We have been given a chance to curate a whole list of things that make us weird or extraordinary; a place to write about the things we actually enjoy, the things we want from life, the music that makes us cry and the TV shows that make us laugh. It can’t only be Alan Partridge.
I am sure there is a deeper analysis to be done as to why women seem to have so many problematic faves, but labelling everybody who wouldn’t mind a bit of Mr Rochester, or enjoys a James Bond movie as a Bad Feminist isn’t helping anything.
Much like an old-school private members club, women are picked from the constantly growing list by Bateman himself, allowing him to personally design his very own Instagrammable girl gang.
There is not time to waste being made to cry in bathrooms or to put on a brave face at dinner. Spend these days with the people who make you happy, who love you, who want the best for you. And if you look around and decide the only person who makes you happy is yourself, then spend it alone.
And that is why debating this stuff is exhausting and draining and often futile - because this whole story boils down to the fact that a man going to a Porsche convention tried to make me feel guilty for taking baby clothes to a refugee camp. And he genuinely thought he was in the right.
You were once a feminist (and make sure you tell everyone that, so you get the credit you deserve, you champ!) but you have stopped being one now because it’s all gone “too far”. Your main source of anger and outrage seems to be that you can’t, in theory, give Liz in the office a hug lest she parade you through the streets naked and castrated, ringing a bell and screaming “shame”.
Fascinated by the horror of it all, I could never look away, and the bad news kept on coming; missing children, brutal murders, natural disasters, economic crises, corrupt dictators. I drank them all in from the comfort of my sofa. It’s a morbid addiction that I wish I didn’t have to feed.
My mum used to chastise me for cheating in The Sims, assuring me “You can’t cheat in real life”. But growing up as a Millennial made me realise that you can cheat in real life, it’s just that not everybody gets the same codes. As teenagers we would share the codes we found scrolling through early games forums, and copy and paste them to each other on MSN. Offline, people are less willing to share.
School felt like something I could be great at, but that was slipping through my fingers whilst I sat in a room that smelt of antiseptic and explained to an old man that I thought I was going insane.
Food is delicious and pleasurable and enjoyable. It is sociable. It is unctuous and crumbly and gooey and crunchy. It runs down your chin and sticks to your fingers, splashes down your t-shirt and gets stuck in your teeth. Food bring us together. Food is not medicine.
I should point out here that we weren’t a particularly religious family, but that didn’t stop me recording the Bible onto tapes aged 6 to try and combat this worrying issue. Can you imagine anything creepier to listen to than a little girl solemnly reading Bible stories into a cassette player? Because I certainly can’t.
By 2006, I have ditched the alcopops and moved on to vodka and diet coke. I like vodka and diet coke because it doesn’t make me feel quite so unwell, and I think it’s classy. Sure.
It is not always somebody screaming at you to eat less, sometimes it is simply somebody taking away your plate before you are finished eating.