Pubic Hair. Porn. Abortions. Sex. Periods. Lust. Fat. Botox. Boob jobs. It’s all in ‘How To Be A Woman’. Which totally surprised me, because although I was vaguely familiar with Caitlin Moran’s writing, the title of the book had me fooled. I expected witticisms on modern life in the style of ‘Grumpy Old Women’. I didn’t think for a second that it was actually going to be about the reality of what it is to be a woman… Revelation!! Caitlin Moran has the balls to say out loud what women, on a daily basis, brush under their Ikea rugs. If you’re a woman, you know what I mean. If you’re a man you might like to find out. No wonder Jonathan Ross found it so revealing.
How To Be A Woman has released feminism from its humourless, dungaree-wearing image and ushered in a new, emancipated version for the 21st Century. The book is a mixture of philosophical rant and hilarious memoir, following Moran’s life from a frumpy, friendless teen, through bookish rebellion to music and media industry success. Like the Emperor with no clothes, Moran’s literary nakedness melts away the unreality that advertising and the media work so hard to promote as ideal womanhood. The necessity of fashionable clothes, a beautiful home, a fuzz-free body and ‘having it all’ are so embedded in our cultural landscape as signifiers of femininity that it stops you short to see in print: “There are some women out there who are just going to look better with a moustache: that’s statistics.”
Brilliantly, Moran identifies the ‘Princess Paradigm’ as being responsible for almost all of her younger-self’s angst. As the mother of a 7 year old daughter I see the terrifying truth in this, and think that most of us including many men, have fallen victim to the Princess Paradigm. At the moment of her marriage (THE moment that all princesses live for) just as Moran is about to walk down the aisle, her dad, tears brimming in his eyes, takes his daughter’s arm: “This is where he tells me something of how he and mum have stayed together for 24 years and had 8 kids” Moran thinks to herself. He leans in and says “Darling Love. Remember you’re a Womble.” This book reminds us that rather than being Princesses, Goddesses or Earth Mothers, we are all Wombles of sorts.
