Self-help is a maligned genre. And, for a long time, I was one of its detractors.
I convinced myself that self-help was a guilty pleasure: such books deserved to be buried deep inside my bedside drawers, rather than proudly displayed on my shelves. Whenever I picked up a self-help book I’d find myself thinking, “Pull yourself together and read some real literature! If you need insight into the human condition that badly then for the love of God woman, just read Dostoevsky!”
Training myself out of the shame associated with self-help is an ongoing process. I’m not exaggerating when I say that I’d sooner be caught on the bus reading Fifty Shades of Grey than a volume entitled, Get your Shit together and Stop Being Insecure (FYI this is not a real book, but if you fancy writing it, then I’ll be the first to buy a copy). Both genres – erotica and self-help – feel uncomfortably personal, as well as inextricably linked to self-gratification. God forbid that some rampant narcissist might combine the two and read a self-help book about sex! (of which there are, incidentally, many good ones).
In my mind, self-help had become synonymous with self-indulgence, and this belief was making it harder for me to benefit from the ‘help’ these books had to offer. I decided that it was time to unpack my relationship with the genre.
Beyond the fact that reading them involves confronting personal problems, I’ve worked out that my discomfort with self-help books boils down to two things: the elitist assumption that they are ‘lowbrow’ and the sexist idea that self-help which focuses on any subject beyond material success is for women.
First, elitism. To understand the snobbery directed at self-help, it’s worth considering where the modern self-help movement originated. Forms of self-help literature have been around for millennia, from ancient Greece to Tang Dynasty China. However, it was in 1859 that Scotsman Samuel Smiles published Self-Help: the book to which the commercial genre of today owes its title.
Comprised of lectures that Smiles had delivered to working men in Leeds, Self-Help was “a primer for the poor in self-education and upward mobility”. Smiles certainly believed that he was empowering the working classes; but the book spun a pernicious narrative. Its emphasis on the individual responsibility of the poor to transcend their circumstances, minimised the duty of the state and fuelled a harmful distinction between the ‘deserving’ versus ‘undeserving’ poor. No wonder that, over a century later, Margaret Thatcher wanted to give a copy ofSelf-Help to every schoolchild in the country…
It makes sense that self-help is deemed ‘lowbrow’. The genre’s very name comes from a manual for the ‘lower’ classes: literature designed for the aspirers rather than for the aspired towards. It was inevitable that those who could afford to lounge around reading Ovid in their private libraries would look down upon self-help. The genre was not for them, and I think that this downward-looking perception of self-help has been absorbed into our cultural milieu, which has always been defined by the tastes of the elite.
In an ideal world, self-help would not be necessary. Some even argue that its existence perpetuates a system whereby the government offloads its welfare responsibilities onto individual citizens – a phenomenon that has become more apparent than ever in the time of Covid-19. But we should not ridicule something that has served not only as a means of therapy, but of survival for people when the state fails to uphold their interests for them.
This is what the ‘self-care’ movement of the late 20thcentury was all about: survival. In her 1988 essay, A Burst of Life, Audre Lorde penned the now famous phrase: “Caring for myself is not self-indulgence, it is self-preservation and that is an act of political warfare.” As a self-described “black, lesbian, mother, warrior, poet”, Lorde recognised that she could not rely on a white patriarchal society to promote her basic health and wellbeing, let alone her prosperity. Self-care was adopted by various black civil rights, queer and feminist groups who made the same realisation and sought to rally against their systematic disempowerment.
Given the influence of feminist activists like Lorde on the self-help and self-care literature of today, it is all the more disconcerting that the genre is often mocked and belittled as a ‘women’s thing’. Though, of course, it’s not for all women: only the desperate women, the sad women, and worst of all, the unstable women – the ones who are somehow failing to thrive in today’s society.
Was I just imagining the pitying expression of the bookseller when I picked up a copy of Chidera Eggerue’s What a Time to be Alone the other week? “It’s for a friend,” I wanted to lie. “Bad breakup. She’s feeling very… *whispers* unstable.” “Ah yes,” the bookseller would grimace back at me, “we get a lot of those in this section.”
Something that occurred to me while reading another self-help book (Florence Given’s Women Don’t Owe You Pretty) is that people often attack self-help because it’s something that others use to empower themselves, to proactively tackle the challenges that they face. The best way to stop this process of empowerment in its tracks and preserve the status quo is to ridicule and invalidate the tools that people use to care for and better themselves.
As long as self-help is portrayed as an inherently feminine and superfluous genre, there will be no winners – not even men! Laughing at guys who use self-help as a means of exploring their emotions, dismissing their attempts as ‘girly’, simply fuels the stigma surrounding men’s mental health. Men are likely to restrict themselves to the self-help stereotype that is The 7 Habits of Highly Efficient People rather than considering self-help books that could help them to look inwards. Meanwhile, women who read self-help books about material success are at worst, shamed, and, at best, shoehorned into the one-dimensional trope of the ‘strong, independent woman’.
I should have prefaced this article by pointing out that there is a lot of self-help out there that is complete and utter bullshit, and that there are certainly exploitative patterns within what has become a huge money-making industry. Self-help is not a replacement for therapy or for the care owed to us by the state, and we should be wary of anyone who tries to tell us otherwise. The purpose of this article has been, quite simply, to decode the mockery of self-help books, to consider why we are laughing and who we are laughing at.
It took my own experience of trauma to recognise that maligning self-help can contribute to disempowerment, and to think non-judgmentally about the traumas which might have led other people to seek self-help and self-care. For now, my self-help books are still stowaways in the bedside drawer and you certainly won’t find me reading them brazenly on the bus. However, I can say that I’ve learnt to admire individuals who, for whatever reason, choose to take their wellbeing into their own hands. So, think twice before judging someone who uses self-help, because there may come a time when you, too, could benefit from it.
“More smiles? More money.” This was the rallying cry of
women around the world in the 1970s. They were adamant that women everywhere
should be paid for not only their relentless housework but also the constant
and equally gruelling emotional labour they were forced to perform every day.
Women, they protested, were unfairly made to “cook, smile, [and] fuck” every
day of their lives, without even the faintest acknowledgement of the monumental
effort this required.
A campaign for the remuneration of housework seized the
zeitgeist, fuelled by Silvia Federici’s seminal work. Since the movement’s
heyday over 40 years ago, there has been an increased recognition that the
experience of the (white) housewife who can afford to stay at home is not a
universal experience. Society has changed a great deal, but the weight of
reproductive work’s burden forced upon women has not changed. While we need to
remain critical of attempts to generalise the experience of women, it is worth
asking ourselves: what exactly was the purpose of this campaign? Could efforts
to reinvigorate it be successful?
Housework – with its incessant vacuuming, washing, and
cooking – is frequently referred to as ‘social reproduction’. This is the idea
that domestic labour, although often entirely unpaid, is desperately needed by
the economy, to foster and sustain capitalism. These chores need to be
completed to keep both the current and next generation of workers alive and
well.
Housework, as such, is one of the most essential jobs in a capitalist society, if not the most essential. Without it, society would grind to a halt. The economic system that structures our lives is propped up by these responsibilities which women overwhelmingly tend to shoulder. As the song ‘Wages Due’ from 1975 goes: “what do you think would happen if we women went on strike? / there’d be no breakfast in the morning, there’d be no screw at night / there’d be no nurses treatin’ you, there’d be no waitresses servin’ you, there’d be no typists typin’ you-o-o-o”. In 2010, Forbes valued housework at £1.24 trillion in the UK, more than the value of retail and manufacturing output combined. The importance of this work is self-evident and yet this care work remains mostly unpaid, or severely underpaid when it is. Those who are responsible for keeping the cogs of society well-oiled deserve recognition and acknowledgement for their tireless work.
