Tavi Gevinson gave a talk for TEDxTeen at the start of the month on feminism. She’s endearingly awkward and speaks with this American drawl that makes me want to change my high-pitched chipmonk tenor. As editor-in-chief of Rookie Magazine, Tavi’s created a digital publication for young girls that focuses on real-life issues, and features contributions from the likes of Zooey Deschanel, Miranda July, Joss Whedon, Dan Savage and Lesley Arfin (!!!). After becoming somewhat of a darling of the fashion world a few years ago, the sartorial as ever teenager has shifted gears in her blogging career and leans towards a more feminist stance. She still blogs about fashion, but her posts offer more of a critique of popular culture’s influence on fashion than a vomitrocious visual essay of whatever is trending on Tumblr. Did I mention she’s only 15? When I was 15, I’m fairly certain I was smoking cigarettes in my closet and skipping school to go hang out at Maccas. True story. Sorry ma! Tavi makes me wish I was cool at 15. Tavi makes me wish I were cool now.

Anyways, here’s the video. It’s gloriously candid and cute but serious and poignant all at the same time.

I recently came across this interview conducted by Leeta Harding on her Tumblr. She talks to Newton about his choice in models and his views on the female form. Everyone seems to have their own opinion on the controversial photographer, and as a fan of his photography, his rationale for creating the images is something I find you can’t ignore if you’re a photography student. You don’t just take images, you make them.

LEETA:  The women in your photographs always seem to possess a strong spirit. In a lot of other fashion photography, the models look so out-of-it and withdrawn.
HELMUT: I don’t like using girls who are already very famous. That way they don’t have a routine — which I prefer.
LEETA: What do you generally look for when you choose a girl?
HELMUT: It depends — my tastes change with the times. Every decade women’s bodies seem to be different. I remember when I first came to Paris in ’56, or ’57, all the models in the haute couture houses were little. They were five-foot six … and they were all French. Now you look at a French girl, and she’s like an American girl. It has to do with what they eat, working out, going jogging, bicycling. There’s an American influence on everything. Everybody looks the same around the world — sneakers and jeans.
LEETA: I don’t think that’s going to change anytime soon.
HELMUT: Then there was a time, in the early ’60s, when women had no waist. Remember the sack and the A-line dress? Before that, when I was in Australia in the ’50s, if a girl could wear a dog collar as a belt, that was the ultimate. Then you got the Twiggies. You know who Twiggy is don’t you?
LEETA: Yes, the original waif.
HELMUT: And then the big Swedish, German, and American girls came on the scene in the ‘80s. They were built like truck drivers, which is a look that I like. It was the heyday of the super models like Cindy Crawford — Cindy had a great quality. Then it went back to this kind of zonked-out, anorexic girl in the early ’90s.
LEETA: What makes a woman sexy?
HELMUT: Ah! I think it’s nothing to do with beauty. It’s nothing to do with if she has big boobs, little boobs or no boobs. I think it all goes through the head. It’s intellect. I think that what goes on in the head of a woman is much more important than whether she’s blonde or brunette or whatever.

One of the main criticisms of  Helmut Newton’s work is that he shot for Playboy for 19 years. After being a position where portraying women completely for the male gaze was your only MO, one could argue that all his images are laden with misogynistic innuendo. I mean, it was his job to portray women as objects, right? Did his job at Playboy condition him to depict women first and foremost as sexual objects? His argument was that in positioning the models with front-on, pelvises thrust forward as they stare directly down the barrel of the camera lens, he was providing women with agency. These women aren’t hiding anything (not like those Supre ads you see on billboards). They’re almost defiant, in their (nearly) natural state, poised as if so say “what of it?” in regards to their nudity.

