My view of this mini-movie has evolved since childhood: somehow, the sleaziness of wanting your 17 year old daughter to star in a puerile fetishization of lesbianism only became apparent to me over time. (Here’s looking at you, Steven Tyler). As a child, I missed the implied lust in this 6 minute jaunt-around-town. Little me chose to just see ‘Aerosmith chick’ Alicia Silverstone breaking free from the oppressive school regime alongside her fun-loving pal, and longed to be a part of their world.
First stop on the mini road trip? Steal numerous sunglasses from a petrol station while an indifferent shop worker aids your thievery. 1993/4 was a renaissance period for Aerosmith, enabling the Toxic Twins: Steven Tyler and Joe Perry, to rake in dollars like it was still Ye Olden Days. However time is cruel and this era could now be considered retro, while viewers wonder why the pair would steal in front of CCTV so brazenly. Sike! Not every shop had CCTV cameras in the 20th century; the only lens they were performing for was the male gaze. *Mic drop*
But whatever, it still looks like a party to me! A photobooth, androgyny on Silverstone’s part, and the expert pranking of a semi-naked farmer; a portrait of reckless youth. When I was a young’un, music videos were only shown at random on the TV, and therefore my emotional attachment to this tale of two runaways grew stronger for every hour I sat in waiting. Other entertaining events unfold, including a pole-dancing Liv Tyler mimicking the Aerosmith front man perfectly because he is literally her dad. There’s also some skinny-dipping in a lake – shedding our protagonists of all that 90s denim. After the fun is had, ‘Crazy’ is furrowed into a field by farmer boy’s driver-less tractor as the girls ignore a hitchhiker in pursuit of more adventure. Badasses’ with top banter, before anyone used that word in earnest. Oh, what happy days they were. Proceed to the video link below:
I’ve juggled many activities to occupy my time since graduating from University. Earlier this year, I decided to utilise my fervent desire to help others by taking a Teaching Assistant position in a high school.
Akin to most support staff, my initial preference was potato-printing with 5 five year olds and talking favourite One Direction members with Year 6’s (previously Zayn, now Harry). Before long however, my recruitment agency intervened to elect me as crowd control and GCSE support to the teens of today; a position in which you are constantly reminded of how quickly youth escapes you, as you are surrounded by people who think anybody 20+ is old.
Fortunately, most teenagers are manageable and the newly-built school is so modern and business-like, (cabinets of laptops for every classroom?!) it bares little resemblance to my own adolescent experience. A hardcore ‘Smiths fan at age 13, school was not my happy place. I was the kind of kid who persistently asked why institutions restrict individual expression and how a maths formula will be useful in the real world?!?! In other words I was a barrel of laughs, yet ‘always a pleasure to teach’. In a pattern familiar to prior generations, I have since learned to feign apathy towards the irrational expectations put upon you in life and thus get on with it.
Women and Self-love
An obvious perk of working with children is your newfound ability to help with their emotional development. Teenage girls are most likely to experience a sudden identity crisis and low self worth – fueled by the pressures of gender discrimination and learned self-objectification. As an adult who only overcame such hurdles after many years of self-taught self-love, the prospect of debugging the Myth of Woman was a big motivation for returning to the dreaded school gates.
My agency gave me the necessary details: arrive early, smart dress code. Conveniently, my wardrobe is full of suit jackets and the only two beauty products I use regularly are mascara and Vaseline. Despite being a tiny 5 “1 (and a half) I ditched my trusty high heels as well. Practicality had finally won; I looked the part of ‘normal person doing a job’.
The Dress (Code)
Monday mornings are universally sluggish. I tend to greet them with caffeine withdrawal and dragging feet but on one particular Monday I felt optimistic for the day ahead. My timetable promised me some friendly Year 10’s and an appeasing balance of literary and numeracy-based subjects. Plus, I donned a new work dress courtesy of my sister’s generosity during the weekend.
History was my appointed lesson after break and Year 11 were revising the topic of Hitler’s Germany, unsurprisingly. Revision lessons don’t require much intervention from support staff so I sat down somewhere to survey progress. After a few minutes, an unfamiliar face asked if there was a TA in the class.
“Great!” I thought, “maybe it’s about a student who needs a scribe or something, at least I have something to do – ”
“I need to speak to you about the length of your skirt (it was a dress). It’s too short. Now we do actually have a dress code here. *I look down* Well… it rises when you walk, I was watching you walk up the stairs and it was rising up. I’m assuming you live too far away to go home and get changed?”
“Yeah I do. I did think it might be a bit figure-hugging –
It’s not that: it’s too short.
Oh, sorry, so has anyone said anything… –
Several members of staff have made complaints and I’m the business manager. And, some of the boys were looking up your skirt too I think, on the stairs.”
A strange response, not only in how adamant she was to tell me her job title but also that ‘several’ teachers had complained by 11.15am. Particularly when I’d interacted perfectly well with the two teachers who had seen me that morning. I am not the oblivious type so it wouldn’t surprise me if there were some fabrications in her account. She also treated my attempts to communicate with her as though I were an insolent child, rather than an adult trying to be compliant. As she walked away, I compulsively pulled down my already lengthy dress so that it covered my knees while the paranoia I suffered in adolescence clouded my mind. Despite being shamed, I knew I had to walk back into the lesson with confidence: I was supposed to be somebody people respected.
Once I sat down, a feeling of acute self-consciousness overcame me. I hugged my arms for comfort – my mind already reeling off possible culprits of who had gossiped about me behind my back, and why.
My new found perspective on authority now seemed misguided. There was another lesson to go before lunch and ironically enough, I received two compliments on my dress during that time.
It’s a frequent occurrence: society is entrenched in misogynistic beliefs, some of which are unknowingly internalised by women and spat back out to make other people feel as small.
Dress codes are inherently sexist because they elevate clothes made especially for men as professional and deem any sign of a female body inappropriate; sexual. The physicality of a woman is different to a man’s, but a female form isn’t necessarily sexual – it just ‘is’. In this specific case, I wore black and white to match school colours, a dress that finishes just above the knee, and flat shoes. There was nothing individual or intriguing about my appearance at all, let alone any sexuality on show. Unfortunately we are conditioned to hypersexualise a woman’s appearance.
Incidents like this are being flagged up on various social media sites as people become more aware of the subtle ways in which women are demeaned in their daily lives. I’d like to echo a popular statement on this topic: we need to prevent the objectification of women by teaching boys not to sexualise a girl’s appearance. This opposes the current system of inventing promiscuity from a person’s appearance and blaming them for your own preconceived projection.
Schools have a responsibility to encourage progressive thinking in their pupils – and staff – including the rejection of gender discrimination. The rejuvenation of what it means to be a feminist will help this evolution take place but until then the internet provides a platform for women to document their experiences publicly.