The Thin Issue

Rightly so, Cher Lloyd is EVERYWHERE at the moment, but her presence has reignited one of my pet hates. Because, along with praise for her original style (both musically and fashion) comes a wealth of criticism over her weight. Newspapers have branded her ‘frail’ and ‘worryingly thin,’ viewers have shouted that she needs to ‘eat a few pies’ and ‘put on weight.’

Being a 21 year old female with a mass of physical insecurities myself, I find the whole thing difficult to comprehend. The judgement itself is appalling but what I find more infuriating is the way that being skinny is simultaneously ridiculed and desired.

Cultural conditioning has ensured that we believe that we have to be slim to be attractive. Even girls who claim to love their curves or love food, still struggle with fat days. You’d be hard pushed to find a single woman in the country who doesn’t dislike at least one part of her body. I’ve met girls who claim that they’re body confident and would never want to be a size 8 anyway. But then on nights out when the camera makes an appearance, suddenly they’re worrying about their ‘good sides,’ and standing with an arm on their hip and a sucked in stomach to appear slimmer.

But often it’s these same people who tut at images in the glossies, and yell at the TV when Cher and the like grace the screens. They pronounce she’s ‘too thin,’ despite having been to the gym/eaten healthily all that week themselves.

And what is ‘too thin’ anyway? Would anybody go up to an overweight person and say ‘Bloody hell, you need to lose a few pounds!’ Would anybody say that a fat person on TV should ‘stop eating all the pies’ ? The answer is probably not. It’s not socially acceptable to criticise the figure of someone who’s overweight.

There seems to be a complete lack of balance in our perceptions of what’s normal. The fact is, some people are naturally thin. My mother, for example, stands at an impressive 5’9” and has been a steady 8.5 stone throughout her life. She’s been labelled underweight and when she was struggling to conceive she was actually told by one doctor to ‘eat a few Mars Bars.’ It was revealed, years later, that her battle with fertility was actually down to Polycysitic Ovaries – her weight was utterly irrelevant and the comment downright insulting.  She has the best diet of anyone I know and that’s largely because she has a massive penchant for baking, chocolate covered peanuts and puddings when we go out to eat. Her weight is what it is – she’s never dieted in her life. Other people are more prone to gaining weight and have to work harder to keep it off with weekly gym sessions and healthy diets. Both are  fine.

What frustrates me more, however, is how people can so casually accuse someone of being ‘too skinny’ without considering why their physique may be in the shape that it is. Generally, extremities in weight are present for a reason. When I’m unhappy my weight fluctuates – I either go completely off my food or begin stuffing my face. At my lightest I was 6.5/7 stone. Some people told me I had an amazing figure. Others said I was skin and bone and needed to eat more. Then, after a rubbish breakup I well and truly tucked into the Ben and Jerry’s and the pounds piled on. Either way, the reason for my weight loss wasn’t because of a cultural or vain pressure to be slim, and my weight gain wasn’t because of greed. Both situations were to do with my emotional state of mind. I’m now a steady 9 stone, but looking back at the pictures of me at my lightest doesn’t make me wish to lose a few pounds – all I can see is the sadness in my eyes.

Sometimes it’s a psychological condition which makes us eat more or less, other times it’s a physical or medical problem. Either way, instead of criticising people for being too thin, surely we should wholeheartedly accept people and their reasons for being the size they are without judgement or malice.

Girls' Night

I have to admit I’ve not always been a fan of ‘girls’ nights.’ Not having many female friends was the initial problem. But then my reluctance increased when I objectively witnessed these evenings.

It seemed to me that a successful girls’ night involved competing to wear the hottest dress, constantly reapplying make-up in the toilets, taking hundreds of posed photographs, arguing over boys or enduring some kind of man related drama – an ex getting in touch, a prospective boyfriend getting with someone else.

It seemed that the night was branded unsuccessful unless someone ended up in tears. I used to find female company challenging enough without the addition of alcohol and men – the two certain tools to aid bitchiness.

But then I met some amazing girls, and nights out suddenly became fun. Some of the best were with my bestie Natalie – crotch grabbing, blow job motioning and inventive stories about our sexual orientation all contributed to hours of pure fun.

Last week I went out with two female friends and from start to finish the night was amazing. We began with the standard getting ready procedure but added apple schnapps shots and rose into the mix and before long we were talking and laughing about everything.

When we made it to the club we headed for the bar and then didn’t stop dancing all night. Even with the pinch of male drama – certain exes turning up unannounced – it didn’t prevent us from staying at the club till closing.

