Tag Archives: Feminist

Baby Steps vs. Leaps of Faith

14 Wednesday Feb 2018

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I’m not going to talk about the fact that today is Valetine’s Day and I am not seeing anyone.

I’ve recently started attending a Meet-Up group called Abundant Artists. The purpose is to get together with other local artists, predominantly working in visual art, but there are some performers too, and discuss what you’re struggling with and what you’re working toawrds. We talked about the ways in which we sabotage ourselves, procrastination is one of my big ones, and the things we fear.

So I’ve been thinking about the next steps for my writing. I could keep going with baby steps, learning about creative writing through various short courses and workshops and producing manuscripts, or I could take a leap of faith and dip my toe into self-publishing.

My leap of faith is to engage a professional editor to look over my Choose Your Own Adventure Novel. I think this is a good book to test out self-publishing with; it has a lot of nostaglic appeal to 90’s kids, and it’s probably a bit weird for a big publisher.

It’s expensive to have a manuscript professionally edited, but it’s an investment in my future career. If the experience is positive, and the feedback constructive, then I’ll look into having other manuscripts edited for self-publishing.

I’ve also entered by manuscript ‘My Mother’s Secret’ into the Kill Your Darlings Unpublished Manuscript Award. I entered last year and was not shortlisted, but this is a new story and a new year, so I’m hopeful!

Finally, I created a poetry chapbook – a small collection of my work – which I’m going to take to The Sticky Institute. Sticky specialises in zines, so it’s the right place to test out the market for angry feminist poetry.

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Poetry chapbook pic from my Instagram

I would like to thank everyone who has told me it’s worth investing time and money into my art/writing. Without you I would never get through those days when it all seems pointless. With you I have the confidence and resilience to keep on keeping on! Whether it’s one small step forward at a time or one giant leap into the unknown, I know you’ll all be there to catch me.

PS: I’m still accepting donations towards my Get Hairy February campaign.

Get Hairy February

01 Thursday Feb 2018

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Some of you may have realised by now I have feminist leanings. If you haven’t you haven’t been paying attention.

I recently came across a campaign called Get Hairy February. Founded by Alex Andrews, the concept is simple; grow out your body hair for the month of February, spruik the bush, get people to pay you money for it, and the money gets donated to organisations working with people experiencing domestic violence and sexual assault.

For more info about what the campaign stands for, background and further reading, go to their beautiful website.

Fleur 1

Me, with bush, photo by Jamie MacFadyen, courtesy of Get Hairy February.

A while ago a Facebook group I’m in put out a call for women who choose not to remove their body hair to model for this campaign.Of course I put my hand up!

The shoot was held in an enormous warehouse/photography studio in North Melbourne. There were seven women involved, including the founder Alex. Photographer Jamie MacFadyen was behind the camera and, under direction from Alex, helped with the art direction.

As well as individual photos I participated in some group ones, you’ll have to follow GHF to see those. The two photos in this post will be used for publicity for Get Hairy February on social media. Everyone involved volunteered their time, and were lovely to work with.

I also had the opportunity to speak with Alex about what my hairiness means to me. Talking with her, I realised how much internalised misogyny I carry around with me, especially about the hair. Externally it may appear that I don’t care what people think of my gender presentation and my hair but I do. I don’t want to be shouted at in the street because I don’t see the point of adhering to beauty standards that involve painful and time consuming removal of my natural hair.

Then again, I frequently wear make-up, I wear sleeves and stockings at work, but I tell myself it’s to cover the tattoos on my arms, and not the hair under them. I guess how I present myself is not an all or nothing affair.

Now that I’m one of the faces of the campaign, I’ve signed up to fundraise. Go here to donate to my page: https://www.gethairyfebruary.org/fleur-blum

I encourage you to free the bush, even if it’s just for February. If your bush is already free wave it in the wind! If you have some money, give it to the campaign, it’s good.

Let’s raise awareness of oppressive standards of beauty and help end gendered violence.

Fleur 2

Me, with bush, photo by Jamie MacFadyen, courtesy of Get Hairy February.

January 26, 2016

26 Thursday Jan 2017

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I don’t want to make this post about changing the date. There is so much out there about the reasons that 26 January can be a horrendous day for our First Peoples that I don’t need to add my not very well-educated opinion to it.

Instead I want to tell you about what I did exactly one year ago. I think it’s probably the worst date I’ve ever been on. But that’s getting ahead of myself.

This time last year I was single, and on a dating site called OkCupid. I was pretty prolific, I would contact a lot of people in the hope of finding someone who would be suitable. I was pretty open minded, I would consider most people who didn’t immediately appear to be a massive dickhead.

