Thoughts and Prayers

It’s a Sunday afternoon, and the board have called an emergency meeting. This is their seventh emergency meeting of the year. It’s February. A line of white men pour into the conference room, all visibly shaken; some of them are wearing golf clothes, Mr Evans is still in his pyjamas. His lazy Sunday had been snatched away from him. His wife was at home making brunch for him and his two children when he got the call.

“Thank you all for coming at such short notice,” said Mr Johnson once the men had been seated and the hubbub had died down. Patricia, his secretary, was staring at him from under her glasses, as she sat in the corner ready to type up the minutes. She had half a mind to just copy paste the minutes from the last emergency meeting. Maybe next time she would, just to make a point. Then again, maybe she would just get the point across by staring at Mr Johnson from under her glasses.

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This Is Not Just A Paperclip, This Is A Prada Paperclip // no wait, it’s just a paperclip

Has this ever happened to you?

You’re sitting at your desk, doing paperwork; you’ve spent the entire morning editing the margins, perfecting the font – none of that Arial size 10 bullshit for you, you’ve gone for deluxe fonts. Instead of a plain black font, you’ve one upped yourself and gone for dark, dark, dark, dark grey. The difference is barely noticeable but you know. Oh, boy do you know. You’ve decided to print it on the fancy paper that’s normally reserved for special events. Sure, the finance department will probably yell at you again for wasting resources and money, and apparently, the company is nearly ~broke,~ but you don’t care – this report is worth it. You are worth it.

(The report in question is the weekly update for Linda in HR but it doesn’t matter. This report is too dang valuable for stupid Linda and her stupid bangs that she won’t shut up about. Shut up Linda)

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Fuck you and your bangs Linda

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Pepsi Lives Matter || The Revolution Will Be Sponsored

You know the old saying that the revolution will be televised? Apparently there’ll be commercial breaks featuring misguided Pepsi adverts. And oh boy is this one a corker.

 

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Introducing || Raising a Feminist.

Boshemia are proud to present a new periodical series titled “Raising a Feminist”, from regular guest writer and US Boshemia babe Elisha. We’ll hand over and let her introduce herself and her gorgeous daughter.

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When I first started on my path of motherhood I was clueless.

Real talk: I was under the personal fable that even though I had no idea what I was doing with my life, somehow the love that I had for the life growing within me would be enough. Though I knew that, scientifically, what was growing inside of me was little more than a bundle of cells, Ryenne was already a person to me in mind and spirit, a life which needed to be intertwined with mine. All my confusion was veiled with the endearing, rose-coloured tint that my pregnancy and the hopeful anticipation of this amazing human had cast upon my life. Realistically, I knew very little about myself or who I wanted to be, but I ardently felt (and still feel) that I could wield a metaphorical scythe which would clear away the brambles of our difficult world for this little being; forging a path which could make Ryenne a better person than I could ever have dreamed to be.  In this new age of parenting, we are finding this often: parents whose aim is to create a generation free of the binds that have previously tied us. These binds which cause discrimination against us for race, gender, sexuality, religion or lack thereof, unconventional physical and mental abilities: all the demarcations which make misguided minds very uncomfortable, but over which we have no control. We are parents whose goal is to raise a generation of trauma-free individuals with the capability to surpass the pitfalls of the society in which we were raised. We are Feminist parents, Progressive Parents, Modern Families.

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George Michael, Prince & David Bowie || The Soundtrack Against Toxic Masculinity

God wasn’t 2016 rubbish? In the next few weeks, Boshemia will almost definitely be musing over how god awful the last year was, but today we’re going to be looking at one of the prevailing themes of the year: Toxic Masculinity. In a year of Trump asserting his masculinity in dangerous ways over everything he seemed to cross, and then somehow getting awarded for it; a year of Brexit and the following fight for the Prime Minister spot being nothing more than a dick measuring contest, only for the cursed position to go for a woman, almost certainly setting her up for failure. In a year of rape accusations, police shootings, terrorist attacks (good god the year’s even worse when you write it all down!), we coincidentally lost three icons of masculinity and gender subversion. On December 25th, aged 53, George Michael joined Prince and David Bowie in the pantheon of people destroyed by 2016; the trifecta of 80s queer icons has gone, politicians are swiftly moonwalking away from identity politics, and the world is basking in the stench of toxic masculinity. Merry Christmas.

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One For the ’90s Kids || Anticipating Nostalgia

“So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past”

– F. Scott Fitzgerald

You’ve seen the Facebook pages dedicated to them. You’ve seen high street brands ridiculously jump on the bandwagon and print cringeworthy t-shirts of oh-so-relatable slogans about them. You’ve heard (and probably made) the jokes about them.

‘90s kids’: totally and utterly obsessed with nostalgia for their birth or childhood decade. Why? Why are those darn millennials always harping on about the past? I can certainly hazard some guesses.

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