Back in time, when I was an enthusiatic and new beer retailer and also wrote enthusiastic articles, I used Stone‘s Arrogant Bastard Ale as an example for an original and delightful piece of branding. In light of their recent messages in social media I wanted to rethink the idea, but forward stepped Brewdog and released a beer for everyone and not excluding women, under the name of Pink IPA, which, according to their usual patronising blurb on the bottle, is their Punk IPA in drag and a symbol for some form of equality. I have to hurry up visualising the blokes in charge congratulating themselves for being so ridiculously creative, probably also developing a little erection while they hug each other.
This has nothing to do with the subject in question. It’s just two guys kissing. It’s nice.
They might have had no other aim than to provoke the horde of beer writers, who roam the country semi-intoxicatedly, on the hunt for politically incorrect adverts, and one could say that they reached this aim before anyone had the opportunity to open a bottle of their revolutionary drink (not that I see people with functioning palates interested – Punk IPA is a bit like the 80 year old Aunt Polly of the craft scene, who doesn’t quite remember her name anymore, and on the family gathering she sits on her own in a corner, mumbling something. If you give a her a pink feather boa, she doesn’t suddenly become sexy again). But if that wasn’t bad enough, I stumbled upon this:
Hurry up I must, because even before reading through all that twitter backlash, something else will certainly come up, probably falling out of the face of Boris Johnson or Jacob Rees-Mogg or some other equally despicable excuse for a human being. And then I also wanted to claim my discounted beer…
Clearly identifiable: despicable excuse for a human being on the hunt for a discounted beer.
Beer writers broadly fall into two different categories nowadays: Either they are female, in which case they use the word „dick“ very often. Or they are not female, but something else, and representatives of this group are mainly busy nodding to whatever they are being served. In social media the females have a bigger number of followers I believe, because swearing is more interesting than nodding. But of course they also have a point, which is that the patriarchy in general and men in particular have pulled one of the greatest stunts in history, making an artificial societal structure, in which one group of people holds all the strings in their hands, appear to be the reflection of a natural order. Or god-given. A structure, in which normalisation processes are so powerful, that questioning them is a work for generations. And one could get the impression, that the beneficiaries of this structure are actually in the majority. And they are the „we“ that creates and reproduces the narrative and that everybody wants to be a part of – observe: An article in the Guardian about the opening of a new brewery in East London, begins with: „Stung by a reputation as gentrification’s outriders, craft breweries are trying to bring in more women, working-class people and people with disabilities to both drink beers – and make them.“
If you wonder what is wrong here apart from the misplaced dash, it just shows how deeply you are entangled in this all-embracing make-up. You see, the whole system works so well, that no one realises that is has power over every single utterance. Shouting „dick“ at someone who releases something called „Pink IPA“ doesn’t even scratch it, especially if it refers to people who want to celebrate their dickiness.
Apparently yesterday was International Women’s Day, and today is Mother’s Day, which coincides with the 12th anniversary of my mother’s death. Mondays are dedicated to my daughter, and on Tuesday I will go on a date with another representative of the female gender, while for Wednesday I expect an ear-bashing from the mother of aforementioned daughter, which will include swearwords in Spanish – nothing specific, it’s just a custom. And so it will continue. Therefore, as far as I’m concerned, every single day is International Women’s Day, and to single out one date always seemed odd to me. But if I had the balls to say: Stop this nonsense – there should be no International Women’s Day, like I could say there should also be no Mother’s Day or no „Black History Month“, I know that „dick“ would probably be one of the nicer words hurled at me. But maybe I deserve another chance: When you look at the BBC’s sport website, under „Football“ and „Scores and Fixtures“ they list all different leagues, amongst them the „Women’s Super Leagues“, where this weekend’s fixtures include „Aston Villa Ladies against Durham Women“ and „Bradford Ladies v Guiseley AFC Vixens“. It’s a women’s league, for fuck‘s sake. Why is it not Aston Villa against Durham? What do they (the narrators of the public discourse) expect me to expect when I happen to come across a women’s match of football?
Apart from the fact that the word „lady“ is something that should be buried with the ashes of the empire – if I was a woman, and someone called me „lady“ I would most certainly hit them on the head with my handbag, making sure that this… metal … mascara …. thingy … leaves a mark on the forehead.
Sorry, Officer, but this dick called me “lady”
Has any scientist ever tried to explore the contents deep inside a woman’s handbag?
Right. Here comes the question for my patient reader: When you look at the last sentence again – which gender was this „scientist“? I bet. There is your entanglement. Don’t call me a dick.