Femme/Feminine Essentials – An Abbreviated Lissssssst

Femme/Feminine Essentials:  what exactly are they?  And why do they matter?

I first heard of  ”feminine essentials” from a work colleague some years ago.  This terminology was a world away from ”women’s things,” the shy termininology I muttered at the blushing age of fifteen on a rural towns high school orchestra tour, to the elderly male bus driver who demanded to know my reason for wanting to get back onto the locked bus when everyone else was inside the hall tuning up.  Despite having a friend with me, I couldn’t bear to state the bleedin’ obvious.

Now I see that the term ‘feminine essentials’ has a broader application.

As a member of the Femerati, with a doubtless biased opine-yon, I have decided to set sail (without help from real sailors) upon a M.O.G.I. (no, not a cat, rather a Mission of Great Importance) which explores the feminine-gendered kind.  Obviously it’s of some small concern that the ‘femme’ reference may go down a G.G.R. (Grossly Girly Route), so I’ve boiled it down:

To Discover: What Are the Top 100 Feminine Essentials?  And why.

Rules, Disclaimers, and Other Procrastivatory[sic] Bollux: the following is not an experiment in E.S. (Exact Science).  Probably because I don’t possess a white coat.  True, it has an objective (reverting to high school biology here, rather than the more dramatic GOAL which has been seconded by motivational types), and something of Methodology,  and it is possible that a conclusion or set of conclusions may be drawn from Evemadence[sic]… ooh, just notice a girly inscrimination[sic] there.

I invite you to think outside social stereotypes.  So please avoid the following, unless you can offer a particularly feminist reading upon your selection:

  1. Shopping
  2. Cosmetic surgery (for purely vain concerns of perfectly fine-looking persons)
  3. Other socio-gendered crap

This experiment is not for the fainthearted, the lazy, or the J.I.I.T.R.T.R.G.B. (Just in It To Read The Good Bits).  Au contraire, I offer you, the reader, the marvellous opportunity to contribute your own wild and fabulous examples of evidence which I will publish after a very long time into the future.

And when the list of Feminine Essentials Reaches 100.

Thus, to begin with, a suggestion of my own, which one hopes you shall find charming and entrancing.

FEMMESENTIALS  – An Abbreviated Lisssssst

1. Firm Foundation Garments: what a Berlei-ooody load of gender-political bollocks.  Did Boadicea wear a brassiere?  Whilst cooking upon a brazier?  In brazen times of old…

The greatest women in history were very often triumphant with the firm foundations of strength of character, bbbbraaaaains, and spunk.  That’s Australian for good looking, and for guts.  Boadicea had better things to do than hitch her herself into an iron cage before hoisting herself upon her trusty steed.  Did Boadicea’s horse wear a bra?  No. And I’m sure that Napoleon’s didn’t bother either.

What say you are feminine essentials?  And why?

No I Would NOT like to be a Flippin’ Barbie!

“No, I would not like to be a Barbie. My own Barbie was variously accidentally decapitated in a tug-of-war between my sister and the little kid from the sheep and cattle station next door, forced to wear a New Romantic haircut, and had blue biro inked on her eye lids.  Furthermore, she couldn’t sit on a horse properly, and kept losing her shoes.”

Thus I replied to an automatically generated blog that appeared somewhere near the vicinity of my Vagina Tax Alert posting.  I decided to have a squizz at it.   http://blogs.babycenter.com/momformation/2009/03/11/shes-a-barbie-im-a-barbie-wouldnt-you-like-to-be-a-barbie-too/

And the answer is no, hell no, not ever.  Why would I want to become a Barbie?  The shoes are tight, the men are short, and you cannot ride a horse. 

Not to mention the fact that millions of people around the world choose your wardrobe for you on a daily basis.  Without consultation.  If I were Barbie, I’d wake up, slash my wardrobe with a hunting knife, and ride off into the forest of Lost Toys.  

Where St Mattel is routinely burnt at the stake.

Try Gabriel Garnica’s extreme Roman Catholic perspective of the ultimate she-heathen, Barbie, she of the long legs, impossible figure, and alluring descent into radical feminism – which as we know is about 3/4 of a step away from “goddess worship”  (Garnica, G. www.dailycatholic.org/issue/04Dec/dec14gab.htm) and other such naughty stuff.   Phew!  And to think, as you will have seen from the article, she entitles her impassioned diatribe, The First Feminist Icon.  What?! 

How does one who fears a descent into goddess worship reconcile a belief in The Virgin Mary, a Roman Catholic incarnation of The Goddess Herself?  

Having returned from a trip to a mate’s wedding in Italy at the beginning of August, and, prior to the wedding week, visited St Peter’s Basilica in Rome, I have to say that idolatry is alive and well in the Roman Catholic faith, and I don’t mean faith in gobsmackingly beautiful architecture.   Idolatry is a language of worship, in which one recognises something divine, something transcendent – whether beautiful, loving, good, or no.  It is the linguistics of religion, and of spirit.  So how is a statue of the Virgin Mary holding her son not idolatrous?

Strangely compelled  to enter St Mary’s Cathedral here in Sydney a couple of years or so ago, on a literal and metaphorical journey through date palms in Hyde Park – for reasons I shall not go into – I encountered an image of the Virgin Mary.  Just inside the door was a beautiful sculpture of The Virgin Mary holding her infant son.  An image.  I could barely stop myself crying, and had to leave. 

WHAT is so bad about goddess worship? 

If I worship anything, it’s not a carefully constructed plastic doll with a jet-propelled bosom and legs which struggle to spread over the flank of a plastic horse, much less ride it to Boadicean victory across a lumpy lawn or dusty dryleaf-strewn yard.

If I worship anything – it is the spirit of the Goddess nature which IS nature, and within us. 

Besides, where I come from, a barbie is short for barbeque.