If I had a better iPhone, it would enable me to create more blogable content!
Me trying to convince myself that a new iPhone is all it takes to improve current slow status of my blog 

I’m Not About That Bass, Meghan.

Meghan Trainor, I’m not about that bass. 

Yes, I know I’m not the first (or last) person on the internet to descend into a solid feminist rant about Meghan Trainor’s latest hit, but this song continues to push my ear holes to their absolute limit almost every time.

In my humble opinion, both the lyrics and song—while some argue are ‘catchy’—sound as if someone has poured out an entire tin of alphabet spaghetti, while recording the disgusting sound it makes as its slopped all over the nearest available plate. Okay, critique of her song aside, let’s move onto the most important part which is the fact that Meghan’s body image anthem seems to have collapsed into a body shaming nightmare. Let’s deconstruct this masterpiece, shall we?

Yeah, it’s pretty clear, I ain’t no size two
But I can shake it, shake it
Like I’m supposed to do
Cause I got that boom boom that all the boys chase
And all the right junk in all the right places

Meghan, being a size two isn’t a problem nor is being any other size because human bodies are all fabulous and they should all be respected, but this isn’t my main concern about your opening verse. My main concern is the fact that you’re connecting your weight to something that impresses men.  You’re not ‘supposed to do’ anything, and using male validation of your body sizes to boost your self-confidence isn’t doing anything for anyone. You don’t need a man to feel good about your body! Feel good for yourself.  

I see the magazine workin’ that Photoshop
We know that shit ain’t real
C’mon now, make it stop
If you got beauty building, just raise ‘em up
‘Cause every inch of you is perfect
From the bottom to the top

But Meghan, if I don’t have the ‘boom boom’ am I still perfect from the bottom to the top? I totally dig your Photoshop rant, but am I still cool? Please tell me I’m cool. Actually, wait. Don’t. I don’t want/need external validation because you shouldn’t have to worry about your size at any point ever. Is ‘boom boom’ a beauty thing too? I’m still not entirely sure what ‘boom boom’ is at this point and to be honest, I’m not about to find out before we hit the chorus, which is such a shame. I hope this doesn’t affect my grade.

Yeah, my mama she told me don’t worry about your size.
She says boys like a little more booty to hold at night.

Again, why are we validating ourselves through men and their opinions?  Also those two sentences are a complete paradox. I personally couldn’t give a fuck how much ‘booty’ anyone wants to hold at night. Also, thanks mum. I won’t worry about my size now, only my backside, which has to be big because that’s what heterosexual males are into.

You know I won’t be no stick figure silicon Barbiedoll
So if that’s what you’re into then go ahead and move along


Good lord, I’ve run out of energy to rant. But to sum up everything: let’s stop body shaming. Let’s stop shaming fat people for being fat and skinny people for being skinny, and everyone for being anything. Let’s just all get along and feel good about our size for OURSELVES and not because another person told you this or that.

The Tales of 11-year-old Alex: Digging up my Primary School Hotmail Account.

If you’re looking for a mediocre recount of my childhood, please look no further than this post, you guys. 

I went through my old Hotmail account today and started reading old messages that I used to send to my friends in primary school. There’s something really fascinating about the voice I had then and the voice I have now; they sort of collide. One particular email was a very angry recount of how my best friend and I got in a massive amount of trouble on a school excursion to the Opera House. Basically, it was ‘lunch time’ and the teacher thought it would be tremendously convenient if our group of 200 children simultaneously had lunch on the stairs. Apart from not pissing off the general public, we were given one rule: do not go past the sixth stair.

After raising my hand and questioning the ridiculous motives behind this, I personally concluded that ‘because I said so’ wasn’t really a valid reason as to why I couldn’t sit wherever the fuck I wanted. I would have been about 11 years old at the time and my sass levels were clearly overflowing. 

As you can probably guess, my best friend and I tried to push the boundaries. We did sit on the sixth stair, we did argue with the teacher and we did get in trouble. Yup, she even gave us a ‘yellow card’.

The yellow card was part of our ‘fun-coloured’ discipline system which the teachers regularly enforced as a way of keeping us in line. If you got three yellow cards, you received an in-school suspension and had to do your work all by yourself in the principal’s office and not see your friends for a week. I now had two. 

Doing what most people do when they have a problem about something, I went home and got straight on the internet to complain about it. My hotmail was in full spin and I even included a neat little diagram in my email to illustrate my point: 

| -----------|
| -------------|
we sat there
and we got a yellow card!!!! luckly mi other 1 just expired. i dont care.

I’m pretty sure that the dashes are supposed to represent stairs and the ‘X’ is supposed to represent me. My argument was that sitting on the sixth stair wasn’t exactly the same as ‘going past the sixth stair’ and, in my defence, I was absolutely right.

I then continued to send a few more emails, went on MSN, told a few more people, called my best friend for a second rant before retiring for the evening. 

And so, this is what life was like for 11-year-old Alex.

Just one yellow card after another. 

I’m travelling to Japan in July and I’m going to constantly blog about it so you can live vicariously through my travels.

Yes, that’s right, soon you all get to enjoy my incessant bloggary updates while I adventure into unknown territory, Instagram almost every noodle I encounter along the way and struggle enormously with language barriers. I’ve always been dangerously intrigued by Japan and ever since they made whaling illegal, I’ve literally been obsessed with the place. Literally…


 *breathes heavily*


My future is your history.

your walls have kissed me

and that’s where I found you beating

to the rhythm of my city

finishing what you started so quickly

it was the alcohol that made you giddy;

I had no impact

and in that

I fall straight back into

the same trap.

It’s a cold snap

and just like that

I am a piece of paper in your scrapbook

that you might get out later and show your friends

to remind them

of a time when

we used to pretend 

that we were bigger than all that we could comprehend

now we all sit around for days on end

cutting out the photographs

and drowning in the paragraphs

of our mind

to remind us of that time—

in that moment

when we both tried to make atonement

and you should know that


we may relive that time

and maybe

just maybe

I’ll finally reach that finish line

If you ever lay with me

I guarantee

I will turn us into a memory. 

If you could have one thing, what would it be?

“To keep loving her and to help her love me.“