Girl Talk

For me, being a woman in 2008 is fabulous. Sure, the path I've travelled to where I am today has had negative aspects – and to say that men have caused some of my most distressing dramas would be an understatement. But I'm not about to embark on a feminist tub-thumping rant about what beasts men are, because, in my experience, that’s patently untrue. Some of my best friends are men, as are most of my favourite writers, musicians, chefs - and boyfriend.

Nope, a desire to change gender in mid-stream, even temporarily, has never been on my fantasy wish list. To anybody who takes offence at that, please rest assured that I wouldn’t feel affronted by any man who expresses a similar sentiment about switching the other way. While Man’s World looks like a very cold and lonely place to me – under decorated, often insecure, and very hard work emotionally – I'm sure that, to the majority of men, Woman’s World looks equally alien, dominated as they think it is by too much chat, too much pink stuff and, ugh, periods.

Admittedly, it would be interesting to find out what it feels like to have a willy – but that’d only be a short-term novelty. Multiple orgasms as opposed to the one-shot deal? No competition! But then, men aren’t natural multi-anythingers. They tend to concentrate on just one task at a time - crikey, I'd be bored stiff if I had to write a feature, roast a chicken, paint my nails, watch ‘Lost’ and chat to my mum all as a series of single tasks. In fact, I couldn’t bear not being able to ‘chat’ as a pastime at all - and that’s another thing I wouldn’t like about Man’s World: it’s too bloody quiet. No wonder they get all shouty at The Match – they’re letting rip with a week’s worth of non-chatting.

I love – in fact, it’s safe to say I revel in - being ‘girly’. Make up, hair salons, new shoes, glossy magazines, sparkly jewellery, curves, bubble baths, puppies, baking, soft things – they may not be my defining characteristics, but my goodness, the props are excellent. ‘Girl stuff’ provides a natural, stress-relieving comfort zone behind whatever career, social, political and family life women choose to create for themselves. Even the soundtrack is fabulous: I Will Survive? Dancing Queen? It’s Raining Men? Hallelujah! Let’s get shimmying around our handbags, for tomorrow, we’re back to work. In short, I like being girly for all the reasons many men say women get on their nerves. Perhaps, then, I just like being annoying? Ah, that’s women for you.

But I don’t feel I have to forfeit even these clichéd definitions of gender in order to coexist with men, enjoy life as a contemporary woman, or keep the feminist flag flying. I'm all too aware of the injustices still rife in this country, let alone globally, when it comes to the status of women - domestic violence, salary disparity, and prejudicial fear and loathing are still, unfortunately, endemic. But so too are the women who wage a public war on male-to-female weapons of emotional mass destruction, on both a global and a personal scale, every day; in the UK, our feminist heritage is so ingrained that it’s become mainstream – and there are legions of peaceable brothers in arms who are all too willing to support us.

We no longer have to burn our bras in order to prove our devotion to the sisterhood; these days, the feminist who chooses to wear Agent Provocateur underwear is no longer guilty of gender denial of betrayal. Meanwhile, over on Planet Bloke, they’re still coming to terms with the burden of their own heritage: that they’ll never be equipped to appreciate the joys of Dancing Queen, the relief brought about by a two-hour chat about nothing, or the thrill of opening a new bottle of Chanel’s Rose D’Anglais nail varnish. Goodness, the poor dears! What on earth do they fill their days with?