Hey look at me, I'm a scenester
Goodness but there has been a lot of discussion on the interwebs recently (and in the papers, for the luddites amongst us) about what makes a good mother.
I was particularly interested in a series of discussions around “yummy mummies” (or MILFs, for the more politically unsound).
Here is what I have learned about the guidelines for yummy mummies
You have to be “pre-kids” attractive: just getting it together to brush your hair and wear some designer clothing will not cut it. If you weren’t attractive prior to your children’s arrival, you’re probably not a yummy mummy in the eyes of the media.
You have to have no remaining vestiges of pregnancy related body changes, unless it is an adorable but tiny bump you can be proud of in a bikini
You must keep it together at all times: apparently it is important for boys to imagine that they are on the receiving end of a smattering of kisses from you, rather than dreaming of being chastised for spilling sugar all over the floor of the supermarket.
Princess Mary should be your hero: let’s forget for the moment that Princess Mary has a dynasty to uphold and therefore probably has access to a higher-quality hair-cutter, stylist and wardrobe than the rest of us. I have nothing against the Princess, those two seem very much in love etc etc but that doesn’t mean I’m judging my caramel-crumble infused scarf by her impeccable appearance.
Your children must be a mirror of your glamour. It is no use being a yummy mummy if your kids are uggers with vegemite-covered faces, torn jeans and gumboots*.
You must express exasperation about your inability to “do it all” and use charming examples like “oh, whatever does one DO when little Xavier has covered the walls with peanut butter!”: this is a subtle yet important tool to ensure that all of those women around you who gaze with the deepest lethargy imaginable as Thomas cuts the couch covers to pieces with the good scissors will feel even more inadequate.
I try my best, I really do. But I’m not going to pretend I have all the answers, and if I happen to look “hot” on any given day it’s more a fluke of nature than a dedicated strategy.
I say congratulations to anyone who can get out of the house having remembered to apply make up (if they feel like it), button their shirt correctly and remember to check their skirt for toast crumbs/’red wine stains before they leave. But “staying attractive” is just another bloody marker on an already extensive and often unattainable check list for mothers and adds to an already ridiculous hierarchy of child-bearing that is not expected for blokes.
*sigh*
Here endeth rant....for now.
* that means you, Grizzlewick. Except for the “ugger” bit, naturally.
I was particularly interested in a series of discussions around “yummy mummies” (or MILFs, for the more politically unsound).
Here is what I have learned about the guidelines for yummy mummies
You have to be “pre-kids” attractive: just getting it together to brush your hair and wear some designer clothing will not cut it. If you weren’t attractive prior to your children’s arrival, you’re probably not a yummy mummy in the eyes of the media.
You have to have no remaining vestiges of pregnancy related body changes, unless it is an adorable but tiny bump you can be proud of in a bikini
You must keep it together at all times: apparently it is important for boys to imagine that they are on the receiving end of a smattering of kisses from you, rather than dreaming of being chastised for spilling sugar all over the floor of the supermarket.
Princess Mary should be your hero: let’s forget for the moment that Princess Mary has a dynasty to uphold and therefore probably has access to a higher-quality hair-cutter, stylist and wardrobe than the rest of us. I have nothing against the Princess, those two seem very much in love etc etc but that doesn’t mean I’m judging my caramel-crumble infused scarf by her impeccable appearance.
Your children must be a mirror of your glamour. It is no use being a yummy mummy if your kids are uggers with vegemite-covered faces, torn jeans and gumboots*.
You must express exasperation about your inability to “do it all” and use charming examples like “oh, whatever does one DO when little Xavier has covered the walls with peanut butter!”: this is a subtle yet important tool to ensure that all of those women around you who gaze with the deepest lethargy imaginable as Thomas cuts the couch covers to pieces with the good scissors will feel even more inadequate.
I try my best, I really do. But I’m not going to pretend I have all the answers, and if I happen to look “hot” on any given day it’s more a fluke of nature than a dedicated strategy.
I say congratulations to anyone who can get out of the house having remembered to apply make up (if they feel like it), button their shirt correctly and remember to check their skirt for toast crumbs/’red wine stains before they leave. But “staying attractive” is just another bloody marker on an already extensive and often unattainable check list for mothers and adds to an already ridiculous hierarchy of child-bearing that is not expected for blokes.
*sigh*
Here endeth rant....for now.
* that means you, Grizzlewick. Except for the “ugger” bit, naturally.
posted by gigglewick at
6:24 pm
2 Comments:
Probably since I am mummy to nothing but a large grey cat, my opinion is worthless, but the whole yummy mummy phenomenon worries me (for "worries" please read "shits me to tears"). Yummy mummies are basically Bridget Jones, married and living in a very, very expensive suburb while wearing designer clothes. They are an abomination.
In Oddelaide, the finger-curling horror of yummy-mummydom is one Nicole Cornes. Mrs Cornes is a few years older than I am, is married to a washed-up Adelaide Crows coach/sports radio host who is sufficiently elderly as to be her sugar daddy. He looks like a Wrinkles Pup and she looks like a teeny blonde bunny in the headlights. Because of said relationship to has-been coach, she got a column in the Sunday "paper" called The Modern Woman. Oh, how delightful! And how modern! And in the past few weeks, because said bas-been coach turned it down, (but they were gagging to have the surname anyway) our Mrs Cornes is now a "celeb" Labor candidate. Were I to dig a Mark Latham-sized pile of mouldy possums, stale whale innards and doggy-do onto Kevin Rudd's doormat, I could not express my disgust more.
So yes, yummy mummies annoy me. Ever so slightly.
But then I'm not a nice person.
Yeah.
'Modern woman' pretty much sucks arse, except for an observation heavily laced with sarcasm. Like when it is applied to say, Babette Francis, for example.
But perhaps Adelaide a bit like Nelson in 'Roxanne', along the lines of "oh ho ho, irony. No, we don't get that here"?
PS Your opinion not worthless - the main purveyors of yummy mummy mythology seem to be blokes, who are not and will never be mummies to anything.
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