By Aislinn De'Ath

By Aislinn De'Ath
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Showing posts with label new girl. Show all posts
Showing posts with label new girl. Show all posts

Tuesday, 22 April 2014

10 ways to tell you're turning into a Manic Pixie Dreamgirl....

Reader, a Manic Pixie Dreamgirl is essentially the last thing you want to be (apart from dead. Or a woodlouse or something. Well, I'm exaggerating, shut up). There was a brilliant article written about them in the New Statesman (read the article, it's bloody brilliant). Essentially, we're the supporting lead characters (the character that really should be a lead but is only there to affect change upon the male lead's life) who wander around being a bit kooky and dancing in the rain to Nina Simone whilst knitting a hat for our pet banana. Were this the olden days we'd be locked up. Now we get seen as veritable Oracles for skinny boys who like vintage clothes and independent coffee shops.

The thing is, I (like so many girls in their twenties) did not realise I was a MPDG until fairly recently, when I realised how utterly irritating it was. I sew, I bake, I flirt awkwardly, I name things round my house (we have a pillow called Archimedes, a sewing machine called Bellatrix, a computer called Archie and we live in Bag End) and I have a terrible penchant for vintage style underwear. I also like tabletop gaming and have weird eating obsessions (mac n cheese with pulled pork and maple syrup anyone?). Which is all just ME. None of these things are things I cultivated, they're just aspects of my personality, but that doesn't stop people tossing 'New Girl' quotes at me when I talk about the healing qualities of cupcakes or wear fifties dresses to the pub.

I didn't realise how much I hated the MPDG tag until I realised that people were putting me in a weird, uncomfy box sort of thing because of it. Boys wouldn't ask me out, instead talking about me like I was some kind of bloody unicorn. I wasn't the girl that got grabbed and kissed at parties, I was the girl that kissed the boy then ran away, leaving them fairly confused (this has happened more times than I like to admit). I was the girl that boys would have long intense conversations with, looking soulfully into each others eyes (before they went out with the fairly normal girl who worked in an office, wearing clothes actually in fashion in the last 10 years or so). People didn't take me seriously at work, assuming I was constantly daydreaming (ok, so that one is partially true, but only because I could do the work with my eyes closed and it was INCREDIBLY dull). People make assumptions about you when you're perceived as a MPDG, and they're not always good. But look Reader, I'm going to help you out here. Here's some warning signs that you're turning into a MPDG, so you can stop before it's too late. (Don't ask me how, it's too late for me, I've already planned an adventure in New York and New Orleans for next year and am planning on wearing Victorian lace up boots tomorrow. SAVE YOURSELF).

How to tell you're turning into a Manic Pixie Dreamgirl


  1. People keep oversharing with you



You are that girl that people SEEK OUT at parties, at dinners, on the freakin' street, to tell about their deep, psychological issues. Or sex stuff that kind of makes your ears burn so hard they are close to exploding into ear-y catherine wheels. And then they look at you as if to say 'what should I do about it?' Most of the time I have NOWHERE NEAR the life experience to adequately answer these questions so I quote some literary or film character at them. Seems to do the trick. As does 'what does your heart tell you?' Which when it comes to Tinder related issues, has occasionally been changed to 'What does your foof tell you?'

    2. You are expected to bring cake everywhere you go


Reader, I bake. It's what I do. I bake in times of sadness, I bake in times of joy, I bake because it's a Thursday and WHY THE HELL NOT. But of late I have had to stop myself. Why? Because people have got to the stage where they EXPECT my delightful baked goods. It's got to the point that if I don't bring my delicious peanut butter brownies, people are OFFENDED. And does anyone ever bake me a cake? NO. (Ok, so my gran made me biscuits today, but still...). Also, there is a terrible thing where you're expected to both make cake all the time AND stay skinny enough to look good in high waisted shorts. Which is hard when you're an hourglass like me anyway! So I am now on cake strike. And a diet for the next two months in prep for my next film, my costume for The London Film and Comic Con and a stint at The Fringe. (There has been a lot of cake in my life of late)