Despite its indispensable character, domestic labour has
been completely devalued, to the point where it is hardly even considered a
‘job’. The Oxford English Dictionary states that the definition of ‘menial’ is,
in one and the same breath, work “requiring little skill”, as well as that
“relating to the household, domestic”. This framing of housework has propagated
the common view that it is in women’s nature to complete it; cleaning and
cooking supposedly coming easier to them than to men. Viewing it as some kind
of feminine predisposition makes domestic labour seem like something that women
want to do, something that they should do out of love and the kindness
of their hearts. If a woman refuses to cook or clean, they obviously do not
care about their families and have failed as mothers and wives. When men do
chores, on the other hand, they are seen as ‘helping’ a woman in her natural
role or doing their wives a favour.
Housework, however, is most definitely not something which
comes more naturally to women, and it is in no way easy labour. In no world
would people argue that household chores are genuinely fun or desirable: they
are tiring, repetitive, and filthy work. Betty Friedan’s solution to this, and
one of the core tenets of second-wave feminism, was to suggest that women leave
the home (and its housework) to enter the paid workforce. By doing so, they
would become economic agents in their own right. What mattered was that women
were on a level playing field with men, that they both had a seat at the
capitalist table, a sentiment echoed in today’s #girlboss feminism.
But the thoughts propelled forwards by liberal feminists
were deeply flawed. Friedan expressed only the despondency felt by those who
had the privilege to be bored with their leisure time at home – educated,
middle-class, heterosexual, married white women. She assumed her experiences
were universal – they were not. bell hooks, one of the most renowned and
withering critics of the second wave’s arguments, berated the movement for
essentially erasing the existence of women who didn’t fit into this narrow
category. Earning the right to work outside the home was not a major concern for
Black women, many of whom already had to do so in order to survive. White
women’s acceptance in paid sectors would only be made possible by the
employment of low-wage domestic workers, overwhelmingly women of colour. The question
of housework would never disappear and pretending otherwise would never be the
answer. By considering only the emancipation of white women, the second wave effectively
shut out all other women.
Enter the campaign ‘Wages for Housework’ (WfH), led by
Federici amongst others. Not only were they characterised by determined efforts
to be inclusive, but they sorely disagreed with Friedan’s liberal feminism.
Housework, they argued, could not simply be forgotten and so her encouragement
to leave the home was entirely misplaced. Housework instead needed to be truly
respected as work. Their mission was to demand wages for housework, asserting
that this was the first step towards ultimately being able to refuse doing it.
Rather than something women are inherently inclined towards, it would finally
be acknowledged as labour. This prompted a name change for the movement’s key
work: Federici’s book ‘Wages Against Housework’, having originally been
named after the campaign itself. “From now on we want money for each moment of
it, so that we can refuse some of it and eventually all of it.”
The campaign’s anti-capitalist perspective is key here. The
women didn’t want their work to merely be incorporated into the capitalist
structure, effectively reinforcing their oppression. As Angela Davis argued,
what woman would want to be paid for the work that “drove her crazy”? Rather
than conceptualising wages reductively as a “lump of money”, the campaign saw
them as a means to an end. It was not even necessary for the wages to
materialise; of greater significance was accepting that they should be provided
in the first place. This would force an admission of the fact that unpaid
housework, all too often borne by women, is work, subverting and
revolutionising relations. The ultimate goal would be the collectivisation of
housework (social care) that could be run by communities for communities,
rather than being pushed upon women.
Drawing on criticisms of the mainstream feminist movement, the WfH campaign recognised that a failure to account for the vast differences in experience would never liberate women. From this arose an intersectional account of feminism – one which endeavoured to include all women. This was done by holding much broader definitions of ‘housework’ and ‘the home’. Focusing solely on domestic labour and the role of the white housewife would exclude legions of women, notably women of colour, women who weren’t straight, women with disabilities, working-class women, and sex workers. Housework was understood not only as a type of work, but as anything encompassed by heteronormative expectations. It ranged from traditional domestic labour to emotional housework, disciplining women everywhere in society, especially those locked out from the conventional ‘home’.
For efficacy’s sake, it was imperative that WfH found a way to organise themselves such that these irreducible differences were acknowledged while still striving for the common goal of recognition for their housework (no matter how broadly defined this was). This led to the development of allied yet autonomous groups, with agendas tailored to their individual grievances. Predominant examples include Wages Due Lesbians (WDL) and Black Women for Wages for Housework (BWfWfH). WDL met the needs of women whose housework was entirely independent from caring for men. BWfWfH, in turn, considered women of colour’s specific history of exploitation and its manifestation in today’s divisions of labour. From the inherent prejudices of care-work to the emotional housework required in managing everyday racism, they shone a light on issues so frequently abandoned by the mainstream. For example, where second-wave feminism advocated only for the right not to have children (through birth control), BWfWfH instead saw the more nuanced reality of reproductive inequity and forced sterilisation for Black women. Alliances which perhaps seemed unlikely or surprising were created between those that heteronormativity rejected. The women of the WfH campaign were dedicated to struggling together, beyond every existing division that stood in their way.
When the definition of ‘housework’ is restricted to its traditional sense, the movement encounters similar criticism to Friedan’s second-wave feminism. Indeed, the campaign did initially appear over-focused on the white housewife. Historical analyses, however, tend to focus solely on these literal demands for the remuneration of domestic labour, wrongly placing white women at the centre of the discussion. This forgets the sheer significance of autonomous groups such as WDL and BWfWfH. These groups were not on the periphery of the movement, merely some corrective accessory – they were integral and essential components of the campaign. It was an ever-evolving perspective, rather than a singular static mission. In ignoring their existence, this would not correctly be a discussion of the WfH campaign; it would be a discussion of a small clique of elitist women. These groups constituted as important an element of the movement as the founders. The Wages for Housework campaign was undoubtedly intersectional, and it would be wrong to pretend it was not.
Federici’s most recent book exhibits shockingly trans-exclusionary opinions, with the author critiquing the trans community for supposedly betraying feminism. While we should condemn Federici’s beliefs here, this does not undermine the intersectionality of the WfH campaign. Though she played a substantial role in its genesis, it was not her creation. It was as much her movement as it was that of the autonomous groups rallying for the rights of marginalised women. It may have petered out slightly as a movement today, but its ethos and intense focus on inclusiveness would certainly support trans women and would surely denounce Federici’s views.
So why did this movement fail to reach the same relative
hegemony the second wave managed? This can be pinned on the immediate tangible
successes of the second wave. It was far easier to focus on further advancing
women’s capitalist journey, a struggle more naturally aided by the system than their
anti-capitalist critiques. The issue of housework, intimidating even when it
wasn’t so broadly defined, was pushed aside. WfH’s focus on intersectionality
before it had been coined as a term further diminished their potential
influence. How could they raise awareness of hardships experienced by women
considered invisible by society? In comparison to their liberal peers, the
women of WfH were too radical and were quickly lost in the more moderate shadow
of mainstream feminism.
The members of WfH made demands that were well ahead of
their time and unashamedly revolutionary. Where the liberal left neglected swarms
of women in their activism, the campaign chose to amplify their voices. From WfH’s
focus on typically excluded issues to its determined efforts to push
intersectional debates, its arguments have made crucial theoretical and
strategic contributions to other branches of feminism. While it certainly had
its flaws (risking both prioritising the traditional housewife and overlooking
trans women), its intentions and principles can still be illuminating today. At
a time when protest is resurgent, the intersectional approach taken by this
campaign is more significant than ever.
