A tale of three young women: the first, a fresh college graduate in New York City who immediately regrets dumping her boyfriend of four years after he finds someone else and refuses to take her back. She spends the rest of the film hopelessly wandering between other men until she climbs the Grand Canyon on New Years Eve. The second is her older sister, a midwife totally against having children of her own until she's left in a room with one so decides to get pregnant via sperm doner. Meanwhile, she is being persued by a very attractive man a few years her junior who actually turns out to be totally okay with the her life changing decision. She falls in love with him and we're left to assume that he raises said illegitimate child. The third is Rebel Wilson. A strong, independent woman who has sex with whoever she wants, does whatever she wants and contributes to the comedy value of the film. She's also used for apparent shits and gigs whenever single lady #1 is single and needs a laugh.
Many might watch this film and personally relate to the characters humorous lives and pre-scripted whit and some may actually wish their lives were just as dramatic and exciting. Personally, I'd rather burn the DVD and risk a hefty fine and membership cancellation from the local rental store after I deliver the ashes back to them with a serious complaint.
This film did not teach me how to be single!!
People are single in very different ways, and yes, some are better at it than others, but with this comes the stereotypes and expectations behind how we, as a collective, should behave. I recently read a self-confessed rant about how female identity has been "shaped by excuses and lies" by Mia Morgan: I REFUSE! it was titled.
Using examples from her own personal experiences, she explained that she has always been either reprimanded or complimented depending on how individuals judge her level of femininity in society. At 3, her grandmother tells her off for scratching between her legs, despite the fact that she'd seen men doing it in public and she had an itch. At 17, a guy who had a crush on her would regularly compliment her for being "not like other girls" because she wasn't a bitch or superficial or slutty. Whenever she questioned people's reasons behind their opinions, they have simply replied "it's just how it is'.
Beyond it's obvious bias, Mia makes a good point. As a single woman who has no interest in changing my status anytime soon , I've found that I am still expected to obey to certain rules and expectations set by society, films and the people around me. I cannot appear too slutty without being perceived as a mindless bitch or desperate and pathetic. If I go out in public with unbrushed hair and the oversized T-shirt that I wore to bed, people will cast me a pitying gaze, as if I've just been dumped or come down with the flu. I have a news flash for you, I'm actually just lazy. And there are also days when I just want to be a bitch to everyone, and other desperate and pathetic days when I want to drown my sorrows and get some cuddles in. I mean, who doesn't? Because the world seems to have forgotten something very important about single people; we're still just people.
I'm still just me, a relatively happy-go-lucky girl who accidentally sings out loud in the middle of the supermarket because the song playing on my headphones is just too good. Like most humans out there, I like sex and experience the usual chemical imbalances that cause horniness and excessive alcohol consumption, but a lot of the time I'd rather squash my face in a good book and inhale soy flat whites until I'm shaking. However, while out for a few drinks with some friends, the subject of my "love life" rose (the inverted commas confirming my actual lack of any love life whatsoever seeing as I don't count being offered money in exchange for a date as love life). My friend Blue* disagrees. He seems to think that my like button is getting more hits than I'm aware of, "You're pretty, blonde and very friendly and I know that's just how you are but many guys would see it as leading affection. You don't mean to lead them on, but you do."
On the one hand, I know that my overdosed level of humanity makes it hard for me to turn around and tell a guy "I don't want to have sex with you/date you because I'm not at all attracted to you/I'm just not in the mood but you seem like a lovely person/absolute wanker so let's just be friends/never speak again". On the other hand, though, this poked at a bit of a sore spot. Was it really possible that I'd just been told that I was in the wrong for being too nice because I might be leading on innocent hearts and penis' all over the place.
God forbid seeing as I work in a mens clothes shop and being nice is kind of in the job description. I'm also pretty sure that general niceties to the people around me is a heavily weighted claim on the application for you know who's very important list (Santa, you moron, not Voldemort). I was in even more shock and confusion over this statement after my female friend agreed. As if confirming that social conformity states that one must be careful about the assumptions being made in other people's head. Have I taken it too far? Who knows...
If life has taught me anything, it's that there probably is at least one person out there that I'm compatible enough with to date them for longer than 6 months, but I have about ten years until I need to start running round in cyber space looking for all the perfect pixilated man on match.com or eharmony or ... whatever the others are called. Until then, I have this amazing free space all to myself to find myself in some deep meaningful way and love myself for who I am and experiment with different lifestyles and personas and possible suitors and probably stop taking the drugs that caused whatever that was I just said, dude.
I read a book a few months ago which I'm debating labelling, the best book I have ever read. 'I was Told There'd be Cake' by Sloane Crosley. A fabulously feminist book about a girls trials and tribulations through her teen years into her adult life. Every chapter a funny anecdote that reveals such a brutally honest insight into the daily goings on inside my brain that I was left weeping and cringing along with her main character. But the thing that stood out more than anything was her ability to make it through a whole book without the need to spend five chapters dramatizing a horrendous love story or need for a man in her life. A 21st century miracle.
That's how I want to be single, I thought. I don't want to be single and looking for love, or single and depressed or single and watching my every move so as not to attract any unwanted male advances. I can't even control my hair for goodness sake, let alone the disastrous mess that is my verbal vomit. I just want to be single.
After all, if a guy really thinks every friendly single girl wants to have sex with him, maybe he needs a bit of an ego adjustment; a gentle nudge into the reality behind a big smile and a mess of blonde hair. Because in actual fact, maybe I just want to make friends.
[CUE: Massive groan of irritable disappointment from entire male population]
So I guess now would be the time for some massive answer to the question of life, but I'm afraid the only advice I can offer is somewhat of an anti-climax:
YOU DO YOU.
It sounds shit and obvious doesn't it? In actual fact, I'm going to tell you why this is my conclusion. A single ladies, we have the ability to live this short while not having to use that word that all us stubborn fuckers hate: compromise!
How we feel about our time being single, seems focussed around how our ultimately harmless actions are perceived (even if I did snog him in the girls toilets, so what?) and we adjust ourselves accordingly, which only causes the prejudice to be targeted at our single sisters who aren't willing to conform. Mia will continue to be told that "it's just the way it is" and films will continue to tell us that the Bridget Jones life is hovering dangerously in the not-too-distant future. But you know what? I'd love to be a successful TV producer with a few embarrassing moments tucked under my comfortable granny pants.
So you do you and do it fucking good.
Peace Out.
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