I woke up this morning with what can only be described as a crazy email in my inbox from a complete stranger. It’s quite something to blearily open your eyes, sleepily snuggle against your fiance and for the first words to enter your brain – through your phone – to be a long, rambling journey down the rabbit hole.
Anyway. Back to emojis.
Emojis are more than the little pictures on your phone – they’re actually a key facet of our increasingly digital communication. And with the laughing-crying emoji chosen as Oxford Dictionary’s Word of the Year last year, don’t doubt their cultural significance.
Aside from the little yellow faces skewing male – they’re more likely to be perceived as men than women – all the “action” and career-specific emojis are male. The female emojis are dancing, getting married or grooming themselves: flipping their hair, painting their nails or getting a head massage. This represents the divide between the public “helping” sphere and the private “selfish” sphere: the men are providing services, while the women are forced once again into beauty-centric roles
Let me start this off by saying never, ever, ever Google ‘lady in stockings’. It was a deeply unpleasant surprise (when looking for an image for this blog post) to realise that ‘lady in stockings’ is actually a rather popular porn term.
I spent my whole life woefully uncool, and eventually, from sheer practicality and self-preservation, decided to lean into it.
Aside from a brief but fervent, nay, ecstatic, passion for the Spice Girls (I used to photocopy magazine articles from the library for my Spice Girls book – and if there’s a more 90s sentence than that in the world please do share in the comments) I’ve never been ‘on trend’.
What’s a Beyoncè? What’s up with all the soft slices of midriff I see everywhere, perched between high waisted pants and a short shirt? What do you mean coral is in (and not in like a diving way)? Fleek? On fleek? FLEEK?!
There are moments when the heaviness of time and importance of legacy swirl around me like a hurricane, and all I can think is, ‘Does anything I do actually matter?’
It’s a bit teenage girl, I know, but every now and then the weight of this short life sits on my shoulders and all I can think about is whether I’m doing anything important, significant, and memorable.