The campaign taught us many valuable lessons we would be
wise to remember. The first step towards ensuring a truly permanent cultural
shift, preventing its message from being consigned to oblivion, however, needs
to be in our open discussion of these issues again. It is only by opting out of
a profiteering capitalist society that women can free themselves from
oppression. Partial liberation of wealthy white women is not liberation at all
whilst society continues to benefit from the exploitation of marginalised women,
either through cheap labour, housework, or the emotional labour they suffer
every day. The contributions of the WfH campaign were immense, and we cannot
afford to let this movement be forgotten any longer.
Picture this: a man in his 20s has contracted COVID-19, but he doesn’t know it. He heads to the shop for some supplies. He stands in the socially-distanced queue, uses hand sanitiser and enters the store. He is not wearing a mask. He unintentionally showers the room with infectious respiratory aerosols and droplets, pays for his groceries, and then heads home. This has probably happened dozens of times across the UK. Despite this, face coverings were only mandated in shops and other enclosed public spaces from 24th July, in yet another example of the government’s response being too little, too late.
Like other respiratory viruses, SARS-CoV-2, more commonly known as COVID-19, is transmitted through droplets and aerosols produced when an infected individual coughs, sneezes, talks or breathes. Intuitively, blocking these droplets with a face mask should reduce transmission. This simple contention, however, has been the subject of hot scientific debate, policy clashes and political culture wars. After making the case that face masks work, we will pick apart how the UK government’s response fits into the timeline of emerging evidence and global decisions.
Face masks have been part of infection control for over a century. They were first implemented to combat an infectious disease epidemic in 1910, when plague swept through Manchuria, China, killing 60,000 people. Surgical face masks were adapted and mass-produced for use by the general population by Wu Lien-teh, a young Malaysian physician sent from Beijing to control the plague. This innovative measure received global attention, and large-scale mask-wearing was soon pressed into service as part of the response to the 1918 flu pandemic.
Despite their long history as a public health measure, there was very little evidence on the efficacy of mask-wearing until a handful of studies were conducted between 2003-2012 in the context of SARS, seasonal flu and swine flu. Early in the pandemic, critics claimed that the evidence that masks prevent infection was insufficient to support their use being mandated or even recommended. Commentators in publications like the Spectator still hold this opinion1.
So, do face masks work? The short answer is yes, although the full picture is a little more complicated. The scientific consensus is that face coverings, including home-made cloth masks, probably have the ability to reduce the risk of wearers spreading infection to others, a characteristic called ‘source control’. However, masks may provide little or no protection to the wearers against contracting infection from others.
The evidence is by no means conclusive. Randomised controlled trials (RCTs) on wearing masks in the community suggest that face masks may have no significant effect. By contrast, observational studies comparing the number of cases in regions after introducing compulsory mask-wearing policies with their predicted infection curve have shown that large-scale mask-wearing appears to be effective[1-3]. Although it is difficult to disentangle this effect from other measures introduced around the same time or changes in population behaviour unrelated to mask-wearing, these studies support the intuitive rationale behind face coverings. Similarly, recent mechanistic studies investigating how well masks protect against droplets and aerosols in a laboratory setting show that even cloth face coverings significantly reduce the number of droplets and aerosols produced[4,5].
RCTs are considered the ‘gold standard’ of experimental design for assessing the effectiveness of a treatment. In these trials, subjects are randomly allocated to either a treatment group or a control group. Observational studies do not randomly allocate their groups but instead compare outcomes for people who happen to be given the treatment or not. Whilst care is taken to try and match the makeup of these groups to remove confounding factors, there is no guarantee that a hidden variable other than the treatment could be responsible for differences between the groups, and so evidence from these studies is less certain than equivalent evidence from RCTs. Nonetheless, policy decisions are routinely made based on observational data and indirect evidence in order to provide a timely response to a rapidly evolving situation. Sometimes, authorities need to follow the ‘precautionary principle’ and implement measures even if the evidence for them is inconclusive.
Whilst RCTs are the ideal standard of evidence to aspire to, they may underestimate the effectiveness of masks for several reasons. These include small sample sizes, low adherence to wearing masks in the treatment group, and wide variation in experimental conditions leading to significant heterogeneity in results. It is not possible to conduct an RCT to address this question on a large scale due to the obvious ethical difficulty of preventing subjects from wearing masks. They are particularly poor at evaluating source control, as this requires testing all individuals who come into contact with the subjects, and so many RCTs only measure personal protection.
One of the earliest voices to bring all this data together in support of mask-wearing in the community was Jeremy Howard, a data scientist from San Francisco, who released a narrative review[6] examining the available evidence on 13th April. He concluded that the evidence available in early April was strong enough to support mask-wearing in the community. Over 100 academics, including a Nobel laureate virologist, signed his subsequent letter calling for widespread implementation of mask-wearing. At the time, the US CDC recommended wearing face coverings only where social distancing was not possible while the WHO suggested that only symptomatic individuals should wear masks. Howard put this down to an excessive focus on personal protection as opposed to source control, the low supply of face masks, and a lack of evidence from RCTs overly influencing the recommendations of advisory bodies.
Developing evidence and conflicting advice from the WHO and the US CDC meant that masks were adopted much later than other measures (such as quarantines and social distancing) in many countries. Even taking this into account, the UK was still significantly behind the curve. Mask-wearing became compulsory in shops and on public transport in Vietnam, the Czech Republic and Austria in March. Germany followed suit by the end of April. In many countries in Asia, such as China, Singapore and Japan, masks were already so culturally embedded that mandation was unnecessary. The US CDC recommended wearing face coverings where social distancing is difficult on 3rd April, and the WHO updated their guidance on 5th June. Why was the UK government so late to act?
Using masks early in the pandemic posed a threat to supplies for healthcare workers. This was one of the key concerns identified by the UK’s Scientific Advisory Group for Emergencies, SAGE. This was not a surprise: an extreme shortage of PPE has been a strong theme in previous epidemics such as SARS. However, the response to this issue made little sense – instead of calling for increased production of medical and non-medical masks, the shortage was used as a reason to delay the recommendation of face masks.
Even once mask production caught up with demand, and evidence began to emerge that non-medical cloth masks could be effective, SAGE’s initial assessment was that the evidence for mask use in the community was ‘near nil’. This was mostly based on systematic reviews of RCTs[7,8] which showed no significant effect for masks.
Following reports to SAGE by the New and Emerging Respiratory Virus Threats Advisory Group (NERVTAG)[9] and the Royal Society’s Data Evaluation and Learning for Viral Epidemics group (DELVE)[10], SAGE updated their guidance on 21st April to suggest that there was enough evidence to support ‘recommendation’ of community usage of cloth face masks in enclosed spaces where social distancing was not possible. It took until 11th May for the government to implement this, advising the public to ‘consider’ wearing face coverings in enclosed public spaces. It was perhaps unsurprising that this weak and unheralded recommendation was met with almost no response from the public.
Over the months of May and June, evidence continued to pile up. Reviews from the Royal Society[11] and the Lancet[12] sided with Howard’s earlier interpretation of the positive effect of mask-wearing. During this period, as noted above, more and more countries mandated the wearing of face masks. However, there was no mention of face masks in the SAGE meetings over this time period in response to the increasing consensus, and the low uptake of mask-wearing by the population. Only on 9th of July was a review of the policy to be scheduled.
