Of Females and Film

Of Females and Film.

 Last week I officially graduated with a first class degree in Media Studies. Three years spent watching what I estimate as almost two hundred films and television programmes and reading countless book chapters. Most people find my degree hilarious, the ‘Mickey Mouse’ degree, the softest of soft subjects, pointless and unchallenging. However, and I hate to sound cheesy here, I really do believe that studying our media environment has never been more relevant, and has truly changed my life.

 I remember the person I was before my ‘revelation’. I walked into my first seminar with long brown hair, a bag full of pink pens too scared to say boo to a goose. The majority of the room was filled with male students (including a particularly smarmy and arrogant phd student who would lead the seminar) and a few girls I simply would have NOTHING in common with. I mean, just look at their hair for starters, have they never heard of Toni and Guy? And is that chick really wearing a wrestling T-shirt? How tragic, don’t they realise they are GIRLS? So I sit there politely making notes, let everyone else have their say because I don’t really know much about film anyway, and what I do know is probably wrong, I’m not as smart as these guys…

 Fast forward three years, I’m at the last seminar I had time to turn up to. I’m shouting across the room to a mature student at least 30 years older than me who I had suspected of minor misogyny for years and finally had my proof. I don’t care what anyone else thinks of what I am saying, it needs to be said. I’m not backing down, I WILL make him understand the exact reasons why his attitude offends me. Sitting next to me is a girl who refuses to shave her legs. She is so cool.

 Something had happened to me in three short years. I saw things differently now. I term this to myself as me being unplugged from The Matrix. I am Keanu Reeves, and somewhere along the line I stopped seeing the false, exterior façade of ‘reality’, and broke through to the truth. Kind of like when Neo rises after being shot and everything turns into the funny green code. That’s how I see now! I began to realise I was living in a dream world. I was created by machines, flesh compressed into a feminine prison. The advertisements, the magazines, the films, Paris Hilton were suffocating me. The message is clear. You are weak. You aren’t born good enough, but we can make you good enough. For a price.

 “You see girl, your skin is all oily, but also dry in places, so take this cream. But still, you might want to cover up your face in this stuff because it’s kind of the wrong colour. So is your hair, but that can be fixed too. And with that new hair colour, you should wear this lipstick because we want to see you pucker up. Make sure you get the clothes right too, because we’re quite strict over what shape they are so if your body doesn’t quite fit them, then you gotta change that too. Ok, so you’re looking pretty good, but that girl over there is always going to look better, so keep working on it. And in the mean time, don’t be concerned if we use the image of you for our own purposes, because we control that. We could really use the image of women in our films, you know, just to pose a few problems to our hero and to displace all of our fears and anxieties onto. But you just concentrate on fixing all these flaws you have, and let us big boys look after the important stuff. And remember, the more expensive materials you buy, the more successful you are!! So get saving for that Chanel whatever, because then we’ll have your money AND your heart! ”

 I came home and I emptied all my draws of all the crap I didn’t need. Bags and bags full of clothes I’d spent so much money on that I had worked so hard for. Bottles of lotions and potions that promised to make me perfect. Thousands of pounds I might as well have set up in flames. I felt ashamed, like a fool who’d been hoodwinked by a rogue salesman. But at least now I am free to be me. I am a fighter. I fought for my degree. I suffered from a certain situation I would not wish on my worst emeny but didn’t break. I faced challenges that brought out the best in me I didn’t even know I had. In fact, I realised I’m so strong that those messages on the T.V don’t work on me anymore. My hair is not lank and lifeless, and who cares if it is. I don’t need a leg shaver to bring out the Goddess in me; I can be as powerful as Zeus himself alone. I don’t care how much I weigh, how attractive I am to whom or how good my clothes look, I refuse to waste anymore energy on these things. 

I look around and see a few of my fellow ladies still jacked in. School girls as young as twelve skipping lunch to be skinny. 58% of year ten girls wishing they could lose weight. The powers that be will never loosen the constant manipulation and enforcement of femininity in the media. We can’t wait for change from the top down. Women need to free themselves from their own prison. 

 I’m here to follow my passion. I love my freedom and I love film. I’m in a mans world though. I’ve been patronised, ignored, been told I look thick (‘but take it as a compliment, because I mean, your really hot”), but I wont give up.  And I fully intend to be the change I want to see in the world.