For Valentine’s Day I refer you to The Geeky Feminist, who brings us an appalling heart-shaped photo essay on the display window of a London department store. An excerpt from the poster (pictured above) containing the store’s suggested methods of managing your woman:
“If dinner is cold, eat it, not her.
When she looks pretty, tell her so.
Let her feel how well you understand her.
But never let her know she isn’t boss.”
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So I guess it’s time for us all to ritualisticly bow and thank corporate America for telling us what we want from life? I know I could never have figured it out on my own….
Can I fax a brick through that goddamned window? Can’t modern technology do that for me? Huh?
Yeah, I wanna know how many women are flipping the bird at that display.
Actually, this is corporate England. You can tell because one of the girls who didn’t catch a man is “Miss Celibate”.
You couldn’t bash celibacy in a major department store window over here and get away with it.
Although I do like (And by like, I mean feel dirtied by) the “If she doesn’t put out dump her” vibe.
What creeps me out is the manniquin with no arms, legs or head. They creeped me out from the first time I saw one and had a hissy fit in the aisles of the Fredrick and Nelson in Seattle, I think I was 3. The same thinking that raises a firestorm of anger and destroys a city in retaliation for beheading three mercenaries considers women with no heads to be sexy and desirable. No arms and legs, better yet. I have nothing to say about the labeled scarlet women except aarggh.
I want to know how come the “naughty” side didn’t have little banners saying things like “miss puts out anytime” or “miss submissive” etc.? I mean, obviously we all have to have our labels, right? Or, like the first commenter said (name is hidden from me) we won’t know what we want from life, or who we might be. Gag me now, ask questions later.
No room for all the Mr. Wrongs, I guess.
So I clicked the linky and found the pics oh SO much more offensive than I ever could have imagined. Oh, poor, sad, lonely, “Miss Career Woman,” who doesn’t have a patronizing husband to eat her cold dinners… bless her, Miss “Doesn’t Want Children,” she’s doomed for a lifetime of loneliness, and being gnawed by her cats after she dies alone… crap. Where ARE the “mr. wrongs”? “Mr. Foot Fetishist,” “Mr. Weight Nazi,” “Mr. Smack my bitch up,” … I could go on and on. There are just so many. For the love of bog. I’d be tempted to bust out my sharpie and edit that display.
nasty display, without a doubt, for all the reasons mentioned. one weird thing, though–if this is in the UK, why are “favor” and “humor” spelled in American English instead of “favour” and “humour”?
OH MY GOD! I have a bunch of stickers that say “THIS INSULTS WOMEN” and if I had the damn money for airfare, I’d fly to England right now, find that stupid ass store and deface that window something good.
Please do not click on that picture, b/c what you will see are Miss Right’s bride’s maids:
Miss “No Kids Wanted”
Miss “Heavy Smoker”
Miss “Career Woman”
Miss “Not My Type”
Miss “Money Grabber”
Beyond the HOLY SEXISM, BATMAN-ness of it all, is the store trying to insult women EVEN MORE by deliberately using “Miss” instead of “Ms.” or is that some British thing?
I’m so pissed off, my stomach muscles are actually clenching right now. Urge…to….smash….window….
Joy, the copyright at the bottom was for a publishing company in New York. Imported misogyny, mmm!
Poor Miss “Fat” didn’t even get to be a bridesmaid.
I’ve been wondering why they used quotation marks for the bridesmaids’ sashes; Mr and Miss Right escaped them. Maybe they are trying to give the impression that it’s “just a bit of fun”, like the hilarious poem.
Sadly, I am too cowardly to do anything illegal to the display, especially as there are a number of CCTV cameras nearby, but I did stand around on the pavement for a while remarking loudly on how offensive it is…
Happy day Twisty, I hope you’re feeling strong.
Poor Miss “Fat†didn’t even get to be a bridesmaid.
Actually, it looks like “Miss Fat” gets to be labeled the euphemistic “Miss Not My Type”. And she’s not even that bloody fat.
“Miss” is a British thing: it’s impossible to get people to address you as Ms without making a huge fuss, it’s almost never an option on scroll-down menus, etc. It’s regarded as “extremist.” It drives me mad when I make an appointment to have, say, my hair cut, and they say “Is that Miss or Mrs?” If you do ask to be called Ms, they overpronounce it, with a sort of angry/amused hiss.
(I’m English. But I live in the US.)