The problems were summarised by SAGE member Sir Jeremy Farrar, who told MPs “I think there was not enough urgency… I regret that SAGE wasn’t more blunt in its advice and more robust. But it didn’t have a job in holding people to account, unfortunately, for delivery of interventions that were made.” Critical analysis of the government’s response was not regarded as within SAGE’s remit. This is a serious deficiency in the structure of our COVID-19 response framework, which fails to account for the possibility that politicians may misinterpret or misapply complex scientific concepts.
The uncertainty of the evidence and concerns surrounding PPE supply were key barriers to the widespread implementation of masks in the community, but the minutes from SAGE meetings show discussion of a wider variety of hypothetical problems. The general public might use masks until they become ‘soggy’. People might abandon hand washing and social distancing. New crimes, like mask theft, could emerge. Masks might add to people’s fear and anxiety. Rather than blocking mask policies, these concerns should have been used to inform a more effective campaign of messaging to the public.
Even when the evidence for face masks was considered ‘marginally positive’, there is an argument that they should have considered invoking the precautionary principle and recommended mandatory use. In a pandemic, we should be reaching for whatever tools we have, even if we’re not completely certain how well they work.
In the end, the government acted before SAGE had the chance to review their policy and make a stronger recommendation. They announced on 14th July that masks would become mandatory in enclosed public spaces, and this came into force on 24th July – yet another inexplicable delay.
Compare this slow action with how abruptly lockdown came into force. There is no public health rationale for this difference in approach. It appears, rather, that the primary concern of the government has been optics – they wanted to appear stern and decisive when the public concern about the pandemic was at its height, and now that we are growing weary of lockdown, they want to seem laid-back and unworried. Mr Johnson has done plenty of talking about the R number, but it is not difficult to imagine that he has been keeping a steady eye on his approval rating all the while.
Even now that we have finally caught up with the rest of the world on mask-wearing, its implementation has been half-hearted at best. The messaging that has trickled through to the population is ‘wear a mask, or pay the fine’. The full guidelines on the new mask rules were only released less than 12 hours before they came into force. This is simply inadequate.
Adverts and posters should be equipping the general public with an understanding of how droplets are transmitted, why masks should be worn, and the correct way to wear and dispose of them (see the resources below).
This will also affect how many people choose to comply. Without straightforward and comprehensive messaging, people may be left to gather information and make their own conclusions from sensationalist and highly-politicised sources. The anti-mask protests in the US, Canada and Germany may not be so far away as we like to imagine.
Mask-wearing was introduced too late due to fuzzy arguments, the dismissal of valuable observational and mechanistic evidence by SAGE and the slow implementation of their recommendations by the government. It is strange that mask-wearing was held to overly rigorous standards of evidence, when similarly intuitive non-pharmaceutical interventions such as coughing into one’s elbow, or socially distancing, were implemented with similar or lower levels of supporting evidence.
Of course, mask wearing is more unfamiliar and uncomfortable, and requires a proactive effort to increase production and supply of masks. But these are insignificant objections compared to the loss of life – and freedom – that our conservative approach to fighting this pandemic continues to cost us. Who said a pandemic was going to be comfortable?
1. Wang Y, Tian H, Zhang L, et al. Reduction of secondary transmission of SARS-CoV-2 in households by face mask use, disinfection and social distancing: a cohort study in Beijing. China BMJ Global Health 2020;5:e002794.
2. Wu J, Xu F, Zhou W, et al. Risk factors for SARS among persons without known contact with SARS patients, Beijing, China. Emerg Infect Dis. 2004;10(2):210-216. doi:10.3201/eid1002.030730
3. Lau J, Tsui H, Lau M, et al. SARS Transmission, Risk Factors, and Prevention in Hong Kong. Emerging Infectious Diseases. 2004;10(4):587-592. doi:10.3201/eid1004.030628.
4. Konda, A, Prakash, A, Moss, G et al. Aerosol Filtration Efficiency of Common Fabrics Used in Respiratory Cloth Masks. ACS Nano 2020; 14(5): 6339-6347 doi: 10.1021/acsnano.0c03252
5. Leung NH, Chu DK, Shiu EY, et al. Respiratory virus shedding in exhaled breath and efficacy of face masks (brief communication). Nat Med 2020; [Epub ahead of print.] doi:10.1038/s41591-020-0843-2 .
6. Howard, J, Huang, A, Li, Z, et al. Face Masks Against COVID-19: An Evidence Review. Preprints 2020. doi:10.20944/preprints202004.0203.v2
7. Brainard, J, Jones, N, Lake, I, et al. Facemasks and similar barriers to prevent respiratory illness such as COVID-19: A rapid systematic review. medRxiv 2020 2020.04.01.20049528; doi:10.1101/2020.04.01.20049528
8. Jefferson, T, Jones, M, Al Ansari, L, et al. Physical interventions to interrupt or reduce the spread of respiratory viruses. Part 1 – Face masks, eye protection and person distancing: systematic review and meta-analysis. medRxiv 2020 2020.03.30.20047217; doi: 10.1101/2020.03.30.20047217
10. DELVE. 2020 Face masks for the general public. https://rs-delve.github.io/reports/2020/05/04/face-masks-for-the-general-public.html (accessed 23 July 2020).
12. Chu, D, Akl, E, Duda, S, et al. Physical distancing, face masks, and eye protection to prevent person-to-person transmission of SARS-CoV-2 and COVID-19: a systematic review and meta-analysis. Lancet 2020 395:1973–87 doi:10.1016/S0140-6736(20)31142-9
19:10pm. After my fourth ‘casual’ walk past the pub entrance, I gain the courage to enter. I am faced with what looks like a barricade dotted with multiple signs reminding me about social distancing, and a small, well-guarded gap by a podium, where a face-masked member of staff sombrely takes my details and begrudgingly allows me to cross the threshold. Success! I have entered the fortress.
Our ‘Independence Day’ on 4th July (did we not already use this overly-pithy title for Brexit?) was met with joy from most in England, while Scotland, Wales, and Northern Ireland opted to follow a more tentative path towards reopening. Immediately by the morning of the 5th July, newspaper front covers were splashed with images of victorious, hearty Englishmen, downing pints on roads and lounging in the sun with friends. Unfortunately, however, it really does remain to be seen what extent of this ‘victory’ over COVID-19 is genuine, compared to the extent to which we have simply stretched the public’s patience too thin, or squeezed our economy too hard. Already, we have seen hints that this easing is not quite as victorious as it seems, with Leicester being placed into an elongated localised lockdown just a few days before the 4th July, and now the introduction of compulsory face coverings in shops from Friday 24th July, despite 20 days of mask-free shopping being allowed before this point. Although this really does seem to be a touch-and-go state of affairs, with these unprecedented conditions leaving us all fairly unsure of the best course of action (whether personally or in terms of government policy), it cannot be denied that the general atmosphere post-lockdown is buoyed, with the ongoing threat of coronavirus appearing to be almost forgotten in many public spaces.
Personally, the end of lockdown invoked a mixed reaction from me. I cannot begin to imagine how many times over the past few months I have bemoaned the lack of public spaces open to us; I missed my friends, I missed the freedom to walk around and socialise and meander into shops, and I really really missed Caffè Nero. Now, as I write this in an empty Caffè Nero, drinking a lukewarm flat white out of a takeaway cup, I can’t help but feel that the nostalgia is better than the reality.