    3. Guys will keep you up till late looking at the stars and talking about life, the universe and everything and then go shag the girl who wears nude shoes and goes to a salon to get her hair done

Sound familiar? This is the JOY of being a MPDG. Men will do the unrequited love thing, then worry that you are too flighty, too pure or too out of their league. Then they'll go for the girl who is higher maintenance but has heard less of their secrets. We do all the hard stuff, getting the guys to a point where they feel better about themselves, then they scurry off and ask someone else out. Story of our lives. The good thing about this is that you learn to get ok with asking people out yourself. Because you can bet they won't do it (they will assume you don't feel the same way. I didn't think this was a thing, until my male friends came to me for advice about women, and did EXACTLY THAT-go out with the easy option, who they feel less intensely about, but who earns a steady wage and doesn't ruin their bathroom with hair dye experiments. Meanwhile, my fabulous yet quirky friends were left going 'What did I do?!')

    4. Your wardrobe resembles a costume department more than a real person's clothing supply


I have ballgowns, petticoats, corsets, tights adorned with skulls, a crown, many many hats, fake flowers, all manner of 50's dresses, a Pat Butcher coat and a batman mask. You know what I don't have? Any clothes that are a) ironed or b) make me look like a grown up. Do I care? No. I love my clothes. Very dearly. And it may make more sense to buy some nice chinos and a cute shirt but let's face it, people are going to remember my cherry red fifties dress more than your various neutral tones from French Connection...even if you do look like you dressed yourself instead of letting a 7 year old do it...

   5. You know more songs that were popular before you were born than songs that are popular now


My mother knows more current music than I do. My voice agent asked me to do some impressions for a voice job and all I could think of was Monroe, Billie Holiday and Bette Davis... My I-pod is largely Sinatra based and I got super excited when I recently recognised a rap song on the radio-only to be told that it was 10 years old...

    6. Your life is one big adventure


The nice thing about being a MPDG is that you see excitement and hope in everything. Everything can be an adventure, so you approach life with zeal and zest and a fair amount of hyperactivity. You have about 10 escape plans at any given time and you have a list of VERY IMPORTANT THINGS you have to do in your lifetime. You know exactly what you would do if you won the lottery, and most of it involves running away. You also know that adventures don't have to be international ones. Marriage is an adventure, so is motherhood, so is your career. You just have to approach it in your special, unique way (which usually involves a spotted kerchief with cake in it and your favourite book)

   7. You live your life by the lessons learnt in books


Pippi Longstockings, Anne Shirley, Jane Eyre, Princess Kitty, George Kirrin, Nancy Drew, Matilda, Sara Crewe-we lived their stories along with them. And they now live in us. Which means occasionally we have a 'Look how puffy these sleeves are!' moment of joy in shops that people don't quite understand, find mysteries that we ABSOLUTELY HAVE TO SOLVE where there aren't actually any there and get urges to jump in the sea fully clothed or climb trees in our frilliest dresses (which we will always do, no matter how impractical). Books gave us our moral compass and our favourite quotes. We revisit them like old friends (Summertime is Lolita, Winter is Jane Eyre and anything Dickens, when I'm sad Roald Dahl brings me cheer and Oscar Wilde is always good for a giggle) and as such it would be churlish to ever have less than two books in your bag at any time (I get panicked if I'm stuck anywhere without a book for company, and my biggest decision when going on holiday is how many books can I pack) 

    8. You often get caught singing a song you made up about whatever task you're doing 


Baking, peeing, sewing, writing, editing....you name it, I have probably sang a little song about it. It won't have rhymed, nor been tuneful, nor will I know I'm doing it (apart from the times that I do, and in those times I'm pretty convinced I'm going to win a Grammy of some form)

    9. Your dancing is more like an old man at a wedding than a lithe young lass


I was not one of those girls who got asked to make up dances in a group in the playground. If you've ever been to a club with me, you've probably already worked that out. Knowing how to do the mashed potato more than twerking (still not entirely sure what that is) is a hallmark of MPDGs. 

