Sometimes I think it’s like a tap, not tightly enough wound, dripping in the next room. Sometimes you notice it, sometimes you don’t, but you know it’s still dripping because no-one has turned it. Sometimes it makes you really mad, but still you wait for someone else to turn it.
I worked with a guy who everytime I got my hair cut, told me it was, ‘ a real mammy hair cut.’ It really, really pissed me off.
Is it possible to be a feminine Feminist? Is it possible to love pink and princess dresses and still demand gender equality? Er, yes of course it is.