I’m not going to get into the semiotic codings of his images because I’m on a study break week from university and am saving my academic inclinations for my tutors, but I will briefly allude to a more contemporary controversy. Just as Newton was lampooned for creating demoralising art, I see a similar witch hunt happening on my own home turf. I remember the Bill Henson controversy of 2007. The contemporary photographer’s exhibition shut down because it allegedly sexualised children. I was talking to a girlfriend about this at the time (another Henson supporter) and I was so afraid to publicly declare my support for the photographer. But she said something to me which really made me wish I could be more articulate instead of fence sitting: If one takes a photograph with no intention of sexualising or objectifying the subject matter, are they at fault if someone’s interpretation deviates from their innocent actions? I guess it all gums down to whether or not that was the intent Newton had at the time. I have no concrete proof that Newton’s work is ultimately empowering for feminine sexuality, but I do know that when I look at his images I see something fierce, a raw sexuality that I haven’t seen anywhere else.
“I am superficial, my images aren’t deep. Good taste is the anti-fashion, the anti-photo, the anti-woman, the anti-eroticism. Vulgarity is life, is fun, the desire for extreme reactions.” – Helmut Newton

Laci, Ward’s Island, Toronto, 1997. © Leeta Harding.

I, for one, am OBSESSED with the Hunger Games. I’m still reading the first book, and I don’t want to spoil it by seeing the movie. But I’m really, really looking forward to seeing how Jennifer Lawrence portrays Katniss. (Ms. Magazine)

Katniss succeeds with audiences where other women heroes have failed because she isn’t an FFT. Fighting fuck toys are hyper-sexualized women protagonists who are able to “kick ass” (and kill) with the best of them–and look good doing it. The FFT appears empowered, but her very existence serves the pleasure of the heterosexual male viewer. In short, the FFT takes female agency and appropriates it for the male gaze.

British journalist Samantha Brick is receiving a lot of flack for her original article on the woes of being too beautiful. Mama Mia did an open post about it here, and  Tim Dowling wrote a very hilarious satirical piece in response. (The Guardian)

This is what being single looks like. (XOJane)

The writer of The Vibrator Play talks about unexpected success, and did you know that vibrators were initially used as medical treatment? True story. (The Guardian)

So, like, isn’t feminism a bit sexist, you know? Actually, no. Check out this post for a bit Feminism 101. (Lipstick Feminists)

At last, someone else who LOATHES happy snaps. (Eat the Damn Cake)

In defense of not being a sour puss. (XOJane)

Just by being happy, something obvious and wonderful happened. Everyone I met was equally kind in return. People consistently went out of their way to help me, to have lunch, to offer me tips about my new city. The more I actively tried to focus on the good things happening to me and the good people I met, the better I felt and the more awesome stuff fell in my lap. It wasn’t like I was walking around scowling and cursing before, but rather suddenly, everyone was a carefree and chipper as I was.

Do you remember when you were young and someone asked you what you wanted to do when you grew up? “An Astronaut!” “A dog walker!” “A ventriloquist!” “Willy Wonka!” you’d reply, fingers dipped in chocolate and mind dipped in dreams. From a young age, we’re all indoctrinated into the ‘Reach For the Stars’ school of thought, encouraged to aim high, believe in ourselves and achieve the highly improbable. Unfortunately for us daydream believers, the chances that you’re making candy out in space whilst entertaining your Labrador are slim to none. Perhaps you’re doing something better. Something you were meant to do.

Somewhere along the way, we encounter the troll under the bridge. This person, this first-hand experience or perhaps someone else’s subjective point-of-hell might deter us from chosen paths. Go back, they might say, the road to success if full of blood and sweat and tears.

I knew from a young age that I wanted to be a writer. A Harriet the Spy prototype, to be precise. Armed with a pen and notebook at the ready, I recorded dreams of flying, fist fights with older brothers, envisaged the architecture of small towns and the funny little people that would inhabit it (which were really just appropriations of my real life Adam’s Family). I excelled at English throughout school, and even received a few literary prizes. My winning piece? A short story about cannibals in cyber space. A+ for imagination!

I was warned about the great malaise of writer’s block. That sticky, sludgy, mental boulder that leaves you contemplating cracks in ceilings or cleaning the oven or organising your sock drawer. Anything but actually crafting coherent sentences. I was warned that writer’s block/writer’s malaise/writer’s discontent/slack-ass alter ego or whatever you want to call it, was a force of gargantuan proportions to be reckoned with.

