Monthly Archives: July 2013


‘Lads’ mags promote sexist attitudes and behaviours. They normalise the idea that it’s acceptable to treat women like sex objects.’

The above quote comes from the mouths of UK Feminista and their #losetheladsmags campaign. And to me, a past Nuts employee and feminist, it’s way off the mark.

Women (and men) all over Twitter are currently getting themselves into a bare boobed clusterf*ck on essentially, the right to show the female form. It’s been suggested that supermarket staff can successfully sue employers in respect of forceful exposure to pornographic material and that environments where these sorts of magazines are hostile and offensive. In my mind, this is a gross overreaction. I find salmon a huge threat to my wellbeing but I’m not about to kick off #losethesalmonitsmellslikerottingbilge campaign.

As a feminist, I don’t much care for men shouting at me to whack my flaps out when I’ve popped out to grab some loo roll from Tescos. I don’t appreciate being called a slutbucket or whorebadger. I’m not keen on the negativity put upon the promiscuity of women, while men are free to pump a whole catalogue of vaginas and get a high five from their mate Darren. But what I have absolutely no problem with, are grown women choosing to take their clothes off for money, for a specific audience to enjoy looking at them in their own homes.

Having spoken to Nuts’ readers on numerous occasions over Twitter, I can safely say none have ever appeared sexist or given the impression they view women as a walking set of norks. Some, strangely, idolise glamour models… but that’s their prerogative. I like Marlon Brando, some bloke in Wigan likes Lucy Pinder bent over a motorbike. It’s a matter of personal taste.

And where does it stop? If certain individuals aren’t happy with publications featuring breasts, do we also ban Men’s Health & Men’s Fitness showing naked chests? Do we stop Torso Of The Week in Heat? They’re all bodies. And if UK Feminista want us all to be treated as equals, then photos of scantily clad men shouldn’t be readily available for women to get frothy over either.

In a day and age where magazines supposedly ‘for the sisterhood’ circle rippling cellulite and suggest ways in which to not look like such a massive fat biffah, lads’ mags are at the other end of the spectrum. They promote curves and feature happy models. Yes they’re airbrushed and might still portray unattainable figures, but at least their waif-like thighs aren’t torn to shreds by the vitriolic words of other women.

If I were to really pick holes, it would be that the girls maybe aren’t given enough of a voice within the mags themselves. I wholeheartedly believe that readers would jump at the chance to dribble over hot women with something to say, rather than a voiceless set of tits… and maybe that’s something to look at. On the other hand, I still feel as though a certain cluster of feminists would get their knickers in a twist over any sort of opinion coming from a woman who shaves her beef cave and wears make-up. But it’d be nice to give it a go.

As women, we shouldn’t feel as though we can’t have smokin’ bodies we want to show off. You shouldn’t be considered a certain type of woman if you like being sexy. We should all be able to whip off our clothes and recite Proust. And if men want to stick around while we do so, then that’s just wonderful. I vote save the lads’ mags… they’re harmless, tongue-in-cheek and a great promoter of the sh*ttest tattoos currently in existence in the UK. Leave ’em be.


Let’s not get it twisted… none of us are under any illusion Katie Hopkins’ recent Twitter paroxysm is for anything other than another 15 minutes of fame. She IS a putrid embodiment of nescience and superciliousness, but she’s also a media-savvy woman whose eagerness to gain notoriety overrides being a positive role-model to her children.

Hopkins, back in 2007, was in The Daily Mail giving her vaginal cavern a jolly good airing in a field with married Met Office colleague Mark Cross. Prior to this, she’d also ridden fellow Apprentice star Paul Callaghan’s tummy banana because apparently, getting through a few weeks in a confined space with males WITHOUT getting frothy-knickered is just too darn tricky for poor Katie.

I’m not an overly judgemental person. She could bang a transvestite while clad in custard and PVC and that would just be nice for her. However, launch a bunch of belittling tweets including the likes of ‘Dear @marksandspencer, are you able to stop unmarried mothers from shopping there on Wednesdays as they unsettle me?’ and it tugs at my squirrel a tad. Along with the Twitter tirade comes the laughable appearance on This Morning where she berated ‘geographical’ names for children only to admit one of her own goes by ‘India’. Everything this walking, talking clump of bilge water exudes is contradictory.


Hopkins professes to be an astute business woman, yet her only success in life seems to be groin-f*cking her way into the spotlight and making sure she stays there by being a judgemental basset hound in a wig. Anyone lower class may NOT approach her. Her offspring may NOT play with anyone who doesn’t go by the name Tarquin or Penelope. Called Stacie, Jordan, Summer, Kimberly or Kylie? You’re ‘predisposed to becoming an unmarried mother #fact’ as tweeted last week.

Today, she’s decided Kelly Brook’s a little chubby. ¬†Also that¬†lots of housewives could do with losing some weight and work towards being a size 8 like herself. Considering Hopkins regularly channels ‘it’s 1986 and I’m waitressing at a Tory garden party’ I’m not entirely sure she’s the person to check in with when it comes to ones appearance but who knows.

In a way, I hope Hopkins’ head is SO far up her own arse cave that she sticks to her word and forces a sheltered life upon her children. Then hopefully they’ll grow up with similar values and won’t want to throw themselves under a juggernaut after reading up on her. So far, all they’ve got to work with is that you can get into England’s most awful papers if you talk about how ginger kids make you want to sh*t your hips out and how naming your child something other than Victoria means you probably grew up on a skip, masturbating with a bottle of White Lightning.

The best outcome with all this would be for at least one of Katie’s daughters to hit 18, decide leftie-living is the way for her and start selling falafel from a campervan with a few lesbian friends. It’d also be pretty wicked sticks if Hopkins’ vagina closed up like an angry venus flytrap. Sex is all she’s good for, and once we’ve eliminated that source of income/attention, she can hopefully be out of our lives for good.