And we gals thought all we had to worry about on Sunday mornings was our dry-cleaning bill.
Although tiresome to repeat the nonsense of fools, Joanna Lumley has recently given us the kind of advice that has me wanting to scream ‘WHY’ into the faces of strangers while I stagger home, lager in hand and hem high enough to incur frost bite on my bare cheeks (because according to old Jojo, our generation of women believe laddish behavior to be ‘funky’ and suffer from a legitimate fear that the bottom half of our outfits might conceal our vaginas - God forbid). I’m going to ignore Lumley’s frankly dumbfounding use of the word ‘funky’ which goes some way in invalidating her supposed ‘understanding’ of our generation (it is how my inherently homophobic Grandmother coyly explains my gay cousin to her friends), it is not a sound justification for her accusations regarding ‘the state’ of young women today.
Lumley’s article is offensive; her words paint a nasty image of British females, ‘don't look like trash, don't get drunk, don't be sick down your front, don't break your heels and stagger about in the wrong clothes at midnight’-no doubt inspired by sensationalist articles from the likes of The Daily Mail in which women are pictured falling into gutters with headlines such as ‘The Shameful State of Boozed up Britain’. Listen old gal, I get that you’ve been around for a while and your status as a ‘national treasure’ should incline me to take these pearls of wisdom seriously, but excuse me if I don’t rush to take the advice of a woman famed for being the ‘bolly’-swigging-booze-hound Patsy Stone. I love Ab Fab, but it’s difficult to deny that Lumley’s character glamorizes a life of alcoholism and drug abuse, making her pernicious attack on young women all the more tougher to digest.
Equally frustrating is Lumley’s ignorant assertion of a good girl/bad girl dichotomy in which the latter, who seemingly spend their time face down in a pool of the half-digested kebab and stomach acid, are leaving themselves vulnerable to attack as a result of their fashion choices/uncouth demeanor. I have, on more than one occasion, spent the evening examining the bottom of various toilet bowls, yet miraculously been able to attend Monday morning lectures not covered in vomit with obscenities scrawled on my forehead in permanent marker. Women are people and should not be subject to ancient behavioral codes in order to avoid rape.
The final blow of Lumley’s interview is its condescending suggestion that men are brainless automatons whose actions are governed only by the desires of their genitals. Lumley suggests that men might be forgiven for rape if the victim has dressed in a way which makes her feel desirable, or is out drinking for pleasure. Sorry boys, apparently what’s between your legs far exceeds what’s between your ears, and the sight of a vom-covered young chica trying to hail a taxi home works like a horny moth to a flame.
Joanna, you are a comedy veteran, a much respected humanitarian and a national treasure, but for laying the blame for rape at drunken feet, you are also a fool.