It Is Hard, they would say, To Create! Following your dreams is apparently a road strewn with empty bottles of liquor and Xanax. And the number 27. Always the number 27.

What they didn’t tell me is that a lot of the time, your success relies on your expectations and end goal. What they didn’t tell me was of the joy in seeing your creations dance before you on the screen, sparkling prosaic rewards for your hard efforts, perseverance, and trust in your own super powers.

These days, I’m more trusting in my abilities. I know that I’ve written before, and I will write again. It’s all about making a shift in your expectations, which can be tricky at first for those who believe in the doctrines from the school of hard knocks. It means maintaining faith in your abilities, even though no one else is. It means hearing other’s beliefs in the struggling writer typecast, and kindly telling them to talk to the hand. It means visualising your success and then running with it like a free spirit inside a nudist colony.

But it’s worth it, and once you trust your intuition and realise you can generate your own good fortune, you can do it again and again and again. And it makes everything else seem easy by comparison.

So to those who’ve channeled their inner disco-shaman, I salute those bold souls. And to those who are yet to brave their malaise, come over to the bright side. We have sparkles.

I had a day off on Thursday, so I took a little me-time and explored the latest exhibition at the Fremantle Arts Centre. It’s by far my favourite Gallery in Perth, and in fact, it actually used to be a Womens’ Asylum. Neat fact, amiright? I really love just taking down a pen and notebook and writing under the shade of the trees. It’s so peaceful there.

Inside, the City of Fremantle Festival of Photography (FotoFreo) was going on. Very, very cool stuff.

Salt by Murray Fredericks

'Fair Game' by Eric Bridgeman

Gauri Gill

I’m also starting get myself ready for The Ride to Conquer Cancer. I already have a bike, but Stella is huge and chunky and probably won’t last the 200kms. So I’m thinking of getting another bike, or probably even renting one. Mercer Cycles on South Terrace in Fremantle has the cutest selection of bikes ever!

On Saturday I had the day off from work so I went into the city to see Hijacked III at PICA. Hijacked is an annual exhibition which showcases the work of Australian and international photographers, and this year featured the talents of UK photographers.

The below images are by Laura Pannack. I think they’re so beautiful and simple (maybe I’m just a sucker for teenage love?).

Later that night, I went on a picnic to Monument Hill with a lovely lady. I failed to take photos of our vegan feast, but I did manage to get a few snaps of the Lantern Parade we went to later. We wandered down to Wray Ave in South Terrace to have a drink at Who’s Your Mumma, and came across a big group of people making lanterns for Earth Hour. There was lots of food, people playing music and dancing, just your average community affair in Fremantle I guess =]

Some cool pavement art outside Who's Your Mumma

On Sunday I went to the West Coast Blues and Roots Festival to review for Everguide. Check out this dude welcoming people at the gate!

This lady was having so. much. fun dancing at Gin Wigmore. Can’t blame her – Gin was awesome! All those years ago listening to Holy Smoke in my bedroom….

Mega babe Gin Wigmore

I’m not usually one to listen to contemporary Blues and Roots, but I really enjoyed Husky. They’re dreamy and ethereal and I’ve never watched a gig lying down on the floor.

Blitzen Trapper

Sometimes I feel like Perth gets a really bad rep for not having a lot on. It definitely doesn’t compare to party cities like Sydney and Melbourne, but I don’t feel like I had a bad week. I am looking forward to going back to Sydney for my birthday though! Booked tickets last week – yeehaw!

