The scale of objectification & destroying the bar

My boyfriend and I have just wrapped up a wonderful holiday in Thailand. It was our first overseas holiday together and we celebrated our two year anniversary. Over these two weeks, our hair was always salty, our skin always slightly sweaty and we were so carefree that we almost forgot what our jobs were back home. In short, we were happy and we were relaxed. 

 

Some wholesome content for a less than wholesome story.

As we were leaving our hotel one morning, the mood shifted. A few men had looked me up and down, and with that, our perfect little holiday bubble had been burst. But it wasn’t me who had noticed, and it wasn’t me who was bothered. It was my boyfriend, and he was pissed. My boyfriend swore, clenched his jaw and kept shaking his head as we continued down the street. I wasn’t really bothered by their stares and desperately tried to return us to our state of bliss. Initially, I was slightly frustrated by my boyfriend’s reaction. He’d changed the tone and yet the act wasn’t even directed at him. I wasn’t making a big deal out of it, so why should he? He’s not a possessive person by any means, but did his reaction border on possessive?

 

In the days since, I’ve had the time to analyse our varied reactions and I’ve come to a rather unsettling conclusion to explain the difference. My boyfriend’s reaction definitely wasn’t possessive, he reacted the way he did because this was new to him. On the other hand, I, like most women that I know, have been subject to this kind of behaviour since adolescence. Whether it be a hyper-sexualised comment, being honked at by a passing car, being whistled at or groped, or something much worse, so many women are all too familiar with these behaviours. In my earlier stages of womanhood, a look up and down would have made me feel nauseated, my eyes would have filled with tears and I would have questioned what I could have done differently to avoid that situation. But now, at 26, I’ve experienced too much and heard too many shocking stories that being ogled by men barely registers on my scale of objectification. However, for my boyfriend, who had never firsthand experienced or witnessed these things, it was confronting and sickening. 

 

Upon reflection, the sad reality is that as women, we have to pick our battles. We have to choose which elements of sexism and harassment that we’re bothered by, and which elements we address. In turn, the instances that are more common are suddenly deemed insignificant and are barely noted. This has happened because if we don’t let them slide, we become exhausted, and our holidays, our night’s out, our walks along the beach, and sadly, even our careers, can become tainted. What’s more, you can be branded the girl who cried harassment, when it was just a bit of “banter”.

 

After discussing it with my boyfriend, he asked if he should be bothered by it, and whether I should be bothered by it. Until this incident, I hadn’t realised that I had internally raised the bar of what behaviours I find worthy of contempt. As a staunch feminist and somebody who is generally very self-aware, it has taken me by surprise. In answering the first part of my boyfriend’s question, I told him that he is allowed to feel whatever he feels. In answering the second component, I told him I wasn’t sure. But in writing this now, I know I have to destroy that bar that society has slowly but surely raised. I am going to sweat the little things. After all, it’s objectifying gazes and sexist remarks that feed the beast that is the patriarchy. We have put up with these behaviours for too long and I don’t want to disregard them anymore. I encourage you, to do the same.

You can make friends with salad, just not this one.

Anybody who knows me know that I’m a massive foodie. Breakfast, brunch, lunch, afternoon tea, nibbles, dessert – I love it all. I also tend to think that I’m quite open to strange food combinations. Apple and peanut butter? Delicious. Bacon and maple syrup? Incredible. Sardines and chocolate? Ok, that one was a joke. But you get the gist.

However, my openness to quirky combinations was tested this Christmas. Our Christmases are your typical Aussie Christmas. My mum will organise prawns, ham, beef, the eternally underrated dinner roll, pav and Christmas pudding. And my grandmother will bring a salad or two, which were usually of the potato or green variety. But in the last few years, a new kind of salad has weaseled its way onto the menu… sunshine salad. If you’re not acquainted with this abomination of salad, I’ll run you through it. Tinned pineapple, mandarin, banana, grapes, desiccated coconut and sour cream. It’s sweet, it can be a little clumpy, but it’s generally fine. I have no real issue with the recipe itself, my issue lies in its name… Who decided that this constituted a salad?

You are NOT a salad.

In my unsuccessful quest to find the answer, I stumbled across a few more utterly bizarre dishes that have received the ‘salad’ title. The humble ‘5 Cups Salad’ which consists of mini marshmallows, shredded coconut and sour cream. The ‘Strawberry Pretzel Salad’, comprises of the two ingredients in its name, plus some jelly and sugar for good measure.

