Lady

I lost my groove and I need to get it back! That said - where to start? Uninspired and disappointed by the cache of unimpressive role models out there and I mean those who are living of course. We can only look backwards to a time where women were ‘getting their groove reinstated’ and showing that being a lady doesn’t mean being weak, pining for a man or camping out in the kitchen. It was more, it was substance and it was in your face. Ladies were worshiped and men were warned because they knew they were dealing with fire.


We have behind us our Monroe, Onassis, Hepburn, Loren and Diana and before us stand Lohan, Beckham, Campbell, Simpson, and Aniston – did I mention I was uninspired? It just seems that in place of style, substance, intelligence, captivating beauty and selflessness I find myself bombarded constantly by “women” (and I use this word lightly because we wouldn’t want to be placed in the same group as these females) who don’t realise that tantrums should stop at the age of five, a woman who resembles a jarrold’s mannequin doll than a human being and women doing desperate things to hold on to their men and I ask myself where did we go wrong?


I fear that there is no alternative because even when we fool ourselves into believing there are inspiring women, the Hollywood and ‘rock and roll’ lifestyle whisk them away for a quick remodelling and we are left with half a woman. Thus those who previously hailed the flag of ‘down-to-earthism’ quickly squeeze it back into their Louis Vuitton handbag. The Media continues to perpetuate these images of shiny size zeros blondes and brunettes with their self-loving, tantrum throwing, live fast die young Girl Scout motto that throws dignity out the window, exiles selflessness and bring in a new era of mannequin ignorant dolls that are trapped in a nightmare between Barbie and the stepford wives. Ah the god ol’ days.


We have films that promote the idea that we are nothing without our ‘man’ as the movie ‘He’s just not that into you’ tactlessly portrayed. I was sort of pleased to see that ‘the Women’ didn’t really go down that line of reasoning. Yer ok, she was a mess for the first half of the film and simply wanted to chop off his grand jewels as would any woman who just found out that her man had been dabbling in other merchandisers. But she resisted. She took the path that most women fail to grab in both hands, reinvented herself, got her own business and most importantly she got her groove back! You go girl. Now if only others would so kindly follow suit.


After all this bad news I decided to go on a hunt for some real ladies, women with more than just a cell between their ears, those making waves and breaking them. If she wasn’t the first to come to mind, well she should have been. There is a reason Michelle Obama’s secret service code name is ‘Renaissance’, may she bring the cultural revolution that we’ve all been waiting for. Here is a woman, who no doubt raises eyebrows and bring outs every woman little green friend. She is an incredible talented lawyer, first lady, mother and currently a style icon according to Vogue (because we know what they say is gold...). I mean seriously how many women can pull off bright pink flawlessly? I rest my case. She carries herself with dignity and oozes self confidence with every stride (that her shoes are just glad to be part of actions). When you see a woman who you just want to be, hands down, you know she’s doing something right. She’s ticked all my boxes, watch out Jackie O, looks like the crown is up for grabs.


My second nominee for awesomeness would have to be Ellen Page. She’s not your average type of lady I’d admit and she even calls herself a tom boy but this muse of mine thankfully has not yet been tarnished by the Lohans and Hiltons of the world as she had chosen to be tucked away safely in Halifax. Our pro-choice feminist enjoy a tad bit of basketball, snowboarding and I hear she’s more Aladdin than Sleeping beauty; High Five sister! She has never really followed the conventional rules of what a woman should be and you can see that from the roles she picks when acting. I have always been impressed by her choices which are usually never the same – from super mutant heroine to psychological thrillers to tortured teen in a basement (yes, I rose an eyebrow too). You can’t help but watch her. She has shown her dislike for such ‘stereotypical roles for teenage girls’ calling them ‘too sexist’. Someone pinch me I think I’m in love. Can she do no wrong? what’s that you say? Her middle name’s Philpotts? Well we’ll be having none of that!


Now I know they are other women out there such as our dear own Kate Winslet, Meryl Streep and least we forget new comer Duffy. So a toast to the Winslets, Obamas and Ellens, I raise my hat to you for giving us hope that there are still avant garde females defining what it means to be a true lady.

Fear not.

When I first met fear, it was under the hands of my father, the voice of my uncle, and the loss of a friend. She needed no introduction because right then, there was a mutual understanding of who was in control. I let her stay.

She - the shadow of self doubt and deprecation - walked with me, nagging, nagging, nagging like an old lady weathered by time and made bitter by life; my very own Debbie downer with all the trimmings. The sad stories of betrayal retold like a broken record and premises that seem to make sense but lacked logic when spoken aloud. Every day she spoke them and each time I gave in despite rationality. It’s like what they say, you spend enough time with a crazy person and their insane rambling turn to rational thoughts.

I discovered in time that all she did was try to suffocate me when no one was looking. She knew they were right, she knew they would show me. Once she was done, I was left to surface again, breathing deeply and thankful that I had survived that sickly feeling. I came out of her bunker of ‘protection’ glad that she had helped me passed the storm which I have never seen; not once. It weighed on me that I could not get rid of this ‘friend of mine’ whose visit was more frequent and certainly unwanted. It got to a point where I started to believe that I needed her, that her intentions were good. After all you’ve got to be cruel to be kind right? There were my days and she – my companion.

She packed her bags one day and made it clear she was unhappy with my decision. “You’ll fail” she said, “You never were any good at it. I’ve been the one holding your hands”. She walked away trimmings and all and I packed mine for Spain. She comes back now and again – we talk over coffee, she plays the same tune and I listen but logic is never defeated because I know her now. More and more I feel the fear and when I walk on, she throws a tantrum - things get broken – I keep walking. I guess that’s when courage moved in.

As courage unpacked she smiled saying "Fear not. We’re going to have fun you and I".