The notion that women would make a better fist of running the world than men is risible
For the first time in years, I found the Liberal Democrat conference rather riveting. It wasn't the policies that drew me in, or the tub-thumping jeering at their Tory coalition partners. Nor was I particularly fascinated by the image of a delegate almost entirely covered in tattoos, which was reprinted ad nauseam in various newspapers as evidence of just how weird Lib Dem supporters are these days (he's got tattoos! On his face! Get him to a freak show immediately with some eight-year-old cage-fighters!).
No, the reason I found it more entertaining than usual was because of the women. There was Miriam Clegg, resplendent in a canary-yellow Topshop dress and blow-dried hair so bouncy it could singlehandedly prevent a double dip recession. There was Vicky Pryce, spurned ex-wife of the energy secretary, Chris Huhne, walking perilously close to Carina Trimingham, the scarily tall Other Woman. And there, was Lynne Featherstone, equalities minister, spouting some ridiculous claptrap apparently picked up from a Beyonc� song about how girls should rule the world.
Her actual argument, delivered to a fringe meeting, was that if you leave things to men, "you get terrible decisions". "Look at the mess the world is in, and look who has been in charge," she said.
Leaving aside the fact that, over the past 50 years, there have been quite a few women running fairly important things like, um, countries (Margaret Thatcher, Angela Merkel, the newly-elected Helle Thorning-Schmidt), what galls me most about Featherstone's comment is that it falls into the trap of inverse sexism, of treating women and men as a homogenised mass of "femaleness" or "maleness".
She is not alone in this unfortunate generalisation. Since the economic crisis of 2008, it has become fashionable to argue that everything could have been neatly avoided if only there had been more traders in possession of vaginas. Harriet Harman said: "If it had been Lehman Sisters rather than Lehman Brothers, there might not have been so much difficulty", while neuroscientist Dr John Coates blamed the financial meltdown on testosterone and the male appetite for risk. "Women have only 10% of the testosterone men have," he said before going on to point out that older men also have considerably less, a point ignored by Harman, presumably because "Lehman Codgers" was a less sexy sound-bite.
It's patronising and objectionable to be told that women, as a whole, are somehow less risk-averse, more empathetic and more able to compromise than men. Several women I know (not least my sister who rides motorbikes, shoots rifles and flies aeroplanes, though thankfully not all at the same time) are exhilarated by the idea of risk, just as many men of my acquaintance admit to welling up when they're watching X Factor.
I'm sure there are some women who would be good traders or chief executives. But I'm equally sure that others would make terrible bosses, either because they go out of their way to prove they can be as ball-busting as their male counterparts or because they feel threatened by other women. Similarly, some men make great employers. Others do not. Whether people are effective in their job or not has nothing to do with gender and everything to do with their capabilities.
The notion that women are not as aggressive as men, that we would all just sit around a table eating red velvet cupcakes and talking out the world's problems rather than firing off phallic-shaped nuclear weapons is a complete fallacy. And you can imagine that if the opposite argument had been made ? that men would be far better at running Mumsnet, say, because they'd thrash out any disagreements on the rugby pitch rather than allowing bitchy, anonymous blog posts ? there would have rightly been an outcry.
There should be more women at the top of their professions, but let's not automatically assume the world would be so much better just because they've got a pair of ovaries.
Downton ads are a real downer
For months, we've been sitting on the edge of our sofas, eagerly awaiting the return of the television event of the decade. I talk, naturally, not of Downton Abbey but of the Aviva insurance company advertisements.
Last week, ITV faced a barrage of complaints from viewers upset that their magical Downton experience (with swelling orchestral strings, Great War romance and below-stairs intrigue) had been ruined by a series of 10-second "idents" at the beginning and end of each commercial break.
For some reason, Aviva chose to dramatise the story of Gary, a real-life customer who had fallen off his motorbike and lost his job, without realising that most of us watch Downton Abbey for Sunday night escapism and not to be reminded of how horribly unfair modern life can be. You immediately felt bad for not wishing to follow poor Gary's plight, a bit like trying to avoid eye contact with the clipboard-wielding charity fundraiser in the street.
Yet there is an increasing trend in advertising to create "authentic" stories so that we are left basking in the glow of faux community. It all started with the ubiquitous Howard in the Halifax ads: the belief by corporations that if the public can be persuaded it "knows" the characters involved, it will, by extension, be more warmly disposed towards buying things promoted by them.
So it is that we have the harassed-but-kindly Tesco family or Adam and Jane, "the BT couple" who share the ups and downs of their relationships while all the time making use of excellent broadband speeds. Are any of us genuinely convinced by this guff? I doubt it. If I'm going to buy insurance, I'm more likely to take advice from the Countess of Grantham than from Gary.
Give me Brief Encounter, not BlackBerry sex
I recently saw Friends With Benefits, an enjoyable romcom starring Justin Timberlake and Mila Kunis as mates who go down the Jobcentre every week to sign on. No, just kidding: they're friends who sleep together. Sex, the characters insist, is "like playing tennis" ? a satisfying and mutually enjoyable physical act with the minimum of emotional fuss.
It's a terribly modern conceit and, as if to reflect the up-to-the-minute nature of the plot, the film is saturated with technology. Tickets are booked on BlackBerrys; music is played on a smartphone; an oath is taken over an iPad Bible app.
It made me feel nostalgic for the days when movie love affairs were conducted on train platforms and marriage proposals were sent by telegram. But then I realised that, given the hectic pace of technological advance (iPhone 5 anyone?), it will only be a couple of years before Friends With Benefits is seen as a charming period piece.
One day, our grandchildren will look at film actors using mobile phones and see it as the equivalent of on-screen cigarette smoking. "Did you ever do that, Granny?" they'll ask. "No, no," I'll reply, hastily pushing my old, battered iPhone behind a sofa cushion.
Source: http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2011/sep/25/gender-gap-downton-abbey
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