And it occurred to me, that a girls’ night gone bad involves all the crying/bitchiness/general lack of fun I’d both witnessed and experienced in the past. But, a girls night at best is the perfect reminder of sisterhood. And, even though the drunken photos are HORRIFIC, you look back and smile.

Battle of the Sexes

Can somebody please tell me why boys are so confusing? Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a man hater. It’s just guys are often labelled more straightforward, less complicated and lacking in the emotional intricacies so often assigned to women. And yet recently, my female friends have encountered numerous ridiculous situations with the opposite sex.

There was one guy who, despite only just becoming single, got his flirt on with my friend. They got talking about sex, played some tonsil tennis and then he backed off. Said he wasn’t ready for a girlfriend. All well and good – but she’d already had a conversation with him in which she stated that perhaps he was on the rebound and might they just take it slowly? Mixed messages dot com.

Then there was another friend who, after two years on and off with her beau, decided to call it quits once and for all. She hadn’t heard a peep from him for months until the other night when he drunkenly called her fifty million times. And most of the phone-calls consisted of him putting her on loudspeaker to talk to his mates and singing ‘Can’t take my eyes off you’ at the top of his voice.

And, what about the guy who ignored his girlfriend for months, broke up with her, on her advice left her alone, proceeded to sleep with several girls, and then inform her that he wants her back? Seriously? Because of course your ex becomes infinitely more attractive once he’s drunkenly shagged a few randoms.

Having said that, I’m not implying that us girls are the pinnacle of innocence either. We also do stupid things. Most of us have lived to regret the way we’ve handled a situation with a guy. And what’s frustrating about us is that we often let the guys get away with their stupid indiscretions. How many of us have slept with an ex after they called you? Plenty of us take back cheating boyfriends (I’m looking at you Colleen Rooney/Abbey Clancey) and a lot of us are so scarred from shitty experiences with men that we snowball into new, equally damaging relationships.

I have learnt from my mistakes and I may be speaking for myself, but It’s not like we ask for much from guys– simply that if you like us, tell us and stick to your word. If you’re in a relationship and don’t want to be, end it nicely. If you fancy someone other than your girlfriend or are horny and not getting any, it doesn’t give you a free pass to text message or literally have sex with someone else. And, if you do dump us and we ask you to leave us alone, leave us alone.

Love is simultaneously the most complicated emotion in the world and the one that makes it go round. But if we were all a little more straightforward, then maybe a few of our hearts would still be intact.

Paris Je t'aime...

Well today I went into uni for what I thought would be a lecture but turned out to be a 30 minute talk about the importance of closing doors to prevent theft and a department football match. So, since returning I have got into bed and watched TV all day and one of the programmes I've gawped over is the latest series of Gossip Girl set in Paris.

It made me want to cry. I was a France virgin up until March this year, but when a close friend spent a year studying in Paris I couldn't resist booking a flight and heading over there. I was excited, don't get me wrong, but as soon as I arrived I fell.in.love.

I've been to some amazing places - Sydney, the Cape Verde Islands, Canada...but none of these places captivated me in the same way that gay Paris did. Perhaps it was the company - my friend acted as an amazing tour guide, taking us to all the best tourist spots as well as cute bars and cafes that only  true Parisienne would ever know about.

We spent hours walking all over the city, visiting the Louvre, Eiffel Tower, the Sacre Coeur, Arc de Triomphe and Notre Dame. I'm not usually one for sightseeing but I was stunned by everything - walking into the Notre Dame took my breath away, as did standing underneath the Eiffel Tower.

And, on a different note, having had an amazing night in a nightclub on the Champs Elysees, walking to a taxi waiting outside Louis Vuitton with only the stars and the beams from the Eiffel Tower for light was just the epitome of chic.

But my favourite moment was climbing the hundreds of steps up the Arc de Triomphe at night, hands shoved into fists in my pockets, the cold whipping my face.

When we reached the top I felt like my legs were going to give way, but as we stood at the edge of the wall looking over the whole of the city gleaming beneath me, I felt goosepimples spread from head to toe. We waited until 9 o'clock on the dot when the Eiffel Tower lit up, flashing and sparkling over the whole of Paris and it felt like nothing and no one existed.