The major thing which has struck me is the sheer awkwardness of reopening. I had not realised quite how much of an art socialising is, and now that I’m out of practice after months of forced hermit-hood, I have the social know-how of a nerd in a 90s teen romcom. I have ghosted many friends and don’t really know how to justify this on reunion (not that we have much to catch each other up on). I am tired of the ‘nice to be open again’ chat which has replaced ‘not bad weather today, eh?’. I volunteer in a tiny charity shop once a week, and watching people navigate the one-way system floor arrows with their tartan shopping trolleys and prams is like some warped form of Mario Kart which developers rightly ditched one week into the project. I think this encapsulates the essence of reopening; nothing is quite the same, everything is a bit more difficult than it was, and nobody really knows what to do.
Perhaps we have to some extent evolved out of our dependence on public establishments and pastimes like shopping and eating out. In many cases lockdown has taught us how to enjoy a slower-paced lifestyle, maybe by spending more time alone, or more time in nature. I think we’ve also learnt to make a distinction between different types of socialising, with the closure of pubs reminding us that our friends are actually pretty interesting in their own right (shocking), and that maybe just interacting with them by going on a walk or sitting by a lake is more important than sourcing some form of diversion with them.
I suppose, at this point, that it is down to the individual citizen to do their bit to combat the spread of the disease when in public, by maintaining social distancing, wearing face coverings, limiting physical contact and frequently washing/sanitising hands. In reality, I think that one only has to have been in a pub once to know that this is not going to be the case. Never mind that none of these ‘compulsory’ actions can be policed or enforced; the very nature of going to pubs, restaurants, or bars, is to interact with those around you, and of course we can hardly eat or drink with a face mask on. In fairness, this is very sticky situation for our politicians; a second wave is, as scientists have said for months, inevitable, and to keep the economy in stasis until December and beyond, all while preparing for a fresh influx of cases, would put unfathomable strain on our already butchered financial state. This is clearly the chosen focus at this stage of the pandemic, as the Prime Minister has stated his reluctance to impose a second lockdown for this future wave, likening it to a ‘nuclear deterrent’ that he ‘certainly [doesn’t] want to use’.
The general message of reopening seems to be to have fun, but not too much fun; spend lots of money, but preferably by card; if the second wave is bad, it’s your own fault. Really, this reopening is all very bittersweet. We have all been lusting after freedom from lockdown for months, but with this freedom being so stilted and doctored, alongside our grim march towards a second wave, it is undoubtedly freedom at one’s own risk.
With plant-based milks experiencing a global renaissance, there are a number of reasons why you might want to try one. Maybe you’re environmentally conscious; a glass of cow’s milk results in almost three times more greenhouse gas emissions than any alternative and consumes nine times more land, according to an Oxford study. Maybe you’re concerned about animal welfare; dairy cows are forcibly impregnated in order for us to consume the milk intended for their calves (I’ll stop there, at risk of accidentally turning this into a piece of vegan propaganda). Maybe you’re tempted by some of the other benefits of ditching dairy; better skin, better digestion, no weird hormones, longer shelf life. Or maybe, like me, you’re just a bit lactose intolerant, and would rather not wind up looking three months pregnant after a cup of coffee.
So, you’re standing in the underwhelmingly small alt-milk aisle in Tesco. Where to begin?
Soy milk
I’ll start with the most well-known. A safe all-round option, soy has a similar consistency to cow’s milk, and is a particularly good replacement in baking, cereal and pancake batter. Its flavour varies depending on the brand, but you can’t go wrong with Alpro (sweetened, obviously, I’m not a Neanderthal), which has a mild vanilla-y flavour. Their barista version is less tasty, but works wonders in a latte – its high protein content allows it to microfoam and gives the same glossy finish as cow’s milk.
You may have heard rumours about the isoflavones (plant oestrogens) in soybeans causing breast cancer or feminization in men (polite for “man boobs”). These are completely untrue – the dairy industry just loves to circulate them. In fact, if we’re getting scientific, hundreds of studies show that soy protects against both of these things, as the less potent plant oestrogen blocks our excess oestrogen from binding to receptors. The only concern about soy is that, like cow’s milk, it’s a common allergen – so that’s something to watch out for.
Almond milk
Almond milk is a lighter and more refreshing choice; perfect poured over a bowl of cereal. It boasts 50% more calcium than cow’s milk (though most plant-based milks are fortified to contain the same nutrients as cow’s milk anyway). It can also be used in baking, mashed potato etc. Some add it to coffee but I wouldn’t – barista almond has a slightly tangy, bitter taste which doesn’t compliment the flavour of coffee at all.
Recently, there has been a lot of discussion about almond milk’s sustainability (it uses a lot of water, and almond pollination puts pressure on bees and beekeepers). However, it’s important to keep in mind that the shortcomings of plant-based milks are insignificant compared with the environmental harm from dairy.
Coconut milk
There are two broad categories of plant-based milks; those that work as neutral-tasting replacements for cow’s milk, and those that are more noticeable. Coconut definitely belongs in the latter category.
I’m not talking about the super thick, tinned stuff that you might stir into a curry. This is the watered-down version that comes in a carton, but still manages to retain that distinctive creaminess. Coconut’s rich and exotic flavour lends itself well to breakfast and cream-based desserts, but it’s not one to keep as an all-purpose staple – I wouldn’t recommend it in coffee, unless you happen to enjoy coconut-flavoured coffee, which is just objectively grim.
Ethically, coconut milk can also be quite problematic, but not if you choose the right brand (one that’s certified Fair Trade and doesn’t exploit monkeys – most of the brands in UK supermarkets are fine).
Oat milk (the winner)
Oat milk has surpassed almond milk as the fastest-growing dairy alternative, with its velvety texture and taste reminiscent of milk at the bottom of the cereal bowl (that’s a compliment). It’s not oversweet, the way soy can be. It performs well on all sustainability metrics. And it works as a perfect milk replacement in pretty much everything – especially coffee.
Swedish brand Oatly have seen their worldwide sales surge from $68 million in 2017 to over $200 million in 2019, with their chilled oat drinks; skinny, semi (my absolute staple) and whole. Their ‘controversial’ slogan “it’s like milk, but made for humans” got them sued by the Swedish dairy industry in 2015, but that didn’t faze them – their milk has become a barista standard in hipster coffee chains across the world. There is now a genuine website called Oatfinder which locates the nearest café stocking Oatly, just in case you’re wandering the North Pole and want to know how many kilometres you are from an oat milk cappuccino.
And the rest
I could go on – but we’d be entering more experimental (and expensive) territory. Rice milk: refreshing, sweet and neutral-tasting, but watery; you could pour a cup of it into black coffee and it would still be black. Hazelnut milk: delicious, but only really works in cereal – its flavour is too overpowering for anything else. Cashew milk: never tried it, sounds a bit pretentious. Tiger nut milk, pea milk, quinoa milk… alright, now you’ve got to be joking.
People tend to adopt an all-or-nothing approach when it comes to plant-based milks. We talk about “making the switch”, as if picking up a carton of oat milk is synonymous with pledging to quit dairy for life. Most of the time, this isn’t logistically or financially feasible. “It’s about getting a lot of people to make small changes,” says Toni Petersson, Oatly’s chief executive, “and by doing that, creating a shift on a massive scale, rather than trying to turn everybody vegan.”
Those who dismiss milk alternatives as a short-lived millennial fad should think again though – in a few years’ time, millennials will have the strongest spending power globally. Some say a worldwide shift towards plant-based milk is inevitable – the question is how fast.