Isn’t there some sort of system to determine what can and can’t be called a salad? Surely the inclusion of one vegetable is a reasonable prerequisite! As I mentioned, I don’t take much of an issue with these recipes (the Strawberry Pretzel dish sounds delightful!), but is its place next to my beef and gravy? It’s a hard no from me.

2019 Election Fallout

The past week has been an emotional roller coaster for me. I woke up early Saturday, and felt like a small child on Christmas morning. Walking out of the voting centre I had a spring in my step and a smile on my face – I was sure that in 12 hours a new era would begin. As the results started coming in, my optimism wavered and I felt quite numb.

What followed included feelings of anger, resentment, disbelief, confusion and at times, disgust. I’ve seen many like-minded persons sharing similar emotions. In processing these feelings over the past week, I have concluded that much of these emotions have been misdirected. I have witnessed countless arguments on social media and in real life, where left leaning persons insult, belittle and criticise both groups and individuals who voted for right wing parties. Whilst each conversation featured diverse topics – the outcome was always the same: the right-leaning person did not change their mind.

This week, I have realised that it is not my responsibility, nor any other left-leaning voter’s, to convince others how to vote. It is not my place to attack and vilify those who voted for a right-wing party. My anger and disappointment does not lie with the constituents. It lies with the Labor Party, the Greens and more broadly, left wing parties the world over. It is these parties that have failed, not the people.

The success of the right is not unique to Australia. In recent years we’ve seen it in the United States with Trump and in the UK with Brexit. Clearly, the Left is doing something so very wrong. Partially, this could be contributed to the fact that the Left is largely catering to a small proportion of left-leaning persons. For instance, whilst the environment and climate change are monumental issues, this does not appeal low-income earners who are struggling to make ends meet. Perhaps these are the votes that were lost.

Over the next few years, the Left needs to regroup and rebrand itself. It cannot go on the way it is and expect the next election to go any differently. The Labor Party and the Greens must learn from their mistakes, and from the mistakes made from those around the globe, and come back stronger and more inclusive at the next election.

 

 

 

Abortion & anecdotes

Over the past few weeks, abortion has been a hot topic. The archaic legislation that has been passed in parts of the United States has been heavily criticised, with pro-choice activists doing everything in their power to have these bans lifted. A popular pro-choice argument goes something like this… imagine that a 12 year old girl has been raped, has fallen pregnant and is now forced to give birth to the child due to abortion bans.

This narrative is nothing short of horrific. It’s what nightmares are made of. And whilst it may be a powerful tool use in the pro-choice agenda, it is heavily flawed.

This narrative, alongside those that refer to incest and pregnancies that present health risks to the mother, paints certain abortions as more “worthy” than others. It suggests that in order to have an abortion, you need to have a tragic back-story. This completely alienates a considerable chunk of women that have abortions because they do not want to have a baby. The prevalence of these scenarios in debates surrounding abortion must make it more difficult for women to justify their choice not only to others, but also to themselves. It doesn’t sit well with me that people who are pro-choice use these anecdotes far too frequently to justify abortion. When, in fact, the only justification necessary for an abortion is that a woman has chosen one.

I must admit, these anecdotes are powerful. However, it’s time to change the way we, pro-choicers, discuss abortion. The vast majority of us do not know the raped 12-year-old girl, but most of us know a woman who has had to make a tough choice because it was what was right for her.

Today, I am angry.

Today, I am angry. And I am going to tell you why. I wrote my first blog piece on March 28, 2015. I had been thinking about starting a blog for some time prior to my first piece, but nothing inspired me enough to take the plunge. That was until I learned of the brutal murder of 17-year-old Melbourne schoolgirl, Masa Vukotic. Masa was walking alone in a park, less than one kilometre from her home when she was killed by a man who was not known to her. Following Masa’s death, police officers, politicians and the public alike engaged in conversation regarding the efforts that women should take to ensure that they are safe.

Last week, 22-year-old Eurydice Dixon was raped and murdered on her way home from work. Eurydice was a comedian who has been described as beautiful, funny and clever by those who knew her. Eurydice was merely going about her day when her life was taken from her. My heart is breaking for her family and friends.

Melbourne comedian, Eurydice Dixon was found dead on 13 June 2018.

To add insult to injury, police have advised the public (read: women) to ‘stay safe’, be aware of our surroundings and to engage in ‘protective strategies’. My Facebook feed is divided, with half subscribing to the same narrative as law enforcement.