The Hunger Games is turning out to be the series that keeps on giving. The character of Katniss is being dissected in the feminist blogosphere, and Autumn Whitefield-Madrano’s post has got to be one of the most persuasive for reading the books. (The New Inquiry)

If you’re in the Southern Hemisphere, chances that you’ve spent the past few weeks trawling ASOS for new winter threads is fairly high (guilty!). Tanning isn’t as high on my agenda anymore, but I do admit to being a huge fan of the fake-bake. Sun-worshippers call me a fraud, but when it’s so dangerous for your skin, is it really worth risking skin cancer just to look good? (The New Inquiry)

Australian Radio royalty Jackie O talks about her other half, Kyle Sandilands, why she’s not a feminist, and her choice to stay silent amidst the controversy of her co-worker’s most recent comments. (Sydney Morning Herald)

Is Dolly Magazine’s annual model comp bad for girls’ self esteem? (Mama Mia)

“One of the first things I did when I became Editor In Chief of Dolly was to axe the Dolly Model Contest. At the time I felt strongly it was a negative thing for the readers and a negative thing for the Dolly brand.

I wanted the magazine to make a strong stand against the idea of valuing teenage girls purely for the way they look. Because no matter how you try to dress it up, the modelling industry is 100% based on external appearance, something few girls can ever change about themselves no matter how much they torture themselves. Girls who are able to model are a tiny tiny minority who were simply born with certain genetics.” – Mia Freedman

Mini Kerr posing for Dolly Mag! Totally remember this issue.

The Australian Government is giving citizens the choice to be heard on same-sex marriage. Go! Do! (APH)

If blogging is not a labour of love, don’t do it. I wish I’d read this MONTHS ago! (Gloss)

Lucky enough to be going to Dinah Shore? Here’s a quick guide of fun activities from the lovely ladies at Autostraddle. (Autostraddle)

Consider yourself a guru on all things queer in your hometown? Go share you beacons of knowledge! (Autostraddle)

Confessionals of a Hanson Fan. Oh yes. I remember kissing my posters good night too. (Rookie)

Hello readers! This year I made a commitment to myself to try and achieve something that wasn’t related to my career. I made a resolution to learn the harmonica last year, which didn’t quite pan out. This year I decided that my achievement had to be measureable. It had to account for something, other than being a neat party trick.

For some dastardly reason, I’ve decided it’d be a good idea to don some spandex and whoop my own ass by riding 200 kms. I don’t have the energy of a baby administered red bull, nor am I planning on downing enough ecstasy to fuel a night club of teenage ravers. I’ve joined the Sun Super Ride to Conquer Cancer. It’s a 2 day bike ride from Perth City centre which continues down past Mandurah. If you know me, and you know typical Fremantle behaviour, we loathe going past South Street unless something AMAZING is going to happen. And something amazing is going to happen. Hundreds of people take part every year in this epic ride, with the collective goal of raising enough money to find a cure for cancer. They endure hours of non-stop peddling, drastically abusing their crotches as they cycle into Mordor (aka, South of the River). I and hundreds of other are willing to commit a major fashion faux pas and forego sitting down for days in honour of finding a cure for this bastard of an illness.

This is where I need your help. Participants have a minimum target of $2500 to raise. It’s a lot of money, but all proceeds go towards research to finding a cure for cancer. It strikes 1 in 2 Australian males and 1 in 3 Australian females throughout a person’s lifetime. It’s the second biggest cause of Australian deaths. If someone close to you hasn’t suffered from the disease, someone will eventually. It’s happened to me, with both of my parents being diagnosed within the past 4 years.

$2500 is a lot of money. It’s not easy. But neither is cancer. Every little bit counts. I’d appreciate any support you can give, no matter how big or how small. If you’re interested, just hit me back and I’ll fill you in.

Image courtesy of Warner Bros

When exactly are we going to stop focusing on the circumference of our thighs? I kind of needed to read this today. (Hello Giggles)

The truth is, it doesn’t matter all that much, what you look like. It’s fun to get a cute haircut, it’s fun to do makeup and wear clothes that make you feel good. But if you ask anyone who’s ever had a crush on you what they like about you, most of the time it won’t be the cute outfit you’re wearing, but the contented confidence you exude from wearing it. Sure, looks can pique interest, but even then, you’re probably more interesting in a band shirt (something people can connect with you through) than looking like you just fell out of a Vogue spread.

