Category Archives: Ranty ones
Biased, obviously, but I’m sad about the demise of FHM
I’m gutted that FHM is going to suspend publication. That might sound odd because I’m a feminist, and surely I should be ready to dance wholeheartedly on its grave, the way some people were accused of doing when Nuts magazine folded. It should also – to those who read FHM – sound perfectly natural for me to be sad, because for the last few months I’ve been a contributor.
I’m gutted on a simple level: I won’t be able to write things for them any more. But I’m also gutted for the other people who work there, many of whom were publishing some good stuff. Looking back on the FHM I first pored over in my teenage boyfriend’s bedroom and its more recent editions (October’s issue, for example, had an awesome feature on ‘rule breakers’ including interviews with a female CEO, a North Korean defector, and a 95 year-old sprinter), there’s a world of difference, although I appreciate that many of you might disagree.
I’ve been critical of some things FHM has done in the past (like their ‘sexiest women’ in 2012), but I’ve also been fairly open about the fact that I don’t think we should ban lads’ mags, or even imply that there’s no place for them in a society that has healthy views on sex. Sex is not the opposite of feminism, and being a feminist doesn’t mean ignoring or quashing straight male sexual pleasure. What it means, I think, is pushing for a broader representation of sexual pleasure – making it clear that the glossy magazine pictures are just one of a million things that might turn some people on.
Yes, you can run an anonymous blog and still be accountable
When I introduce myself to people, I use a different name. I have quite a few – I like them. One of them I wear so often it feels more comfortable than my ‘real’ name – I wrap it round me like a blanket, and it makes me feel safe.
Unfortunately, one of the questions I’m asked most frequently is: “is that your real name, though?” Like somewhere deep in my heart there’s a secret and special name, and the people I’m speaking to will be elevated above the status of mere acquaintance and into, I don’t know, God, if they can determine what the deep and immutable truth is. Problem is, knowing my real name doesn’t give anyone special powers, it just gives them a fact. And hand-in-hand with that fact comes a fairly big problem for both of us.
When I first started blogging I decided that anonymity was the best way to go – for a whole host of reasons, but primarily employment. We still live in a world where talking about buttsex on the internet and holding down a job at a company that gives a shit about your social media life is, if not impossible, at least tricky. As time wore on, there were more reasons, and then more. Recently, Kilted Wookie wrote a post about anonymity on his sex blog and it got me thinking about a lot of stuff. The primary thing was that there are far more reasons to be anonymous than I’d considered when I first began.
“I Call Bullshit” Man: the Superhero none of us deserve
Billy was an ordinary boy. He lived in an ordinary house, in an ordinary street, and every day he’d go out and play with his ordinary friends. Billy had a happy life.
But one day, as Billy’s friends took it in turns to swap brags about how cool their houses were and which level they’d reached on the latest Xbox game, Billy was struck by a bolt of lightning. Turning him from an ordinary, everyday boy into…
I-Call-Bullshit Man!
Now, in his superhero guise, Billy wanders the twisting corridors of the internet, shedding what he thinks is light into anything he perceives to be darkness. In comments and on Twitter he pops up, shouting that oft-heard phrase:
“I call bullshit!”
In which I try, and fail, to take a picture for Sinful Sunday
Sinful Sunday is a fun sex blogger meme whereby people take one photo and post it on Sunday – the photo has to be erotic in some way (although you don’t necessarily have to be naked). It can be of something you love, or of you, or whatever. But basically what happens is loads of people post really interesting, hot, personalised snaps that sum up what ‘erotic’ means to them, and I love it. I really wanted to join in, so I had a bash. Here’s how yesterday evening should have gone:
“Hey, I want to take a cool picture for this sex blogger meme because I’m trying to join in with memes and stuff at the moment.”
“Ooh, that sounds fun.”
“It is. I have to be sexy.”
“OK, take your pants off.”
“But I also have to be comfortable.”
“OK, I’ll get you a coat.”
Cue hours of fun while we got a bit fucked up, got semi naked, and took loads of snaps that fit the criteria of being ‘erotic’, without necessarily having to be explicit or naked, then another happy hour while we scrolled through the pictures and picked the best one to publish here.
That’s not what happened, though.
Watch your fucking language
Today’s blog post is brought to you by the letters S. L. U and T.
Let’s talk dirty, and then let’s talk about whether ‘dirty’ is an appropriate word to use when describing something that is – at best – morally neutral. One of the constant struggles of being a lefty (weep for me) is that I frequently embrace things in the bedroom which would, in real life, horrify me. Words like ‘slut’ and ‘bitch’ used in the street? Fuck you and goodnight. Used in the bedroom? Get fucking in me right now.
I like to be degraded, and used, and treated as if I’m nothing. And in the process of that, guys I’m with often use words which are pretty powerful weapons. Words can be incredibly hot, and incredibly offensive, and sometimes both these things at once.