I am aware of my surroundings. And I am certain that both Masa and Eurydice were aware of theirs. Why am I so sure of this? Because as women, we have been conditioned to second-guess every single male that crosses our path. Since girlhood, we have had a sense of fear instilled in us whenever we are walking alone and see another lone figure. We have been told to walk faster, keep our heads down and wouldn’t dare do anything to attract attention to ourselves. Women do not go out in public and engage in behaviours that elicit rape and murder, it is quite the contrary.

Yet time and time again, we are told to avoid partaking in risk-taking behaviours, to cover up our skin and to never be out in public unaccompanied after dark. Not only is this advice irrational, it is harmful and it is downright offensive. It is a twist on the age-old victim-blaming response. Masked by a feeble attempt to express concern for female members of society, these statements allude that had Masa, Eurydice and all those women who have found themselves in similar situations behaved differently, they would still be here today. With no mention of their perpetrators, the blame of the actual guilty party is absolved and onus is laid purely upon the victim.

A floral tribute to Eurydice where her body was found.

I am outraged that in the three years since Masa’s death, we have learned nothing. I am sick and tired that the conversation in the public realm is still focused upon what I need to change to ensure my safety. I am infuriated and that we are not focusing on what really should have been done to prevent these senseless deaths. It’s 2018, women have been following the advice we’ve been given for years and yet we’re still dying on the streets. How many more women need to die before we wake up and realise that maybe we should be focusing on the perpetrator’s actions and not the victim’s?

Today, I am angry. But I am also hopeful. Hopeful for change.

Rest in peace, Eurydice.

 

THIS IS NOT A STORY ABOUT A GIRL NAMED LUCKY

Disclaimer: I was extremely hesitant to publish this piece. It is difficult to express these thoughts without appearing smug, condescending and overly privileged. I am aware that perhaps it will be interpreted in that way by some. However, after confiding in friends who have had similar experiences to my own, I discovered a mutual frustration which I have felt compelled to share.

I’m the first to admit I’m very lucky. I’m a white, able bodied female, born into the developed world. I had an exceptionally comfortable upbringing, with two extremely supportive parents who provided me with a fantastic education. For these reasons and many more, I am lucky. I am privileged.

Because of my circumstances, I have chosen to travel. I have been to North America a number of times. I’ve visited Fiji, New Zealand and Indonesia. I’ve spent two of my 24 years in Europe. One stint saw me participate in an exchange programme in Brighton, UK, and currently I am living in Hamburg, Germany. Whilst I’m aware of my privilege and that many externalities have made this possible, it frustrates me when persons with near identical backgrounds brand me ‘lucky’ for making these choices.

To make moving to Brighton a reality, I worked three jobs, on top of studying full time. I seldom went out, nor did I buy clothing or anything I deemed to be ‘unnecessary’. I learned to say ‘no’ to a lot of things that I previously would have agreed to. I also learned to say ‘yes’ to a lot of extra shifts at work. For over six months, my life comprised of going from one job to the next, as well as squeezing in uni work. It’s safe to say that once I arrived in Brighton, I was ready for a break and ready to splurge. However, during my time in Brighton I was still forced to stick to a rigid budget to ensure I could travel throughout Europe and live comfortably for seven months sans income.

Coming to Europe this year was a similar story. I saved for nearly two years to get here, working 17 hours a week, studying full time, even overloading one semester. Admittedly, I did treat myself to a trip to Bali last year, and I wasn’t as strict with saving as I had been previously. Regardless, I did have to prioritise what I was spending my money on, making various concessions.

For both of these trips, I worked extremely hard to realise them. At times, I was both physically and mentally exhausted. I almost threw in the towel plenty of times, questioning whether it would all be worth it. In those moments of doubt, I had to remind myself that this was something I had chosen and that the concessions I was making would be worthwhile. Ultimately, I found sacrifice is the key to success, and have been left with precious memories and amazing friends who have shaped my life beyond belief.

When I am told I am ‘lucky’ by one of my peers, my hard work and physical and emotional exhaustion is overlooked. The months (even years) of planning, prioritising and making sacrifices are callously undermined. It’s as if it is assumed I’ve decided to up and leave the country on a thoughtless, happy-go-lucky whim. Whilst I don’t necessarily believe ‘luck’ comments come from a place of malice, it bothers me nonetheless. What is more likely is that these comments come from a place of admiration, and whilst I can only speculate, a place of jealousy. If the individual attributes my experiences entirely to externalities, it may be easier for them to accept that luck (or lack thereof) is the reason they cannot have similar experiences.

