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The Story of an Average G-1

The Story of an Average G-1

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Published by Sian Life
A response to Yasmin Alibhai Brown "Today’s young women have betrayed feminism".
A response to Yasmin Alibhai Brown "Today’s young women have betrayed feminism".

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Published by: Sian Life on Jun 19, 2013
Copyright:Attribution Non-commercial

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06/19/2013

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The story of an average girl.I grew up in a small village, on the outskirts of a small town in Devon. My family is apretty average English family: 3 kids and 2 very hard working parents. My dad is abuilder and my mum is a teaching assistant and mobile hairdresser (she has always has 2 jobs). They buy The Sun everyday. Mostly for my mum because she loves reading ‘DearDeidre’ and doing the crossword when she gets home from work at 10pm. As familylegend has it, my name was taken from a Page 3 model. A source of endless ironichilarity for my parents as they know that most people assume it’s some sort of exoticmiddle-class hippy name nowadays.I had always assumed that my family were totally normal up until the age of around 14years old. It was at this point that I was first introduced to range of extraordinary foodsthat I had never even heard of. Exploding from my friends fridges were tubs of hummusand guacamole, slices of salami, jars of olives, brown paper bags full of passion fruit and jugs of freshly squeezed orange juice. Whenever I asked what something was my friendswould laugh and say, “well, what do you eat?” so I just stopped asking. In fact, I stoppedspeaking about my family all together unless it was a lie. For example “no, my parentsnever smoke in the house. That would be disgusting!” and “oh yeah, the newspaper youread really does say a lot about you. My parents read The Guardian.”I started to realise that I was abnormal in other ways as well. I had never been shoppingin Exeter with my mum, which meant I had never heard of ‘The Gap’ or ‘H+M’ or‘Starbucks’ or ‘The Real McCoy’. I didn’t have a favourite magazine. I didn’t have afavourite brand of make-up. And I definitely didn’t have a ‘hair-style’. So I started to buymake-up and magazines with my lunch money. Skipping lunch would help me to loseweight anyway. Then I started bunking off school so that we could all go shopping and Icould learn what was really cool. Finally, and most painfully, I dumped my old friendsbecause they didn’t fit in with my new ‘prettier’ friends.At this age my two greatest sources of self-loathing were my breasts and my body hair.My breasts were quite big but they hung to the side instead of being pert and round. Theyalso had stretch marks all over them which none of the Page 3 models had. But Page 3models were just normal girls with normal breasts weren’t they? I knew that my mumand her friends had stretch marks because they had been pregnant and so the onlyreasonable explanation was that I must have got them because I was too fat. I had alreadygiven up eating lunch so I decided to stop eating breakfast as well. The second was thesoft, thick layer of brown body hair that covered me from top to toe. I realise now thatthis was probably made worse by starvation and lack of proper nutrition. However, at thetime it as just another freakish abnormality. I spent hours in the bathroom with tub aftertub of hair removal cream. Spreading it like a magical serum all over my legs, my bum,my lower back, my arms, my stomach and my face. It smelt and it stung and it causedrashes. But nothing could be as bad as being hairy could it?In less than a year I had changed dramatically. I modelled myself on Bridget Jones andCarrie from Sex in the City. Not bad role models some might say. Independent women

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