“I believe that authenticity and the ability to be comfortable in your own skin is the most important life skill that we can have, but no one ever teaches us how. I coach women to help them embrace and give voice to their own unique awesomeness.”
I’m a-gonna rant lyrical for a few minutes here, so please bear with me. I would say usual programming will recommence, but consisering I have no usual programming schedule, you might just have to get used to my slightly rant-filled posts.
I’ve been working on the online space now for 6 years. Long enough to get to know a lot of trends in the industry, and long enough to know who and what to avoid, and the fact you won’t earn 6 figures while you curl out a monster turd in the bog. But the frightening shitness of how women are marketed to (AND how they’re marketing) is preposterous. Starting with (but certainly not ending with)…
The Ridiculous feminising of names
Ohhhh, I get it. You’re a mother AND an entrepreneur, so yeah, mumpreneur. And ohhhh, you’re heart-centred and you lead with your soul, so that makes you a heart-centred soulpreneur. And of course, you’re the boss AND a lady – a ladyboss! Oh how quaint! What are the odds!?
Look, I’m calling SEVERAL PILES OF HORSESHIT ON THIS. Let’s take “mumpreneur” as a starter-for-ten. You’re an entrepreneur who happens to be a mum. BUT being a mum has no impact on your ability to have a business – and I’m not talking about the juggling of kids and family with the day-to-day running of a business (relatively-to-really-fucking-hard), but to have a business in the UK at least starts with a) a decision that you want to run a business and b) filling in a few forms (pretty easy).
Women without kids are what? Maidenpreneurs? Nonmumpreneurs?? NOT -ONE-PERSON-HAS-ENTERED-THE-WORLD-THROUGH-MY-VAGINAL-PASSAGEPRENEUR?!?!?!! Why stop at kids – heck I’m a MARRIEDPRENEUR! That’s totally a fucking thing,right?
And those heart-centred fempreneurs? Uh, sounds like a wank-focused shitpreneur name to me. How you run your business doesn’t dictate that you can run one.
Look, if you were employed in a job, does that make you a “femployee”?! I don’t fucking think so.
The word is “entrepreneur”. Men don’t call themselves “dadpreneurs” or “manpreneurs” or “manboss” or “dick-centred cockpreneurs” because firstly, weird, and secondly the fact that they’re fathers or men or are in possession of a penis has no bearing on the fact that they can run a business.
The fact you identify as a female (and let’s not pretend this is more of a middle-class, white, cisgender trend), or have given birth (and deal with intricacies of running a business and raising kids), or are soulful or spiritual have no bearing on how enterprising you are. Why do we need to make special little soft girly names for non-gender-specific roles? It sounds like the term “entrepreneur” is a cisgender white “man’s” thing, in the same way blue is a “boy’s” colour. WHICH IS A COMMON-OR-GARDEN BAG OF DICKS.
You’re an entrepreneur, or a business owner, or a boss. Gender has nothing to do with it.
Ahhh, that feels better now.
Here’s a picture of a leaf shaped like a heart. You’re welcome.
Well, now it’s technically gone and done an Autumn *gumble grumble where was the Summer please grumble arse grumble*.
I don’t really mind the idea of Autumn – all cosying up with #cinnamonlatte and fairisle socks while you hug a few pumpkins next to a radiator and hide from children doing the annual sweet collection dressed as skeletons and witches. But the days of everlasting greyness plus the diminishing daylight, all multplied by never knowing what the fuck to wear because will it rain??? Will the sunshine be kind?? Is the scarf overkill??? Was this jacket too light?? WHY DID I NOT WEAR THERMAL LEGGINGS?!?! Ugh.
I find Autumn quite melancholic, although necessary. I used to really enjoy September with everything feeling quite “new school term!” and the fresher temperature, but that’s changed in the past few years because I love the Summer, and we don’t really get a proper one in the UK, so I feel like I’m mourning the death of a season that only half showed up, the fickle fucker. I’ve only had my Summer duvet on for about five fucking minutes, and it looks like I’ll be changing it back up to the chunky mutha sooner rather than later.
I’m an Autumn baby, too, so I feel I should LOVE this time of year. But while most posts you see or read on the subject of Autumn are all “LOOK AT MY GINGERBREAD MAN PYJAMAS/HOT CHOCOLATE!!!!!!!!/OOOOOH IT’S NEARLY C-WORD (LOL LOL LOL I DIDN’T SAY IT BUT LOL CAN I PUT MY TREE UP YET LOL)”, I’m all “CAN I PUT THE FUCKING HEATING ON YET?!?!/YORKSHIRE GOLD OR GTFO/WHO LEFT THE GATE OPEN AT THE C-WORD FARM BECAUSE THEIR APPEAR TO BE FUCKING CHRISTMAS DECORATIONS IN THE SHOPS ALREADY”
This weekend was the start of the Autumn, and I’m trying to make sure that I spend as much of my weekend outside as possible.
We hit up Oldbury Park in Fishponds on Saturday, threw some pooh sticks, flew a kite (badly) and went for a long stroll. Unfortunately, we also saw a squirrel murdered by two Lurchers. We all froze to the spot with mouths agape, Noemi included, while these two dogs cornered the creature and ripped it to shreds. It all happened so quickly and it was squeaking while the owner tried to extricate it from his dogs’ mouths. Sooo, yeah. That happened.
But, y’know, otherwise a lovely day…
On Sunday, we ventured out of Bristol to Marlborough. A couple of years ago my family and I moved from Southampton to Bristol. I didn’t really gel with Southampton, but loved the friends we’d made there, so we like to try and meet up with them relatively regularly, especially when they do things like, y’know, create brand new humans together. Cute babies, pub lunch, ridiculously changeable weather, and a walk around Avebury stone circle before tea and cake. Because tea. And cake.
Despite the fact I’m a bit of a grumpy bitch about the whole “Autumn” shenanigans, this weekend suited me fine.