I’d been talking to a fellow called Vinny* for a week or so. He was a Business Analyst, he was American, in his late 20s. He had told me in his messages that he did stand-up comedy as a bit of a hobby on the side. There was potential.

Vinny lived in St Kilda, and he insisted that we meet up for a coffee down his way. We met at 10:30am, quite early for a public holiday in my opinion, at a cafe on Fitzroy St. I got there before him, I try to be on time for things, and so when he walked up I saw him coming. He seemed very nervous.

We sat at a table on the street, drank our coffees and chatted and watched the comings and goings around us. For the first part of the date he was very quiet, I did a lot of talking, partly to put him at ease and partly to fill the space.

‘Why do you keep looking around?’ he asked, suddenly.

‘I don’t know, I’m just checking out what’s happening.’ I replied.

This was the first time I started to think that he was a little bit socially awkward. It’s not normal to look at a person’s face for the entire time you’re having a conversation. You look off the the side while recalling a fact, or whatever, and anyway staring at someone 100% of the time is super creepy. A little red flag started to wave, but I gave him the benefit of the doubt.

About an hour in he starts to relax, and starts telling me a bit more about himself.

‘Do you want me to tell you one of my jokes?’ he said.

‘Sure.’ I was worried by this stage, being a bit of a rabid feminazi I find that many types of stand-up comedy are offensive. I hoped that Vinny was going to be enlightened and not tell a joke that would make me uncomfortable.

Unfortunately the passage of time has erased the exact joke from my mind, only the punch line stays with me, so I’ve reverse engineered something that is similar to what he told me:

‘My ex-girlfriend bought a dog the other day, that bitch was crazy, and the dog was pretty bad too.’ He grins at me, awaiting my laughter and approval. It is not given, I just sit waiting to see what he’ll do to justify what he’s just said.

‘It’s okay, I don’t really think like that, but I play a character on stage, and he does think like that.’

‘Oh, okay. How does the audience know that you’re playing a character? I mean, if it’s just a five minute open mic spot, then won’t they just think you’re being you?’ I was trying not to be judgmental.

We talked about that for a while, but I could see it wasn’t sinking in. By now I’d decided to honour the small red flag from earlier and I wasn’t interested in spending any more time with this guy. I excused myself, saying I had to get to a Hottest 100 party, and I left.

I’d spent about two hours with this guy. As I sat in my car I shook my head and thought, ‘at least I know he’s a dickhead now, and I don’t have to waste any more time on him,’ and went on with my day.

I had a lovely time at the Corner Hotel, I met some cool people, I played giant jenga, I couldn’t really hear the countdown over the hubbub but that was okay. I called it a day about 7pm and went home.

At 9pm I get a text. I still have the texts saved in my phone.

‘Hey Fleur. It was very nice to meet you. Hope you made it home safe.’

‘Hey, yes, I got home alright,’ I sent back.

‘Cool. Would you like to catch up again?’

‘To be honest, it’s not something I’m super keen on.’

‘No problem. Can I give you a very quick call? Promise to keep it short.’

‘Why?’

‘I won’t ask for why you aren’t interested. Please. Can I call? Just need to request you for something.’

‘If you can’t ask over text then I don’t want to know.’

I’m getting pretty annoyed by now. I expected that he would just take my no and leave it at that. He asked if I had Skype, and I said no.

Eventually he sends through a text with what he wants.

‘I think you are out of my league and you probably associate with people unlike me. I wanted to ask if you would consider the idea of allowing me to serve you financially by taking you shopping and holding your bags while you ignore me.’

On the surface, this seems like a good arrangement, I get presents and I don’t have to talk to him. But this guy bothers me and to be honest I don’t really want to spend any more time with him. I’m also very suspicious that this is not the only thing he will want from me; he’ll want attention, he’ll want to have access to my time, he’ll probably want to inflict his terrible jokes on me. I’m really not very materialistic, I don’t need stuff, and it doesn’t seem like I’d be getting much out of the deal.

So I say no thank you. He wants to talk about it. I say no. He wants to chat on Facebook, I say no, please stop texting me. He goes back to OkCupid and starts messaging me there. I repeat that I’m not interested. I realised in hindsight I should probably have stopped replying, but I didn’t.

At some point I ask him to stop contacting me. He logs into another OkCupid account and starts to message me from that account. It’s now after 11pm.

‘Please let me call to explain. If you don’t agree I will never contact you again,’ he texts.

I don’t reply. Finally I have gotten to the point where I am not giving him any more space. I’m tired, and I go to have a shower. When I get out, I’m getting ready for bed and my phone rings.