I'd had a fairly rubbish few weeks for various reasons but at that moment I felt completely content. And, every time I feel stressed or worried or upset, I look back over the photos and remember those emotions. I just cannot wait to go back one day :)

I'll be there for you (or not)

Friendship’s a weird thing. Throughout my life I’ve had ‘best friends’ who turned out to be frenemies. Best friends who really were the real deal. Faux friends who stuck around for a little while before fading away, neither of us maintaining contact. Don’t get me wrong – I have amazing friends. Over the last three years I’ve met true friends for life, without whom I’d be utterly lost – especially this beautiful lot :)

But, one friend told me I was her best friend in the world, wrote me beautiful letters, texted me all the time, treated me on birthdays and Christmas before deciding, almost completely out of the blue, that she hated me. And she told me as much over social networking site of the moment, Myspace. To say I was pretty gutted about receiving a massive message detailing exactly the reasons she felt she couldn’t be my friend would be an understatement. Suddenly I understood how celebs feel under constant public scrutiny. What gives you the right to judge me?

She did apologise not long after but by then, the damage was done.

And she’s not the first. There’ve been a couple of ‘friends’ who, at crucial moments in my life – namely the aftermath of breakups where you need your friends to drag you from under your duvet – were resolutely absent. Whenever I see them, there’s still an undercurrent of sadness and bitterness that when I sat next to my phone in tears, it never rang.

But, more recently I’ve been hurt by the vanishing of two friends from my life. One got a new girlfriend and is so absorbed in their life together that it seems the life he had before they met is irrelevant. I know that when you’re in love, life is wonderful and when it’s a brand new relationship it’s entirely natural to want to spend time together. But it seems to me to be a bit excessive when all your time is spent either together or thinking about each other or making photo albums of your time together or not communicating with anyone else. No word for three months. Granted, I’ve made no contact either, but why should I? I’ve done the desperation thing, I’ve all but got on my hands and knees, begging to keep people in my life before and I’m so over it.

The other seems to have no reason for his desertion which almost makes it worse. He means the world to me but makes it impossible to get hold of and makes me feel I’ve done something wrong. Maybe I have or maybe he’s just busy. Either way, it’d make me feel a whole lot better if I just knew.

At the start of the summer I was deeply upset about both of these friendships. Other friends and families told me to just move on. And, in principle, moving on and not questioning the changes in our relationships is the right and best thing for me to do. But, as is always the case, in practice erasing people physically and their memories emotionally from my life is much harder.

This time of year reminds me of both of my absentee friends. I look back at old photos and desperately want to be able to frame them for my new uni room but know that I can’t. The smiles emanating from those happier times just make the current situation more difficult.

And it’s harder to deal with than that message popping up in my Myspace inbox. An onslaught of abuse and criticism? I can handle it. But the silent treatment? Watching our memories and closeness fade from view? That I can’t.

Girl power

Girls Aloud will always ALWAYS be my favourite ever girl band, but whilst they do their solo thang, releasing makeup, swaning around in America and X Factoring, they've left a massive girly void in my life.

So, until they reclaim their throne, The Saturdays are a pretty good second best. I first saw them perform when they were supporting Girls Aloud on their Tangled Up tour (one of the best nights.ever.) way back when they looked like this...

I must admit, I wasn't that impressed. The bright neon outfits were combined with bright neon ribbon strips which they wrapped around themselves and waved in the air as they performed a fairly bland set.
Oh how they've grown.

They've ditched the highlighter-inspired garments, smartened up their look and are releasing some, for want of a more technical term, TUNES.

They narrowly missed out on the top spot this summer with 'Missing You,' but their new single 'Higher' is even better. It's girly pop at its best, all about how no man will ever hold them down. Although I wouldn't object to their love interests holding me down (ooer, and I'm looking at you, Dougie. swoon)

And their TV show, The Saturdays 24/7 has spawned hundreds of Facebook statuses from girls stating their utter desire to be the sixth member. And, quite frankly, with trips to LA, manicures, nights out at Mahiki and performances here and there, it looks like the dream job.

And, to top my new found obsession off, I'm off to see them in February. Best get practicing those dance routines ;)

Nailed it...

Had a lush day with my mumma today. We've been planning to get a manicure done together since Easter - when I was in the midst of essay writing stress, tearing my hair out and overdosing on caffeine she suggested that once essays were handed in and I had a bit more time on my hands that we'd treat ourselves.

As usual, life got in the way and it's taken until now and seeing as I'd been ill all week, it was the perfect way to cheer me up :)

We went to Harvey Nichols in Bristol where they have a really cute champagne nail bar and spent a perfect, girly hour being well and truly pampered. Heaven.

Mam was first - she toyed between a bright red and a stunning deep cherry, eventually plumping for the latter. Not being quite so sophisticated, I selected the brightest pink I could find. Anything Barbie can do I can do better, eh? And here are the finished results...