By now, there is little need to introduce the concept of ‘the climate crisis’ as scientists are (rightly) opting to refer to it as. Explaining why and how this process is occurring is far beyond the scope of this article. I will, however, acknowledge a few simple and increasingly irrefutable facts: the climate crisis is very real; very imminent and very much a product of human activity. Despite these facts, publications by those few rebellious research scientists never fail to provide ammunition to ill-informed politicians who, regardless of all their shortcomings, still do have opposable thumbs and access to a twitter account. For every step forward, we take two steps back (and then the United States, swiftly withdrawing from the Paris Agreement in 2017, takes 10 more).
It must also be stated that climate change is by no means the only environmental emergency born at our hands, and in many ways works to detract from issues such as declining biodiversity and plastic pollution. Our insistence, as a species, on categorising issues to make a very grey world seem black and white is educationally obstructive. Irrespective of the impacts on climate, we are losing species at an unprecedented rate. I have seen large companies to clear-fell diverse landscapes, blatantly ignoring local communities (in some cases having the audacity to blame them for the human-wildlife conflict we ourselves inspire by allowing impoverishment to persist). Subsequently, it seems that we praise the perpetrating loggers if they find it in their hearts to replant a measly palm oil plantation as substitute, branding the effort as sustainable. Welcome to the Anthropocene.
Westerners exist in a bubble of new age comforts obscuring the injustices happening all around us. Whilst some are entirely deprived of their basic human rights, others have progressed to invent whole new ones as an attempt to justify their obnoxious sense of entitlement (protesting protective legislation which makes facemasks compulsory, for instance). This exceptional ideocracy epitomises human selfishness. Unfortunately, not living in “a communist country!” (an argument used as defence against just about every ‘injustice’), seems wholly unrelated to the issue; last time I checked, Marx didn’t say all that much about pandemic etiquette in the Communist Manifesto. Though many try to distinguish themselves from the culture of disregard and exploitation deeply entrenched in our ideals, disregard and exploitation have thus far gone hand in hand with advancement. It’s advertised as difficult, in developed nations, to live both scrupulously and within your means without becoming a social pariah. Being an “ecowarrior” is attributed to another one of those student quirks pegged as ‘just a phase’. Something crunchy middle class kids with enough money to sit daily in hipster coffee shops sipping oat milk flat whites out of their reusable coffee cups do.
So, there it is, a bleak picture of an impressive species being eradicated much more rapidly than we dare to admit by our own self-indulgence. I am not by any means attempting to posit that every average joe out there actively works to intentionally destroy our earth. How we feel about the planet, and what we actually do to protect it, are two very different things. We have all the information we need; we have the solutions; we have the incentive. Why do we lack action? There are many suggestions, but (as per usual) the culprits on a large scale are unfavourable economics (taking precedence over human lives) and inefficient politics. Faceless agencies to cast ineffectual blame upon. Inefficient politics in fact seem to be a trademark of the 21st century so far. For citizens of the UK, two Prime Ministers down since 2016, the only reason we have stopped hearing the word ‘Brexit’ every waking hour of the day is due to attention being temporarily diverted to the inconvenience of a global pandemic.
In 2008, the concept of a ‘Green New Deal’ was first suggested. An ambitious suggestion, cleverly drawing on Roosevelt’s New Deal a century ago, linking to the aspiration of tackling “fear, anxiety, instability, insecurity, and precarity.” Finally! Recognition that ecosystem security and social class inequality go hand in hand, policy striving beyond the concept of decarbonisation and pushing for accountability. Obviously, this was disbanded. Mere threads were left dangling for activists to clutch onto as Europe generously invested in a ‘Green Deal’ programme instead, quite literally removing any trace of the word ‘New’ and characteristically rife with accusations of corruption. Most controversially, the European Commission lies snugly tucked up in bed with commanding companies such as the US investment fund Blackrock (who have a clear vested interest in, you guessed it, fossil fuels…). A political climate where governments are slaves to enormous multinational corporations increasingly fates a top down approach to greening the economy as improbable. Nonetheless, you have to hand it to politicians, untrodden terrain has been cautiously traversed, unprecedented action has been taken (albeit haphazardly, sporadically and a little too slowly). Yet in the back of our minds lingers the sinister truth, Covid-19 is a trial run. Frankly, in our global society, it’s shocking an event of this scale has not already unfolded.
Alongside screams for a return to normality there is a whole other kind of discontent rising, a subset of people (silenced by media preference to continually report on the ‘daily experience of a shopper in Covid-19’ for the 6th time in a row) who instead champion a ‘new normal’. The implications of that someone allegedly eating a bat over 5000 miles away in Wuhan causing the entire world to come to a halt should be enough for us to appreciate our very real interest in the state of public health and welfare overseas. Realistically, we should now be thinking, “Jeez, we really need to push education and sustainable development internationally”. In reality, a flood of racism directed at Asian ethnic minorities has transpired. Blame has been cast. The President of the United States has publicly used derogatory slurs, referring to the virus as the “kung-flu”! It speaks volumes not only that this is the example set by the White House, but that we have become so accustomed to such displays that the public expect nothing less. Of course, we shouldn’t be so hasty to cast blame. For every individual in power, there’s a large enough or passive enough support base to put them there.
Put bluntly, those in control don’t really seem to care about the environment. What I see being prioritised right now is an upsurge in economic activity, to ‘eat out to help out’, to keep on singing happy birthday as you wash your hands. Yes, Covid-19 has seen some extremely short term reconnections with nature. When life begins again, as is increasingly demanded, it won’t take long before we have better things to do than to stop and smell the roses. Instead of capitalising on unrest, COP-26 has been postponed to 2021 (missing a vital opportunity to go digital and set an example). In an attempt to get things back up and running in the US, Trump has made regressive changes to the National Environmental Act and has completely missed the memo that global communication in a global society is imperative, withdrawing funding for the World Health Organisation. The New Green Deal seems nothing but a pipe dream.
Dismal prospects for sustainability is not the note I intend to end on. For anyone who has ever stated that there is no point in acting, that it won’t change anything, that one person never made a difference, I ask you to point to a revolution in history that didn’t spark from individuals simply saying no. We fuel the consumerist society we live in, we create the demand for products which destroy the planet. As individuals, we need to think more considerately about the legacy we leave behind. Companies cater to consumers; the consumers are just as culpable. ‘Crunchy middle class kids’ aren’t where this ends. Those with the means to invest in cleaner energy or electric cars have a social responsibility to do so. Those without these means are not helpless victims- we can all, for example, consume less meat and dairy. Next time you don’t recycle, next time you buy a plastic bottle full of a free commodity (water), next time you purchase chocolate from companies who keep cocoa farmers in poverty, think about which role you want to play in the future of humanity. We have access to information, a reason to ask questions, no excuse for being passive.
Readers can check out the following petition to rebuild the economy out of lockdown with a Green New Deal.
The University and College Union (UCU) has criticised Oxford University’s reopening procedures, saying they are withholding health and safety risk assessments. The University refutes these claims.
Reopening universities includes producing risk assessments, which identify possible areas of concern and lay out contingency plans. Departments work with the University and staff to create these assessments, which are subsequently circulated to staff within the department. However, Oxford’s risk assessments are not currently shared with the UCU.
The UCU told Cherwell: “We have made it clear that we find the university’s approach and refusal to share risk assessments with us, as guidance and agreement says, unacceptable.”
In an email seen by Cherwell, the UCU wrote to the Vice-Chancellor Louise Richardson that the University “has not been forthcoming with necessary information and that there has not been meaningful consultation with our Branch.” The UCU requested that the University share risk assessments for Departments, Faculties, and Schools, along with equality impact assessments, in order to “engage in dialogue with the University about what improvements to arrangements could be made.”