It’s Vinny. I was shocked. I have said over and over I don’t want him to call me, I don’t want to speak with him, I’ve made it clear that I was not interested. I was angry so I answered the phone.

‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing?’ I was speaking in a soft voice because both my housemates were asleep. The soft voice makes my anger seem more sinister.

‘I told you not to call me. I told you to stop texting me. Don’t contact me ever again,’ I said.

He screamed something abusive and there was a sound like he’d thrown his phone against the wall.

I was stunned, but I hoped that that would be the end of it. Then I get two final text messages:

‘Fat slob racist piece of shit. Fuck off!!! Die alone fatso.’

‘You are blocked on OkCupid. Die alone fatso racist loser cunt! :)’

The smiley face really just tops off the creepiness in my opinion. This guy, who seems very shy, who takes a while to come out of his shell and who I had done so much to make him feel comfortable. This guy who then felt he was entitled to my time, even after I asked him repeatedly to stop. This guy who said I was out of his league had flipped, very suddenly and very violently, and told me to die alone. This guy who proved to me that those little red flags that pop up and I sometimes ignore, I need to honour those.

It took me a while to feel comfortable again after that. I took myself off OkCupid and tried Tindr. Even now it’s that flip that gets me. I don’t really know what point I’m trying to make here, except to say that this day last year I had a pretty rough day. I had sort of intended this to be a funny anecdote but it turns out that, a year later, it’s still not funny.

 

*I haven’t changed this guy’s name, because he doesn’t deserve my protection.

I am That Woman

17 Thursday Sep 2015

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I am That Woman.

I’m at a market with my sister
I pick up a necklace
With Frida Kahlo’s face on it.
I put it back on the display wrong
My sister turns to me, smiling, and asks:
“What are you doing?”
“Destroying the joint,” I reply,
“I’ve been warned about women like you,”
She says, still smiling.

I am That Woman.

It’s hot. I’m in a line
Waiting for a ride
At an amusement park in Holland.
A child in front of me turns to his friend,
He’s restless and excited,
His face aglow with illicit glee,
He’s speaking German and pointing
At the dark, plentiful hair he sees
Peeking out from underneath my arms.

I am That Woman.

Each morning I paint on my face
So I can go unremarked upon in the world.
I put on a costume, one that says:
“Nothing to see here.”
I conform to your gender stereotypes
To your standards of beauty
Yet a man at a tram stop tells me
“Your features are all wrong.”

I am That Woman.

And sometimes I don’t want to be
Wish I didn’t have to be.
I want to bare my chest on a beach
I want to earn as much as the next man
I want to grow old disgracefully
And have worth beyond my fuckability.
I want to come home to a man
Who will love me because of,
Not in spite of, the fact

I am That Woman.

Homecoming Blues

12 Saturday Sep 2015

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Is there such a thing as post-travel blues? Because I’m pretty sure I have them. I’ve been back for exactly a week now and I still feel pretty lost and untethered. My trip was, at least in part, a celebration of the end of my second degree; a first step towards a new phase in my life. But that phase is still in germination and the reality is that I don’t really know what I’m doing.

I said in a previous post that I was going to focus on performance for the next little while, and I still am, but I’m feeling really poor after all the money I spent on the trip. Part of me wants to wait until I have a more stable income, or at least, an income, before booking in things like performance classes. That being said I have registered for an improv workshop which is part of the Melbourne Fringe Festival. I’ve also been in touch with a couple of bands looking for bassists but no bites yet.

On the income front, I came back from my trip to the promise of recruitment work with an agency, but it turned out to be much more casual than I had anticipated. That meant that the last two days I haven’t worked. Pros: I slept in. Cons: I didn’t earn any money, and in fact spent a bunch. I spent some time today applying for writing jobs, content producers and copywriters and that sort of thing. I think I’ll probably have difficulty getting one of these initially as I don’t have much in the way of professional experience, but hopefully my transferrable skills and personal writing experience will pique someone’s interest eventually. As long as I keep applying for things.

I’ve also decided to reactivate my online dating profile. Since Easter, so I guess nearly six months, I’ve put my online dating on hiatus because I felt like it wasn’t working for me. There are a lot of issues with online dating but these days it’s kind of hard to avoid if you’re in the market. While I was away I had zero holiday flings. I had quite a bit of flirtation, but it never amounted to anything. I’ve never really been one for holiday romances anyway, maybe I’m no good at picking up the signals, but also it seems like such a short term gain I’m not sure I would have bothered even if the situation had presented itself.