This advertisement is retina searingly boss. (Lipstick Feminists)

I’m vehemently pro-choice when it comes to abortion, but like this commenter on Jezebel, I really do believe that anti-abortion sentiments reek of Betty Crocker aprons. (Jezebel)

Why it’s important to put on your game face and a good pair of shoes, even if you work behind a computer. (Eat the Damn Cake)

I thought writing might be different. I thought that maybe writing would be less about impressing people at parties, and more about living in a cottage in the hills, making tiny, brilliant, relatable observations about growing a garden that you then send to a New York publisher, who is happy to fly you up occasionally for fancy parties, where people already like you, because they not-so-secretly wish they knew how to garden.

I love love love the girls of community. They’re funny without resorting to poop jokes, and their characters actually have personalities and develop. Read the interview here. (Daily Beast)

There’s a sense of diversity on Community. Not just in terms of ethnicity and religion but also gender. What is it like being on a show that doesn’t set your characters up as sort of sex object, the girlfriend, the wife, but it actually creates three-dimensional characters for you to embody?

Jacobs: A friend of mine wrote a script, a feminist romantic comedy. She had a feminist scholar consult on it. My friend said, “Oh, my friend Gillian read it and really loved it.” She goes, “Gillian Jacobs, you mean: Britta Perry, feminist icon?” That gives me a lot of pride that women really identify with Britta. The thing that is unique about her is that she is never the subject of slut shaming. Like, she’s one of the only female characters that doesn’t ever get punished for having an active sex life.

Ganz: She is also proud of it and doesn’t ever use it to her advantage. I mean, in some ways: a gym bag full of nickels. But you can tell she’s just having experiences.

Watch this video. Are these men available for purchase? Can I pre-order? And buy in bulk?

I am a bad, bad blogger. I started this blog almost over a year ago now when I moved to Perth and was very, very bored. Not to say I only write when I’m bored, but I needed an outlet, a soapbox, anywhere where I could reach out to other women who wanted to discuss gender, lgbt issues, books, movies, body image, etc. I hadn’t started university yet and I was barely working. I had so much to say and was so excited when my favourite writers started noticing me. People like Gala Darling, Girl With a Satchel, Rachel Hills and Scarlett Harris. I would tweet and comment and blog all the time. And then it became less about writing, and more about winning. Blogging became some kind of sport I had to excel at. I had to have X amount of readers within a month. I had to post X amount of times per week. It became less about writing and connecting, and more about achieving some goal, some egotistical digital trophy that revealed itself in figures on Google Analytics. I don’t even know what that goal is, because at what does a writer suddenly reach fulfillment? So I quickly learnt I was on a wild goose chase. Satisfaction, likes all forms of happiness, is so illusive and transient. And I wasn’t very happy. Posts became more about trying to impress rather than connecting through intelligent discourse. As a writer who willingly submits her work to the public sphere with a click of a button, I understand that my job as a writer is not to write for myself, but for my readers. They are, after all, the ones who have to read the thing. But I feel that with blogging, it’s different. Of course there’s a general desire to illicit some kind of response from readers, to engage and in likelihood ruffle a few feathers, but at the end of the day, it’s my blog. If I’m paying for a domain, I feel like I should gain something out of it too. And I’m not just talking about getting hits. I want writing to be a joy. Something I can wake up in the morning to and then high five myself because omg-this-is-just-so-awesome.

Aside from that, I’ve been catapulting through the universe up to my eyeballs in stress. My mother has bowel cancer, I’m working 2 jobs and completing the final year of my communications degree. I know, I know, everyone is busy. I have so much time says absolutely no one. I was burnt out. Roast to the core. So rather than complain, I decide to remove blogging from the equation for a bit because I just wasn’t enjoying it as much anymore. I used to love thinking of ideas for Girls Are Made From Pepsi and watching my words dance for me across the screen. So I’ve changed my game plan and gone back to basics. I’m not going to blog to achieve some goal anymore, but blog because it tickles me pink.

I doubt that I’ll be doing the Lady of the Month anymore, but will probably feature more sporadic interviews with interesting and inspiring women. You’ll probably also be seeing my face in posts more often too. So I guess here signals a new page for Girls Are Made From Pepsi. The winds of change be blowing.

xx