The UCU represents faculty and staff at universities, colleges, and other educational institutions across the UK. It is one of three trade unions recognised by Oxford University, the others being Unite and Unison, which represent support staff.
The
University responded to the UCU via email: “The University has been clear
from the start of lockdown that it is not practical or useful to share all risk
assessments with the Oxford UCU. At a local level safety representatives are
often involved in developing risk assessments and risk assessments are shared
with all staff.”
The email further states that regular meetings are held with trade unions to discuss the University’s reopening strategy, where Departments have accepted feedback. The University continued: “The HMG guidance on employee consultation encourages consultation, but is clear that employers retain the right to manage.”
The government guidelines on reopening higher education institutions do not specify the role of trade unions. However, they reference an agreement between unions and educational institutions, which are represented by the Universities and Colleges Employers Association (UCEA), of which Oxford University is a member.
UCEA and trade unions issued a joint statement which outlined expectations for universities. This includes consultation “on staff health and safety, and about how the institution will manage risks from Covid-19 including regarding the re-opening of departments and services.” It further agrees that universities “will undertake appropriate risk assessments and review them in consultation with trade union health and safety representatives.”
Oxford University has told Cherwell: “The University is surprised by the national UCU’s claims as we are currently meeting every few days with our three recognised unions, including the UCU, to discuss in detail our approach to reopening. These meetings have been part of a regular constructive dialogue about the principles of safe return to onsite working, in line with government guidelines. This has included the University seeking and accepting feedback from the unions on HR and Health & Safety guidance documents in advance of sharing the guidance with staff.
“As the University works towards reopening and continuing our vital role in world-class education and research, our number one priority is the health and well-being of our staff, students and local community. Staff are being kept fully informed of the extensive protective measures being introduced, including detailed guidance on risk assessments and returning to safe on-site working, which were developed in consultation with our unions.”
Fast fashion and huge brands can often seem to dominate the fashion scene in Oxford and around the world. Independent retailers offer a great alternative which can be more sustainable, exciting and supportive of our local communities. This article gives an overview of some of Oxford’s independent shops so that come Michaelmas your fashion options are more varied than ever.
A Rosie Life is technically a lifestyle store, not a fashion store, but the jewellery and accessories they have on offer are beautiful. They stock bright and colourful bags perfect for a summer look as well as more everyday styles for laid back outfits. The jewellery on sale includes modern and simplistic necklaces meaning the shop offers pieces for both a minimalist look and a more vibrant one.
Eagle Vintage is, as you have probably guessed, a vintage shop. However this is a vintage shop with a twist. The shop is created to be an experience, set in a spacious venue. The founders wanted to make shopping vintage more enjoyable and easy, so that it becomes simple and less chaotic or jumble-sale-like. Being vintage means it offers a sustainable alternative to fast fashion as well as a great place to find high quality, timeless pieces.
Fresh is an independent boutique located in the covered market which sells clothing and accessories from British designers. The clothes on offer are of a more classic and traditional style, including classy summer dresses and pretty lace camisoles. However their jewellery section is vivid and varied. From simplistic shapes of gold and silver to colourful statement drop earrings to koala brooches and hairclips, there is something on offer for a whole number of styles.
Rainbow and Spoon boutique is a clothing store which was established in 1982. It is full of colour, and therefore definitely the place to go to escape the endless racks of monochrome tops so common in clothing retailers. They also sell fair trade items, making them a sustainable and ethical option for your fifth week blues shopping spree.
Exclusive Roots offers fair trade products made in Africa. Whilst they don’t sell clothes they do have a jewellery section with a range of brass earrings moulded into beautiful shapes and patterns. They ensure that their producers get a fair price and they reinvest their profits into their charity, Tabeisa. This charity supports the development of small businesses in disadvantaged communities in Africa.
Next to Nothing owner Sam Mellish told Cherwell that it is: “a bright exciting boutique”. The shop sells a variety of items, including original clothing, slogan T Shirts, accessories, and gifts. Whilst it is now located in the Covered Market, it started life as a stall in the 70s. Mellish told Cherwell: “Our shop is special because it is independent, and we can buy whatever takes our fancy! This means a variety of colours, prints and styles you won’t find in boring chain stores”.
Unicorn clothes shop is another vintage shop, located on Ship Street. First opened in the 80s it is known for being packed full of clothes. It is the place to go for hidden gems when you are in the mood to sort through piles of clothes to find the perfect item.
Retro room is the final vintage shop of this article. The shop includes vintage, designer, and second-hand items amongst its selection, offering both accessories and clothes over an expanse of three rooms. It boasts a massive variety of items meaning there’s something on offer for any occasion. Retro Room also offers you the chance to sell your own clothes at the store.
Ansari boutique is a shop offering unique patterns combined with
bright colours on dresses, bags, accessories, and a whole number of other items.
The bags and accessories they sell are covered with a variety of designs with
the only consistency being the bright colours present throughout. They are
located in the covered market and a great place to go for a burst of colour.
Fourteen years since their last album, and 17 since they were effectively shut out from the country music industry, The Chicks (formerly known as The Dixie Chicks) have finally released new music – and it is as flawless as the wait has been torturously long.
Gaslighter, an album that stays true to their trademark
sound and yet also sees them explore the realm of pop more than ever before, is
one of the strongest records released this year and one of their strongest to
date. The best-selling US female group have reminded us, in twelve stunning but
equally heart-breaking songs, why their presence has been so sorely missed.
The Chicks have always had a reputation for being
unapologetically outspoken and bold. At a London show in 2003, lead vocalist
Natalie Maines transformed the future of the band in just a few quick seconds
when she criticised fellow Texan George Bush’s invasion of Iraq, saying they
were “ashamed that the president of the United States is from Texas.” Immediate
backlash followed – country radio refused to play their music, with some
stations providing bins for fans to throw away CDs, and the trio faced
countless death threats. Their comeback three years later, featuring the
defiant single ‘Not Ready to Make Nice’, won five Grammys. More recently,
Maines has taken to social media to openly accuse Trump of psychological
manipulation.
In comparison with the force of this album, however, these
instances feel mild at best. Gaslighter is brutally honest, with much of
the material concerning Maines’ recent protracted (see: bitter and ugly)
divorce, one so messy her ex-husband asked a court to block the record’s
lyrics. It’s easy to understand why. He does not escape unscathed by any means:
“You’re only as sick as your secrets / So I’m telling everything” (‘Sleep at
Night’); “After so long, I learned to hold my tongue / And now that you’re
done, I get to write this song” (‘Hope It’s Something Good’). For 47 brief
minutes, Maines is in control of the narrative and refuses to hold back.
It’s hard not to find the intensity and specificity of Gaslighter’s
lyrics staggering. They leave very little to the imagination, uncovering song
by song, line by line, the details of her relationship’s deterioration. From
the opening title track’s searing “Boy, you know exactly what you did on my
boat” to the aptly named ‘Tights On My Boat’, details of an affair which ruined
a twenty-year long marriage are slowly revealed, like cards of a hand. And it’s
clear that Maines is holding all the aces. They range from the devastating – we
learn that she met her then-husband’s girlfriend, a ‘fan’, backstage at the
Hollywood Bowl and joked, unknowingly, that “you can love me as long as you
don’t love my man” – to the painfully wry, with the biting “Hey, will your dad
pay your taxes now that I am done?” Each crushing new revelation is richly
fierce and unafraid – thank God the judge ruled in Maines’ favour.