The main issue I have with online dating, and dating in general is something I’m going to call “feminism anxiety”. I can’t help buying into the patriarchal bullshit which says that women like me are too difficult to be in relationships. I question whether there is a man out there who can deal with my hairy armpits and anger at the system. And if I’m really honest, I don’t want someone who’s going to deal with it, I want someone who embraces my righteous indignation and wants to help break down the system with me. I know I could never accept someone who wasn’t a feminist but I’m scared that means I’ll be alone. Where do boss feminists like Clementine Ford get boys? And are there any more?

So yeah, a couple of things are getting me down at the moment. I’m sure they’re all temporary situations, but even so, it’s a tough place to be in. It’s always nice to know that I’m not the only one who has that little voice in their head telling them ‘you’re doing it all wrong,’ and ‘you’ll never get a <insert here> by doing that!’ and ‘you’ll never be good enough’. I’m sure things will resolve themselves into more of a routine and that will make me feel a lot better, and in the mean time I’ll try to take care of myself and trust that it will come out alright in the end.

What if?

28 Saturday Jun 2014

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Today is a free writing day. Write at least four-hundred words, and once you start typing, don’t stop. No self-editing, no trash-talking, and no second guessing: just go. Bonus points if you tackle an idea you’ve been playing with but think is too silly to post about.

 

I identify as a feminist. Usually I’m completely happy with this, but sometimes, I find myself wanting things that are decidedly unfeministy. Like a boyfriend and a baby and a house in the suburbs. I’ll turn 30 later this year. It keeps feeling like this should be a big deal, like I should have sorted my shit out by now, but it is pretty clear to me that I really, really haven’t got anything sorted out.

I’ve just left a perfectly good, if soul-crushing, permanent part time job for nothing. I haven’t really got another job to go into. I plan to study full-time next semester, but without Centrelink/welfare payments I’ll have to get a job of some sort to survive. I have been in a romantic relationship for a total of four weeks out of the last (nearly) three years. I’m generally not doing well in the ‘being a grown-up department’.

The difficulty for me with these conflicting desires is that I know, intellectually, that I’m capable of being happy without a husband, baby, house and white picket fence. I also know, intellectually, that having these things does not guarantee happiness, and that many people would look at my free, arty farty lifestyle with envy, but I still want them. I guess there’s that part of me, having grown up with all of those expectations of normality, that wants to fit in.

I always saw myself as a parent, a mother, and the idea that it might not be a reality for me is kind of hard to fathom. I’m not so invested in the idea for a baby that I would have one alone, I don’t mean any disrespect to single mothers/parents, but it seems like a lot of hard work, and I’m not up for that.

On the other hand women who don’t have kids are supposed to be focussed on their careers. In a lot of ways I am focussed on my career, my aims to be a writer, but that’s not usually what people mean by career. I don’t want to climb the corporate ladder. I don’t want to work really hard so I have lots of cash and no time. I often feel like a massive failure on lots of different societal measures of success, although I seem to be pretty good at academic pursuits which is supposed to be desirable, but usually only on the way to career or babies.

So how do I make peace with myself, with my path, if I won’t achieve ‘success’? Even if I don’t want to. How do I tell the part of my brain that wants money, husbands, babies and houses to be quiet so the other part, the part my heart knows is right for me, can guide me? And what if my chosen path is never ‘successful’? I might get a few things published here and there, but I might never be a full time writer. Maybe I’ll be working in admin a few days a week and churning out writing that no one will pay for and hardly anyone will read when I’m 75. I really want to be ok with this. I will always have ambition, and that’s great, but I want to be able to be happy without those things.

What if I’m a bad feminist because I want those things? What if I can’t achieve the things I want? What if the things I want aren’t socially acceptable? What if I’m a failure as a human being? What if I want things that won’t make me happy?What if… What if…

But what if I just stop worrying and start living? How about I try that and see how I go from there.

Women of Rock

31 Saturday May 2014

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The world of rock doesn’t have a great history of women fronting bands, and an even worse record with women in bands doing other stuff – guitar, bass, keys, drums, etc. The best way I can think of to try to address this is to support bands with awesome rock women in them.

Last night I went to a gig at the fabulously grungy Cherry Bar, in AC/DC Lane in the Melbourne CBD. Each of the nights three bands were fronted by women who fucking rock.

Hayley and the Fugitives

Hayley and the Fugitives

First up were Hayley and the Fugitives, as the opening act they played to an underpopulated dance floor, something they certainly don’t deserve. Hayley’s vocals are solid and engaging, she leads the boys in her band with style and power and struts her stuff across the stage with excellent rock presence. Playing mostly original songs they’re definitely worth checking out.