I whole-heartedly encourage anybody who desires to travel or live abroad to try their hardest to achieve that goal. It isn’t easy, and there are always moments of self-doubt, fear and hopelessness. Nonetheless, I wouldn’t change a thing. I think if many of my luck-saying peers attempted to work, live or travel overseas for a prolonged period, they’d realise luck really has nothing to do with it.

(CAT)CALL IT WHAT YOU WANT

I love London. I love the culture, the history, the charm. The weather is even growing on me. In 2015, I lived in Brighton for six months and jumped at any opportunity to make a trip to the city. Despite all the reasons I love London, there’s one rather sizeable con that stirs an array of emotions. Cat-calling, street abuse, jeering. Call it what you will, it will still sicken me to my core.

Growing up in Melbourne, I was on the receiving end of a comment every so often. Visiting places like Athens, Rome and Marrakech made me thankful that it was not an everyday occurrence at home. It never occurred to me that London was a city that I’d group with those in which I’d experienced street abuse.

Notting Hill, 2017

In the last week alone, I’ve had two men (on seperate occasions) follow me on foot and ask for my phone number. I looked neither in the eye and gave them both very short, sharp responses. One accepted the rejection, whilst the other demanded an explanation. From my previous experiences, the only reasoning they will accept is that I have a boyfriend (which I do not). This has always been problematic to me. From their underdeveloped perspective, a woman is only unavailable to them if another man is in possession of her.

On another occasion (still this week) I had a man follow me in a car. I was coming home from the shops, and he parked on the road next to where I was walking. The skeptic in me assumed the worst, but the optimist convinced me he merely needed to park in that exact spot on an empty road. Nonetheless, I picked up my pace. After having parked his car, the man started it, drove up and parked beside me again. ‘How you going?’ He asked. I didn’t respond. ‘Hey!’ He said, slightly louder this time, ‘I asked you how you’re going’. I didn’t glance at him as I power walked up the hill. He didn’t follow me any further, but for the rest of my journey home, I looked over my shoulder every three seconds, convinced he’d be there once more.

Also this week, I’ve had kisses blown in my face, been looked up and down, and asked how I am in a way that suggests they are not concerned for my health. I’ve been propositioned in front of my accommodation, and had to walk around the block to ensure the catcaller wouldn’t become aware of where I was staying.

Sadly, these occurrences are not coincidental. This behaviour is all too common in London. And this behaviour is not acceptable. Do not try and convince me that these are compliments. I am inclined to believe that the catcallers are aware it is not complimentary, even when they hide behind this claim. The catcaller must be aware that his victim is not going to profess her desire to go to bed with him. Instead he uses catcalling to humiliate, intimidate and assert male dominance.

Tower Bridge, 2015

For me, catcalling conjures a vast array of emotions. Sometimes I’m purely disgusted, other times I’m downright mad. It can make me feel so dirty that one hundred showers would never make me clean again. It has made me afraid. Afraid to walk home at night, afraid to put in effort into my appearance, afraid that perhaps one day, I will be on the receiving end of something more sinister than a catcall. And every time, it makes me want to cry.

Women should not have to endure this behaviour. No person should. No person has the right to make another person feel this way. No person has the right to discount how catcalling makes another person feel. It’s equally degrading as the act itself, when you’re not believed or your experiences are downplayed. I’ve recounted similar narratives as outlined in this piece to friends, and some have told me I am overreacting, that it is a fact of life or perhaps the catcaller merely wanted to chat. To that last point, I pose the following question: would a man be followed 200 metres, by another man, having ‘turn around! What’s your name? I want to talk to you, what’s your number?’ hurled at him by somebody who ‘merely wanted to chat’?

Notwithstanding, I still love London. It will always have a special place in my heart. That place, however, has been tainted.

There are two things I’d like to be taken away from this piece.

1. Do not catcall.

2. If somebody tells you they have experienced street abuse, believe them and empathise.

The other complexities of the same-sex marriage plebiscite

Firstly, I would like to state that I am a heterosexual woman, and that this is an opinion piece regarding my experiences and thoughts on the postal survey to amend the marriage act. I could dedicate an entire piece as to why the same-sex marriage plebiscite is unnecessary and degrading, however, I wanted to highlight some of the other issues I have with the process.