Yet its fiery anthems would lose their impact were they not
balanced by the record’s quieter numbers. The underlying theme of Gaslighter
is one of suffering and loss – one moment taking the form of white-hot rage,
relentless rapids of emotion; the next, the more withdrawn, still waters of
self-reflection and contemplation. As transfixing as Maines’ incendiary anger
can be, the gradual progressions and swelling choruses of slow-burners like ‘Hope
It’s Something Good’ and ‘Set Me Free’ are just as enchanting. Tracks like
these, delicately restrained and with hints of their bluegrass roots, are where
the Chicks we know and love truly shine. With sisters Martie Maguire and Emily
Strayer falling back on their classic fiddle and banjo, the heartbreak and hurt
stand tall on their own without being washed away by overly polished production.
As Maines’ voice wavers in moments of broken emotion, the three-part harmonies
achieved, so characteristic of the Chicks, provide support, sweeping you away
in the captivating rise and fall of her distinctive voice. The trio
unflinchingly reveal to us their most raw and authentic side yet.
What perfects the record is how intentional its composition
feels. This is a rare example of an album with no filler tracks – each song is
made better by the last and plays an integral role in the story listeners are
told. It’s a story of frustration and loneliness, of resentment caving into
grief, of what it feels like to be betrayed by everything you once depended on
for safety and protection. It’s a story not only about a marriage falling
apart, but more universally about the inevitable trials and tribulations of
life. Speaking to their ex-husbands, their children, and even their younger
selves, the Chicks take us by the hand and lead us through a world filled with
pain. They reassure but also prepare us for the forest fires we will not be
able to outrun.
Despite its sombre message, Gaslighter is a celebration of the complexity of life, and especially of being a woman. Being sad and being angry aren’t mutually exclusive, they tell us. It’s that defiance, that refusal to distil hardships into a singular emotion, easy to cope with and pretty to look at, that makes the Chicks so compelling. Pain, in whatever form it takes, is an inherently human experience – callously labelling it unfeminine is to ignore this. The record instead chooses to revel in its beauty, ugly as it may feel. Women should get to have fun and be romantic, but should also get to be sorrowful and angry at the same time. The album unpacks this intricacy: poignant and aching at its core, but simultaneously indignant and cautiously hopeful. In a year of chaotic emotion, Gaslighter has come at a time when it is needed most.
With their latest release, The Chicks have returned resilient and vulnerable as ever. They may have tweaked their sound, but their heart has been preserved. Loving yet merciless, spellbinding yet uncompromisingly ferocious, this is The Chicks at their very best. It would be difficult to deny the album’s appeal to anybody, whether long-time Chicks fan or complete newcomer, whether angry or heartbroken or somewhere in between.
Bladee’s
music is either airy transcendence – kitsch done perfect – or the worst thing
you’ve ever heard. Autotuned, breathy rapping over cloudy, mellow instrumentals
tends to incite this kind of polarisation. His newest album 333 brings
the stellar production of long-time collaborator Whitearmor together with Bladee’s unusual,
off-kilter vocals under a happier, optimistic, and spiritually-tinged banner.
The 16-song, 37 minute LP is thus a sincere, unexpected yet familiar shift in
direction from an artist at times derided as the apotheosis of vapid, shallow
Soundcloud emo-trap.
Fans of Drain Gang (a Sweden-based collective also featuring musician/fashion designer Ecco2k, rapper Thaiboy Digital, and producers Whitearmor and Yung Sherman) have long been attuned to Bladee’s fascinating, fragmented, distinctly postmodern universe. His earliest recognition occurred adjacent to that of the ironic, nostalgic cloud rap of fellow Stockholmer Yung Lean; debut album Gluee (2014) is not unfairly summed up by the frequent comments on his Instagram mourning the “old Bladee rapping about magic and swords and shit that doesn’t exist”. If his initial persona bordered on goofy, his movement to a darker, somewhat melodramatic sound on Eversince (2016) and Red Light (2018) was panned by some for being difficult to take seriously. Certain motifs emerge across his songs, whether channelled into hypnotic escapism or depressive humour: a self-hating consumerism, dreams, abortive romances, loneliness, ascension, garbage, the seduction of mind-numbing drugs. Even without buying fully into the mythos imposed by fans, these various discernible recurring themes enrich the emotions at the forefront of his music, all within imaginative spaces he constructs (a fictitious ‘Rainworld’, the heavens, hypercapitalist shopping malls).
333
explores a number of sounds, from more minimalist, indie-folk on the first
track, hyper-pop (à
la PC Music), and even glitch hop on the album’s first half, without a
significant departure from his frigid, more ethereal soundscape. Elsewhere, the drum
breaks and synths are familiar, trap-like when Bladee breaks into chorus. Even a glance at the colourful, child-like
album art (designed for the first time not by Bladee, but by London artist and
designer Claire Barrow) confirms
the album’s nature, as a dizzying, colourful array of sounds, pop culture
references, and haphazard influences; some symbols remain esoteric, yet
are mobilized towards a heartfelt affirmation of the self and the seeking of internal
peace and love. Nevertheless,
the art remains collage-like and abstract, as per previous albums.
The opening track, acoustic-heavy ballad ‘Wings in Motion’, evokes gentle movement and growth: “ripples broken, wings in motion”, repeats Bladee over a twinkling, swelling instrumental. Religious icons come into focus on the second track ‘Don’t Worry’ (“Two white doves, mix my blood with your blood”) and these are cleverly mixed with rap clichés on later songs (“Out the gate, like Messiah/Crown around my head in barbed wire”). This interplay between lofty references and mundane, bare bodily existence is continued from earlier albums.
Elsewhere,
Bladee’s vocals are noticeably different from Eversince and Red Light,
in which the autotune had been dialled up to 11, for a robotic subordination to
frigid instrumentals. Here, he brims with a certain confidence (unfounded, for some), giving
his voice space even as the characteristic autotune remains. At times, his
singing caricatures
the saccharine pop of the early 2000s, a direction birthed out of
collaborations with Hannah Diamond and hinted at in past singles (“In the back
of the club with the bad girls/the mean girls, the bad girls”). Bladee’s
cheekily experimental attitude towards gender personas is refreshing, even
catchy. He hits a vocal range long-time listeners might be surprised by on ‘It
Girl’, exploring the gendered paradoxes of success and power (“In this
world, you gotta work to be an It Girl/Are you down to let it go? we can do
it/8 hours in the dark, I’m in the Rainworld…”).
Some moments also fall flat. Over beautifully layered synths he breathlessly speaks of “endlessly reflecting in your gaze/drop the mirror and it breaks/seven years, seven tears, seven different heavens”, but the backing vocals on ‘Noblest Strive’ are less of the choir Bladee hopes for and more reminiscent of the 4am-in-the-bedroom, weird-guy persona he both embraces and transcends. ‘Oh Well’, a mantra to keep moving forward, is another song which moves from ‘great’ to ‘good’ on account of his clumsy adlibbing (‘unh, unh’, he almost moans in his second verse), in spite of the sublime production and hopeful message. Nevertheless, part of the album’s charm lies precisely in this bizarre, even jarring juxtaposition between the heartfelt confession of Bladee’s lyrics and the semi-ironic plasticity of his delivery. A few other tracks hence deserve mention: the wave-like, high-pitched trap of ‘Reality Surf’, the repetition on ‘Extasia’, the slurred vocals on medieval-sounding penultimate track ‘Only One’.
333 might best be understood as another chapter in Bladee’s exploration of emotions, moving away from a jouissance in sarcastic nihilism and towards more positive, upbeat themes of acceptance – a kind of renewal and ego death. Love him or hate him, the strange allure of Bladee remains.
