I should get that on a T-Shirt or something.
My good friend Annie the Scot is a bit of a feminist. She has a slight tendency for bra burning and going on marches, and this weekend she was determined to get her ass down to my neighbourhood for the Slut Walk which (if you have been living under a rock) happened today in central London.
I’ll admit, I was sceptical. I don’t generally go in for these protest type things, as I don’t think they actually do that much good very often, and usually end in violence and graffiti (bloody student fee protests anyone? That was a fun journey home from work wasn’t it?), but since she is rather persuasive and kind of scary, I let her drag me along.
I’m not a rape victim, and as you know I generally have a pretty crass attitude towards sex and debauchery, but I am a woman living in a big scary city and I do walk home at 2am by myself and I have got a pretty impressive amount of cleavage that earns me more than my share of sleazey comments. For anyone (such as that policeman dude in Canada) to imply that a woman should dress like a dowdy frumpster to avoid getting violated by some creep in a dark alley or for politians (*cough* Ken Clarke *splutter* dickhead) to try to define the specifics of rape as ‘classic’ or ‘serious’ as opposed to, you know un-serious, it would make any woman throw on some fishnets and take to the streets.
“However I dress, wherever I go, yes means yes and no means no”
Pretty fucking straight forward, rapists of the world. One syllable. No.
This was my first protest – I’m not exactly gonna make a habit of it (cos, you know, I have a job) but it was oddly liberating to march from Hyde Park Corner all the way down to Piccadilly, down Haymarket and into Trafalgar Square, belting out the odd chant and spotting the best slogans with Annie the Scot and her MENTAL mates.
Is it wrong to have a #whatimwearing moment right now? Because I rocked the Slut Walk in double denim and a hot pink bikini, and let me tell you, wedges were not exactly designed for protest marches…
Mind you, when it got to Trafalgar Square, things got a tad… preachy. Amid all the man-hating and occasional mild racism (weird but true) the absolute HIGHLIGHT for me was an amazing poem read (and possibly written?) by Caitlyn (Hayward – I think?) who I believe also blogs and whatnot here. Passionate and clearly a frickin genius for playing what looked like a pretty huge part in the event organisation, she’s the kind of woman who speaks with a voice for all women. Well done lady.
All in all, an electric atmosphere with more than 3000 people (not just women) in varying states of undress marching their fabulous way through London and demanding to be paid some attention. Let’s hope it actually does something. I lasted until about 4pm, but then the glamorous West End called me into action and I had to run away to work. Annie the Scot is still there I believe, determined to start some kind of hippie style sit in. I may stop by later with starbucks…
Sluts of London – we rocked it. I salute you.