Over two years ago, I penned an open letter to Tony Abbott expressing my disgust that Australia did not have same-sex marriage. If you had told me then, that in 2017 we would still be fighting for marriage equality I probably wouldn’t have believed you. If you had told me that amending the marriage act would include a complex plebiscite, I definitely wouldn’t have believed you.

Why do I, a heterosexual woman, find the plebiscite so complex?

I have been overseas since June 2017 and will not be returning to Australia until January 2018. The postal vote survey was announced earlier this month with little information regarding the options for travelling Australian citizens.

Initially, the only information provided to me was that I was required to update my enrolment details. Simple, right? Wrong.

Issue one: you cannot merely update your details using an online form. As I am travelling, it is extremely difficult to come across the required printer and scanner to complete the form. Fortunately, one of my hostels had both, and I was able to do so. However, it was still a painful process. I had to download the document onto my phone, email it to the reception of the hostel I was staying at, fill in the form, have the hostel scan it and email it back to me so then I could finally upload it.

Issue two: I do not have a permanent address. Nor do I know when I will have one and where it may be. A permanent address is required to update your electoral details. Again it was very fortunate that a friend has let me use his address. However, I’m not sure I will be based on that city by the time I receive the voting forms.

Issue three: the little information that has been provided has been inconsistent at best. The AEC states that the ABS is ‘putting in place arrangements for Australians… travelling or working overseas’. The ABS states that in ‘limited circumstances, a person will be able to respond to the survey through a paperless method’. Eligible Australians can do so by requesting a Secure Access Code from the ABS from 25 September 2017 until 20 October 2017. Australians abroad can also nominate a trusted person to access the survey form on their behalf. This information was not readily available when I updated my details, nor is it easy to find on the ABS site at present.

As young people (the demographic that is overwhelming in favour of marriage equality) are frequently travelling, I cannot help but conclude that the Turnbull government is intentionally making this process a headache for Australians overseas. Evidently, some members within the government do not want the amendment to go through and are doing everything in their power to complicate the postal vote.

Whilst I still strongly believe the notion of voting for human rights is despicable, if this is what I need to do to in order to vote in this godforsaken plebiscite, then so be it. The government can make me jump through as many hoops as it likes, but my voice will be heard.

I must emphasise that the difficulties I have experienced in updating my electoral details and the lack of information is nothing in comparison to the hardship experienced by the LGBTQIA community. I cannot begin to understand how traumatic this entire process must be for them, and my heart goes out to all members of the community.

By the way, I’m voting YES 🏳️‍🌈

UPDATE: One month to the day I posted this piece, I was able to vote online. However, I am skeptical as to how quickly I was allowed to submit my vote, and hope that the system will not be abused.

Why am I a feminist?

I am a feminist for women who have been sexually assaulted.
I am a feminist for the LGBTQIA community.
I am a feminist for women who receive less money than their male counterparts for performing the same tasks.
I am a feminist for women of colour.
I am a feminist for women who have had their intelligence questioned based on their gender.
I am a feminist for women who are victims of family violence.
I am a feminist for women who have been called ‘frigid’.
I am a feminist for women who have been trafficked.
I am a feminist for women who have had things ‘mansplained’ to them.
I am a feminist for women who have been forced to give up their careers to have children.
I am a feminist for women who have been sexualised or objectified.
I am a feminist for women who have been told ‘they can’t’ because they’re a woman.
I am a feminist for women in low-socio economic groups.
I am a feminist for the generations to come.
I am a feminist for women who have been told to ‘take it as a joke’.
I am a feminist for women who have been touched inappropriately at nightclubs.
I am a feminist for women who have had their genitals mutilated.
I am a feminist for women who have to work in dangerous conditions to support their families.
I am a feminist for women who have been slut-shamed.
I am a feminist for women who have been called over-sensitive.
I am a feminist for women who have to work unsociable hours to support their families.
I am feminist for women who do not have access to abortion.
I am a feminist for myself.
I am a feminist for my friends.
I am a feminist for all women.

Happy International Women’s Day.

Dismantling ‘boys’ club’ banter

Last week, Collingwood president Eddie McGuire attracted significant media attention for comments he made about The Age’s chief AFL journalist, Caroline Wilson. On Triple M, McGuire announced that he would pay $50,000 to see Wilson stay submerged in a pool of iced water, and charge $10,000 for others to stand on the outside and bomb her. Former Richmond coach Danny Frawley added that he would ‘actually jump in and make sure she doesn’t [come up]’ by holding her under. North Melbourne president James Brayshaw also agreed with the proposal. McGuire went on to brand Wilson a ‘black widow, who sucks you in and gets you’. The comments followed a charity event where celebrities were dunked into a pool of ice to raise money for motor neuron disease.

