On this last Squeamish Bikini post of 2012 it's definitely worth noting this was the year the word 'intersectional' was brought to the attention of many feminists. I know a lot of feminists have probably started to form a twitch every time they see the words 'intersectional' or 'privilege' on Twitter. I know some feminists have despaired and branded much of this year's feminist discussion in-fighting.

I am sure there has been some in-fighting this year, in playgrounds, boardrooms and social networking. But I don't believe calling a person who would like to identify as an ally out for ill used language, for instance, is in-fighting. Can it really be such a terrible power sap to listen to minorities? Frankly if I ever find myself part of a movement that doesn't question itself, that isn't striving for constant development or evolution then I want out. Immediately. 

TRIGGER WARNING

Ah, 2012, the year that brought us triumph, scandal and the London Olympics. Which the SB team managed successfully to ignore. Apart from the Boris Johnson trapped on a zip wire bit. For the Olympic zip wire event. Even we allowed ourselves a glimpse of that Olympic glory.

And now 2012 must come to a close in the same awkward fashion of all years. That bit 'twixt Christmas and New Year. When there are still Christmas films showing all day on TV and leftover chocolates and turkey (or whatever you eat come Christmas), but the cheer's slightly gone out of it all. The tree is drooping and many of us had to exchange the twinkling fairy light glow for harsh flickering strip lights at work. Where we realised it is frowned upon to take naps in the afternoon, naps that have very quickly become part of your routine over Christmas and Boxing Day.

So instead of living in the present, or planning New Year's Eve (always a slight disaster) we reflect on our favourite moments of 2012... (Gareth is excused because it's his birthday today!) 

We have mentioned before how we all feel differently about Christmas on Squeamish Bikini, but whatever our attitude can we resist a Christmas tune? Before the tinsel festoons the shops, before the supermarkets trundle out the adverts and stockpiling goose fat, before the shopping centre elves have their outfits sized up, you hear the Christmas music. You might feel a wave of panic, you might feel excitement or dread but goshdarnit you also immediately think 'I hope they play [INSERT FAVOURITE CHRISTMAS SONG HERE]'. Because there is a seasonal song you can't get enough of. Face it. Admit it. Embrace it. Just don't play it post December. Here are the Squeamish Bikini teams favourite Christmas tunes (turns out some of them are curmudgeons) (well one is). 

I know the current rule of the week for bloggers is to list the things you should do today before the world ends on Friday the 21st. If it does end. Suddenly. As the Mayans allegedly predicted. I can't imagine the Mayan calendar got it wrong – I mean, it's set in stone after all (har-har je ne regrette rien). But just in case the world doesn't end tomorrow (which it won't, but it might) and you're still on the look out for that perfect Christmas gift then boy do I have the blog post for you my friend.

It's the perfect present to give OR receive. Provided you're either a dad with ambitions of grandparentdom or a young lady on the brink of infertility and wizenedom. By which I mean around the age of 21. Who can say no to More Time?

I was once doing a comical bit about a recent dating failure when a friend said to me,

“You should write a book about your romantic exploits. It’d have reams and reams of blank pages, but occasionally you’d stumble across a right corker.”

Yikes. A two pronged jibe. You’re ALONE. You’re UNSUCCESSFUL. POW POW.

But as my dear old nan used to say, don’t get mad, get vicious. So I yawned all the way through her coupley Ikea anecdote. That’ll show her.

It wasn’t an unfair statement to make. I’m single. A lot. And not Carrie Bradshaw single. Not even Bridget Jones single. I’m more How Do You Solve A Problem Like Maria? single. If Captain Von Trapp was homosexual. Or Maria was a drunk and swore at the children. Or the Nazis had got there just in time.

I first saw the dimpled Carey Mulligan in the creepy Doctor Who episode Blink. The next time I saw her, it was in the creepy film based on Lynn Barber's memoir An Education  in which she plays a 16 year old seduced by a much older man, for whom she gives up her actual education for the education he can provide. Of the slightly seedy yet glamorous kind.

What is odd in the film is how totally OK the young Jenny Mellor's parents are with their teenage daughter being taken out and about (overnight, overnight!) by a grown man. My, perhaps prudish, little mind went into overdrive trying to work out why this was apparently acceptable in 1961. Nikki McWatters might believe that the reason is clear – Mellor was a predatory teenage girl.  

We are sure you've heard, after the dawn of guy-liner it was inevitable really and now Bieber's been spotted wearing a pair they are officially A Thing. What are we talking about? Oh come now, haven't you been reading Vogue Hommes International (aka Man Vogue)? Meggings! They are a thing now! Oh, you're probably wearing them. This week The Guardian sent out an intrepid reporter to try this meggings trend. It was pretty hard hitting stuff: “Quite why leggings have to be gendered in this way is a moot point. We all have legs – boys and girls. It's not like ladies' leggings are called feggings.” What Mr Kingsley had neglected to learn was that the L in leggings is for lady. The gender neutral term for these leg garments is of course eggings. We wondered what other clothing was in need of some gendering...

TRIGGER WARNING Hey! Guys, I have come up with a great trick for you to work out all by yourself how to use the word rape correctly in a joke! It's rather like the old trick to help you decide whether you should use “and I” or “and me” in a sentence, by taking out some of the words and seeing if that's still what you want to say. Try switching the word 'rape' in your joke to 'murder' or 'Grievous Bodily Harm', basically another devastating crime and see if it is still funny. Funny ha-ha not funny peculiar. No? Then it's probably not a joke.


I do apologise for censoring those with the good fortune to be made entirely of funny bones. However it's funny how what starts off as being (unfunny) niche and edgy can creep into the common vernacular, isn't it?

I have already written about my dislike of recent Christmas adverts. You know, the MUM ones. Not mum ones, MUM ones. Aimed at MUMS. Although if there are any MUMS able to find the time to watch an advert and identify with it then they are clearly not doing their MUM jobs properly. Like the person in your office who huffs and puffs over all the e-mails they have and how stressed they are without visibly getting much done - if they were really MUMMING they'd be far too run ragged to keep their eyes open for an ad.

But, even though these ads have been on TV since Halloween, we still can't seem to decide what to make of them. Lots of complaints of sexism were made concerning Asda's portrayal of a MUM traipsing round the supermarket and preparing her home for Christmas as her family lolled (lolled!) on settee, ignoring her efforts.

Do you want to know a fact I learned this week? Over the Christmas season women wear 3 times as much make up as usual. That's thrice as much! According to the Daily Mail women are: “slathering 12 products on to their faces before going on a night out.” Slathering! The usual amount of products women slap on is 4, for a night out the product number climbs to 8.

Debenhams, who bravely undertook this research, said the poll showed the basic 4 products of foundation, mascara, lip gloss and blusher make up the basic lady routine. Come Christmas these products are augmented with bronzer, eye liner, eye shadow, lipstick, false eyelashes, glitter, highlighter and setting spray. Although I suspect setting spray is a big fat lie and women have been taking tips from Snog, Marry Avoid and setting their glittery faces with hairspray.