Hi, I'm Rachel Hills.
I'm a London-based (via Sydney, Australia) writer, researcher and contributor to publications including the Sydney Morning Herald, Cosmopolitan, Glamour, Marie Claire, The Atlantic, Girlfriend and more. I'm also writing a book about Gen Y, sex and identity. This is my blog.
I'd love to hear from you. Submit a question to my Ask Rachel column here, send me an email here, connect with me on Twitter here or find out more about my paid work at www.rachelhills.net.
I'm a London-based (via Sydney, Australia) writer, researcher and contributor to publications including the Sydney Morning Herald, Cosmopolitan, Glamour, Marie Claire, The Atlantic, Girlfriend and more. I'm also writing a book about Gen Y, sex and identity. This is my blog.
I'd love to hear from you. Submit a question to my Ask Rachel column here, send me an email here, connect with me on Twitter here or find out more about my paid work at www.rachelhills.net.
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“Not suitable for children.” A short story about the sexualisation of my childhood.
When I was in my final years of primary/elementary school, one of the favourite shows in my class was the original recipe Degrassi. They used to screen it on the ABC in the late afternoons, alongside other such gems as Ready Or Not and Vidiot (still bummed that show was cancelled when I was finally old enough to audition, because I think I would have rocked it): ie, prime tween viewing time.
Anyway. One day, I suppose shortly after the original series had ended, the ABC announced that it would be screening a full-length Degrassi TV movie. My class - especially the girls, but I think also the boys - was in a tizz of excitement. Our favourite show! Made into a movie!
We talked about non-stop, and implored our teacher to watch this incredible, incredible TV show.
And then it happened. Or to be more precise, the scene in the video above happened. What the YouTube uploader calls “the most famous moment in Canadian TV history.” I still remember it now, twenty years later.
“Joey Jeramiah spends his summer dating Caitlin and fucking Tessa.”
We slunk back into the classroom the next day, unable to meet our teacher’s eye. And she was all, “Well, that wasn’t what I was expecting.”
It’s possible that she wouldn’t have thought the show was suitable for her 10-year-old students even before that, what with its storylines about mono, teen pregnancy, HIV, and “all the way with Stephanie Kaye.”
But there was a feeling that day that we had somehow crossed a line.
So. As some of you know, I co-facilitate a monthly feminist discussion group here in London. At our last meeting, one of our members suggested we focus our June discussion on racism and white privilege, and I thought it was a brilliant idea.
But here’s the thing. The majority of our group, as it stands, is white. And what at first seemed like a great idea for a challenging conversation now seems ripe with the potential for clueless white person-ness.
At the same time, I also feel like white people not discussing race is a bit of a cop out. A way of fencing off a huge and important political issue as something that is relevant only to “other” people (people of colour, and other, more racist whites). One of the things I love about the concept of white privilege is that it drags white people back into the conversation, serving as a reminder that a) they/we have a race, and b) whether you like it not, race and racism are issues that affect us all.
Ideally, I’d like the conversation to get our members engaging deeply and honestly with their experiences of race – whether as beneficiaries of white privilege/invisibility, victims of racism, or someone who has occupied both positions at different points in their lives.
The question is, how do you do this well? Without people clamming up, and deferring to one another (and thus denying their own engagement with race) and without tokenising anyone, or pushing our POC members into the unwilling role of teacher?
Thoughts?
And do you agree with my premise above: that the discomfort many white people seem to feel when it comes to discussing racism is a manifestation of white privilege in and of itself?
Photo via. And the Avenue Q song it references.
This photo is basically my life.
TEDxLoughborough: Understanding The Sex Myth
A couple of months ago, I gave a talk about my forthcoming book The Sex Myth at TEDxLoughborough, speaking about everything from my adolescent insecurities, to how many sexual partners the average college student has in any given year, to The Sex Myth itself: the idea that what you do in your sex life reveals the truth of who you really are.
The talk is online now, and I’d love it if you would give it a whirl (and please, share it with your friends if you like it). A couple of early reviews, which I think sum it up the good and the not-so-good pretty nicely (and amusingly, in the second case):
“A must watch for anyone who’s felt their sexual life questioned, criticized, or had themselves defined by their sex lives.” - Elizabeth, Facebook.
“A horrifying yet fascinating window into the world of insecure women with a shopping list of issues surrounding sex.” - Bokehpete, YouTube.
The result is a false dichotomy: either you are “poor” and poised on the edge of bankruptcy, or you are “comfortable” and you never have to think about money at all. But being middle-class doesn’t mean never needing to make a choice about what you spend your money on. It means having the wiggle room to choose in the first place.
I’m talking “privileged poverty” at Daily Life today.
I’m working on a UK newspaper piece on the sexualisation of children debate, and looking to speak to girls aged 10-16 and their parents. If you or anyone you know can help, please get in touch (my email is rachel.hills@gmail.com) or pass this post on to them.
I’d like to know your views on issues such as:
For Girls
Do you feel pressured to be hot or sexy? Pretty, cool or fashionable?
Are “hot,” “sexy,” “pretty,” and “fashionable” the same thing, or are they different? Are they more about pleasing boys or pleasing girls? Or pleasing yourself?
Where do you think those pressures come from?
At what age do you think it’s ok for a girl to start dating? Having sex? At what age do you think most girls start dating and/or having sex?
Do you think girls are pressured (by media, by boys, by each other) that they need to be sexual in particular ways? Or under pressure NOT to be sexual, even if they want to be?
What would you most like people to know about girls, beauty, body image and sex/dating?
For Parents
Are you familiar with the media debates around the sexualisation of girls? Is this something that concerns you?
If it does concern you, what concerns you most? Sexy/sexualised products? Girls’ being under pressure to fit a particular appearance/body mould? Girls having sex (or having sex they don’t want to have) at younger ages? Sexting? Pornography?
If you don’t think it’s an issue, why not?
What are you doing as a parent to help your kids (girls and boys) navigate popular culture, body image, and sex?
I’m looking to set up phone and in person interviews around the UK between May 6 and May 15. If you can help, please email me at rachel.hills@gmail.com or share your thoughts anonymously in the comments below.
