So women pay more. Duh.
Last week, in an otherwise dull day refreshingly bereft of beheadings, bombings or bank failures The Times headlined with the intrepid scoop of sexism on the high street revealing the ‘shocking’ price disparity between so called female products vs. male. In other news, the sun rose in the east and set in the west. Speaking candidly, I’m a retailer’s dream come true. There are few things that I can’t be upsold. Glossy packaging? Slick logo? Cue that quick burst of serotonin direct to the cerebral cortex. It’s what makes me long for this season’s high-waist boot cut jeans despite a wardrobe replete with denim, purchase yet ANOTHER nude lipstick promising 24 hour moisture and spend a mortgage payment for cream laced with...
Bearded feminists and other Near Year bugbears
I hear resolutions have gone out of fashion, so very early Noughties. Suddenly we’re all resolving not to resolve. Admittedly there is something a tad trite, predictable and paradoxically indulgent about them. According to Elle Macpherson, gracing Red magazine like the kale-juicing goddess she is (hello, my name is January and I’m a middle-aged foregone conclusion) one should eschew resolutions all together, swapping them instead for new year ‘solutions’ and finding ‘co-dreamers’ to build one’s very own new-age, mindful, sirtfood-spiralising, beetroot pureeing enterprise. Thanks for the tip Elle, but giving it some thought, I have a nagging suspicion it’s a bit easier sourcing co-dreamers when possessing a 40 inch...