Peta Evans Taylor Band

Peta Evans Taylor Band

Next up were Peta Evans Taylor and her band. Peta’s voice combines power and beauty in a way that is both unique and haunting. She can move from straight up rock to beautiful ballads, like ‘Amy’, which such ease that you don’t realise how hard it must be. Her band are all fantastic, be it the guitarist with his Hendrix-esque behind the head solos, the drummer who keeps it all together (and they never get the credit they’re due), or the new bassist who makes the fiddly licks look easy, and I know they’re not because I pretend to play bass and I’ve tried them. This band are consistently awesome, and well worth supporting.

Last Mistress

Last Mistress

Finally we come to the closer, the driving force behind the Women of Rock nights at the Cherry Bar, Last Mistress. Front woman Brihony Dawson is rock. She has a voice that will vibrate through your chest, she has a stage presence that would make any of the greats proud, she is undeniably in charge of an audience, and as you can see from the picture, she definitely draws the crowds. Whether it’s original songs or covers Last Mistress are epic. I should also give a mention to the lead guitarist who not only pulled out some kick ass solos, but also did so while riding on Brihony’s shoulder. Yes, that happened, and it was so, so great.

For the full photo set, have a look at my facebook album. And support our local artists like these guys! Keep live music alive and get more women in it!

Watching Movies: Flickerfest

14 Friday Feb 2014

Posted by in Art, Watching Movies

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I don’t know about you, but I enter competitions for things under the assumption that I’ll never win. That assumption has been severely challenged the last week as I’ve won movie passes twice! One is for Dallas Buyers Club (so I’ll be reviewing that in the next week or so, yay!) and the other was for Flickerfest.

Flickerfest is an Australian short film competition held in Sydney, currently in is 23rd year, that is internationally recognised. It offers an opportunity for Australian, and international, film makers to have their work acknowledged and screened (and there’s a bit of prize money too).

So I entered a competition for tickets to Flickerfest, through the SBS e-newsletter, and I won a double pass to the Melbourne programme night, which featured some of the best entries in competition this year. The ‘Made in Melbourne’ programme comprised nine short films, the full programme and a bit about each film can be found here.

I’m not going to attempt to thoroughly review each one, just to give a brief comment on the few that stood out for me.

We Keep on Dancing

Still: We Keep on Dancing

The first film of the set, ‘We Keep on Dancing’, was the highlight of the programme for me. Sure it had a primacy effect, being first, and perhaps it was chosen for that reason, but that wasn’t all. The story is a heart-warming comedy about a guy who’s car breaks down and the mechanics who help him out. The acting was nuanced, believable, and comedic and the film comes together into a nice, neat package. There was nothing about this short that made me think it was amateur and it has stuck with me in the days since seeing it.

The Kingdom of Doug

Still: The Kingdom of Doug

At the other end of the spectrum was ‘The Kingdom of Doug’: a dark drama about Doug, a cult leader, and his followers. From the very first moment of the film Doug is creepy. At first I wondered if I was reading too much into it, that I was just hyper sensitised to find religious leaders and gurus predatory. As the story progressed, however, what started as mild discomfort with Doug developed into a powerful feeling of revulsion. I commend the film makers for going with a project that is so heavy and so unrelentingly dark for a short film. I would find it difficult to tell such a intense story in such a short time.

The other two films that I’ll just briefly mention were ‘Aboriginal Heart’, a comedy about a white doctor who comes to a remote outback community and has some difficulty with the local indigenous artists. The phrase ‘stupid white fella’ comes to mind. The second one that deserves a quick mention is ‘Off Course’, a black comedy about two guys who help a third guy get home one night.

Now, I just want to touch briefly on some gender stuff here. I don’t want what I’m about to say to be taken as an attack on any of the film makers individually, but to be read as a comment on my perception of the up-and-coming film industry.

There were a lot of men in these stories. Of the nine shorts, only one had a female lead character. Of the remaining eight films, three were of the form ‘two guys bond over some obstacle’. There was the reluctant journey, the estranged son (in which the female character is literally the obstacle), and the unlikely friendship. Sitting in the cinema I found myself increasingly irritated by the repeated offerings of male stories, told by men, about men. We need to do better.

On the other hand I was pleased at the indigenous representation in the films on the programme, and some quick research reveals that, of the two with indigenous characters, one was made by an indigenous production company.

Overall, I left the night feeling inspired to go out and start making my contribution to the independent film industry. Just one more thing to add to the list of things I want to do; another goal to work towards. Look out Flickerfest, I’m coming for you!