline is. How best to describe the multimillion-selling, global phenomenon band to the uninitiated? Perhaps by imagining five lovely, posh labradors in waistcoats — playing ukuleles plastered with motivational stickers of David Cameron’s face.
Or, maybe, imagine a band formed by the men who model the red corduroy trousers in the Boden catalogue — who have chosen to while away the hours before inheriting their trust funds by playing a smashing bit of “the old folk-rock”. These are the kind of slightly stocky, jolly decent chaps who you’d imagine getting a bit blushy about the nude Freud sketch in their father’s study — bought with his pre-2008 bonus — and who still refer to sex as “the … argh … you know … super snuggles”. Their demeanour is about as sexual as a pint of milk. A pint of milk in a fridge. In a lake. In space.
They are not, in short, the kind of lust-addled trouser-touters you’d expect to find rocking up at a strip club in Atlanta — and getting thrown out. When you find out why they got thrown out, it becomes even more boggling.
Band members broke the no-filming rule at the Clermont Lounge — prompting a scream of disgust from CW. So they went in there and filmed minimum-wage strippers on their iPhones for later — like some kind of soft-porn doggy-bag? Oh, this gets worse by the minute. CW cannot believe that these men have traded, for years, as mild-mannered toff buskers — when the reality is that they are ravening, c***-crazed rock-pigs.
However. As a statement rapidly made clear, it was all a lot weirder than that. “The Grammy award winners arrived on the club’s karaoke night,” the Daily Mail reported. “Band-member Ben Lovett took to the stage for a few impromptu renderings of popular tracks” and when the rest of the band filmed it on their phones, they were thrown out.
What the hey the who the what now? So let CW get this clear: strip clubs have karaoke nights now? When did this start to happen? Do they also have jumble sales, and spelling bees? Is “karaoke at a strip club” even psychologically possible? While CW doesn’t pretend to understand everything about male sexuality, it had always presumed a man watching a semi-naked woman twerking up a stripper pole was probably unlikely to welcome another man, half-cut, staggering on stage half-way through, holding an inflatable saxophone, and doing a slurred version of (I’ve Had) The Time of My Life while knocking back shots.
And, finally, what the hell were Mumford & Sons doing at a karaoke night anyway? Dudes, you’ve just played on stage in front of 20,000 screaming people with a full-on lighting rig and a PA that could blast a hole out of the wall. Whither taking to a tiny stage covered in displaced nipple-pasties and shucked-off groin-sequins, in front of an audience of jaded, horny middle-management perverts, and trying to interest them in an acoustic ukelele sing-along to The Raggle Taggle Gypsy?
At the end of this whole matter, CW is even more confused than when it started.
Caitlin Moran on Mumford & Sons in today’s Celebrity Watch in The Times.
Everything about this piece is genius, pure genius. You will never find a more accurate depiction of Mumford & Sons.
“Shops are places where your money makes the wealthy wealthier. Libraries are places where the wealthy’s taxes pay for you to become a little more extraordinary”—Libraries: Cathedrals of our souls, Caitlin Moran (X)
Two weeks ago, you may recall, Cyrus caused a kerfuffle at the VMAs by performing in her bra and pants and “twerking” — it’s a sexy dance — with a gigantic teddy bear: a fairly niche corner of sexuality to be trying to simulate.
This week Cyrus has continued promo for her new album by releasing the video of the current single, Wrecking Ball. In the video Cyrus appears utterly naked save for a pair of work-boots, swinging on a giant wrecking ball, then licking a hammer in a suggestive manner. The video has currently had 59 million views.
While the health and safety implications of all this are ferocious — CW devoutly hopes the construction site featured in the video has now been shut down — the other implications are even more fearsome.
Because at the point where you’re pretending to have sex with a bear, then faking oral sex with a spanner, one terrifying thing has become apparent: we’ve run out of genuinely sexy things to do in videos. ALL THE SEX HAS GONE. All we’re left with now is surreal random shit, like teddy bears, and hammers.
Caitlin Moran on Miley Cyrus in today’s Celebrity Watch in The Times.
Every year, for the start of the new autumn term, CW likes to devise a new motto, under which aegis it lives for the following 12 months. For 2011 the maxim was the dashing and inspiring “Always ride out as if meeting your nemesis,” while 2012’s was the far more prosaic “Run up the escalators” — which you could take either as a fabulous metaphor for making an effort even if you’re getting a free ride, or a simple injunction to run up some escalators. CW ran up some escalators.
For 2013, after much cogitation, CW has gone for “Just don’t get in the way.” It’s a basic rework of “Do no harm.” Don’t obscure the progress of someone who — in this bad, sly, lazy, bewildered and misgotten world, with a billion tasks still crying out to be completed — is actually trying to do something good.
And, so, to Jamie Oliver. Oliver’s had a bad week. Launching his new austerity-food TV show and book, Save With Jamie, Oliver gave an interview to the Radio Times that caused a mid-level media-fury: less than Syria and twerking, but more than badgers and gay weddings.
“Jamie Oliver sparks poverty row,” as The Telegraph headline put it. “He attacks families for eating junk food and buying expensive television sets.”
“[You see a poor] mum and the kids eating chips and cheese out of a Styrofoam container,” Oliver said, “and behind them is a massive TV. People say ‘You don’t understand what it’s like.’ I just want to hug them and teleport them to a Sicilian street cleaner who has 25 mussels, 10 cherry tomatoes and a packet of spaghetti for 60 pence, and knocks out the most amazing pasta.”
Almost without exception, every media outlet chose, at this point, to mock Oliver’s imaginary peasant with “25 mussels”, by pointing out that Oliver himself has a personal fortune estimated at £150m, and so, er, shut up. The Mail took it one step further, by providing a useful comparison chart that illustrated how Oliver’s own “Jamie Oliver” food range is “often” more expensive than supermarket own-brand, and linking it to a quote from the foodbank charity the Trussell Trust — creating the misty, helpful inference that it was Jamie Oliver’s Green Pesto being a quid more than Tesco own-brand that has led to 500,000 a week in Britain now using food banks.
Well. While CW is sad that Oliver has fallen for the old “Poor people aren’t really poor if they’ve got a big telly” argument — love, you can currently get a 40” HD Toshiba for £299.99 off Argos, which will supply 90% of an entire family’s leisure activity for the next three years. It is a TOTAL BARGAIN — it is sad to see all this gas-lighting away from what’s really happening.
Is Jamie Oliver — regardless of his mahoosive fortune — right that “peasant food”, in most other cultures, makes middle-class food ponces in London flip their lids? Well, yes. Is Oliver doing something practical — a whole TV series, full of meals at £1.70 per portion — to actually combat how terrifyingly fat, diabetic and broke so many people in this country are? Yes. And is Oliver aware how much a big telly costs? No. Not at all.
Really, the only report you can make on this whole affair is the no-shit-Sherlock response of: “Chef ultimately good at making cheap pies, ultimately bad at nuanced socio-economic analysis. The end.”
Anything else, however pressing your deadline, is just ….. getting in the way.
“Then my head went: ‘Pretend to be the person who would be good at this meeting.’ Pretending is actually quite easy if you have read enough books and watched enough TV. Pick a character who is good what you want to be good at and pretend to be them. It works.”—Caitlin Moran (via tallforesttowers)
“I don’t want children anyway," Caz says. "So I am getting nothing out of this whatsoever . I want my entire reproductive system taken out and replaced with spare lungs for when I start smoking. I want that option. This is pointless”—Caitlin Moran, How to be a Woman (via blytons)