Following media and public scrutiny alike, McGuire has been forced to apologise for his comments. Many have been disgusted by a public figure, who commands large audiences, making comments supporting violence against women. In a statement made to the Herald Sun McGuire stressed that on the day of the event, similar comments were made based on ‘good humour, sledging… and tomfoolery’. He claimed that it was mere ‘banter’ and that everyone was ‘cracking gags’.

Whilst there has been outcry, McGuire is not without his vocal supporters, some with celebrity status and some without. A notable supporter is his longtime friend and Footy Show co-host, Sam Newman. Newman implied that women strive for equality, but ‘complain when it’s too equal’. He proclaimed that those who defended Wilson were ‘excrement’ and irrelevant as they work for ‘second-tier media outlets’. He went on to label Wilson an embarrassment who would still be talking ‘even if [she] was underwater’.

The sincerity of McGuire’s apology is highly dubious. He refuses to take responsibility for his actions and attempts to justify his comments by proclaiming that others were making similar comments. McGuire’s apology and Newman’s archaic statement speak volumes. First, it sheds light on the ‘casual sexism’ and ‘blokey banter’ evident in not just the AFL community, but also in wider society. Second, it suggests McGuire really doesn’t appear to believe he’s guilty of any wrongdoing. I could dedicate an entire piece as to what is wrong with Newman’s statement, but I would rather not tend to his ego. His comments are more sexist and out of touch than the initial exchange between McGuire, Frawley and Brayshaw.

In a piece for The Conversation, Kate Seear reasons that some journalists, and perhaps some members of the public, may not bat an eyelid at McGuire’s comments as the ‘language of casual sexism is so commonplace that it might just seem normal to them’.

I fully condemn McGuire’s comments and stress the importance of drawing the link between his remarks and violence against women; however, I would like to explore the issue from a different perspective. Why is it that Wilson seems to attract far more criticism (read: abuse) than her male counterparts?

In 2008, Newman, appeared on the Footy Show with a mannequin in lingerie and preceded to staple a photograph of Wilson’s face to the mannequin’s head. As well as making provocative remarks, Newman dressed the mannequin, fondling its breasts and crotch. Newman refused to apologise for the stunt, claiming he intended no harm or degradation and that it was ‘not a gender thing’.

Former Prime Minister, Julia Gillard suffered similar sexism. Throughout and beyond her prime ministership, Gillard’s weight and fashion-sense were criticised and she was frequently depicted pornographically or ‘bitchy’ in the media. Whilst male politicians are definitely criticised in the mainstream media, the abuse that Gillard endured is unparalleled.

Canadian musician, Grimes, offered an insight into the difficulties women experience in the music industry, particularly as producers. Grimes has stated she had been threatened with male producers walking away from projects if she refused to sleep with them.

The connection between these three, diverse industries is in their overwhelming male influence. Whilst nearly half of all AFL spectators are women, the vast majority of AFL journalists are men. Half of Australia’s population is female, and yet, women comprise less than one-third of all parliamentarians and one-fifth of all ministers. Grimes notes that the disparities in numbers of male and female producers is not due to female disinterest, but it comes down to the ‘hostile environment’ of sexism and manipulation.

Returning to McGuire’s gaffe, Seear points out that the media landscape has been long dominated by white men and that ‘story offers a stark reminder of the importance of new voices and diverse media. More broadly, these voices “from the outer” are sparking new conversations: some painful and long overdue, but they are conversations that will ultimately only enrich… our society.’

Seear also highlights that one can’t help but notice the irony in the timing of McGuire’s comments. Last week also saw the launch of the inaugural women’s league, a themed match supporting anti-violence charity, and the AFL’s latest partnership with Our Watch, an organisation that aims to raise awareness about violence against women.

McGuire’s comments hint at childish frustration stemmed from the disbanding of a ‘boys’ club’. Wilson herself proposes that she is being reprimanded by ‘a boys’ club that [she] never [wanted] to join and would thankfully never have [her] as a member’ for being a strong, opinionated woman. Wilson believes that people are scared of McGuire and are reluctant to stand up to him due to his position in the media industry.

I applaud all women in male-dominated industries. They handle occurrences of sexism, misogyny and abuse with a certain composure that their male counterparts lack.