   10. You keep getting cast as the emotional vunerable girl next door



You know what? I actually don't mind playing these parts, they're interesting, and complex and rarely straightforward. But I do get a bit tired of seeing in every script that this incredibly interesting character, who has her own rich life and stuff going on, is only there to influence what happens to the male lead. In Great Expectations I was Estella (perhaps the ultimate in weird emotionally buggered up girls next door who influences the male lead), I have played women who have awoken sexuality in men, women who have encouraged the men to be better people, women who spend the entire film or play talking about men. Which is pretty weird, because in real life, I don't make decisions based on how it impacts men. And I have quite a healthy emotional state. And I'm not really someone who has to have dead dramatic relationships or anything like that-but I get the feeling people sort of expect me to. If you're an actress in your twenties and you're even SLIGHTLY kooky, chances are you probably feel the same way. You have little choice in the matter. One look at your showreel and they KNOW. Girlfriend roles for the rest of your days...

The thing is Reader, I probably bring it on myself. I refuse to stop buying cute teacups, I am starting to accidentally build a wicker picnic basket collection and every valentines day I make tiny valentines monster pictures to give to my friends. My plans for next year include a trip to New York and New Orleans for a few months and my biggest quandry is how I'll keep my hair it's usual tangerine shade when I'm so far away from Superdrug (I may have to bring a supply with me-going back to having brown hair is NOT HAPPENING). I'm more excited about going to a comic convention than to most of the weddings I have booked this year. And I'm going in costume. Oh dear.


Anyway Reader, true to form, I'm off to dye my hair whilst I work and listen to some Elvis in the background...
Ash
x



Friday, 7 February 2014

Expectation vs. reality...

Reader, the tv show Girls is one of my most favourite things. Everyone hates on it, but I can't help but adore it. Ditto my love of New Girl and The Big Bang Theory (How I Met Your Mother goes without saying). The thing is, I feel these shows are giving me unrealistic expectations of being in your mid twenties...

E vs R: DATING

Expectation

Every week, you get asked out by a new, highly attractive bloke. Even though you're not on any dating sites and you're only averagely hot. You have lots of really crazy sex in the apartments where you both live alone (because no one ever seems to have room mates that happen to be in on date nights), by the third date you magically know each other well enough to see each other in yer skimpies and if he hasn't proposed after 7 months there is something obviously, deeply wrong. Kissing always just sort of happens, even without any booze and there's always an amazing soundtrack. The dude knows innately what would make you happy and spends all his time and money doing that (did anyone see the most recent episode of New Girl? Seriously, what bartender could afford all that?!)

Reality

You never get asked out (apart from by people you really don't want to go out with) so you end up asking people out yourself. You fret about leg hair, cellulite and matching underwear, constantly question if you're ready for a committed relationship and spend a lot of time swearing at a wall with a panicked look in your eyes. Everyone is married or engaged apart from you. You are literally THE ONLY single 25 year old left on the shelf. And you are going to be a bridesmaid twice this year. Fuck. Kissing is horribly awkward for the first few times. And you always end up being the one to instigate. Your dates are either just like being out with your mates but with a snog at the end or you don't realise you're on one till months later when you go 'ohhh, THAT's what that was'. Out of the blue, your friends start trying to set you up with 'nice guy's who work in IT'. Occasionally you lie in bed and gaze at the ceiling thinking 'Carrie bloody Bradshaw never had to work this hard'.


E vs R: Work

Expectation

You work in one of those jobs that probably won't lead to anything. Waitress, bartender, librarian, writer or something in an office that never really gets explained. Everyone is dressed in perfectly fitting gear that naturally suits them down to a T, your boss is a total ass but in a really funny way-or the parent figure that you seriously need in your life. There are at least 3 hotties to leer at, and somehow you work enough hours to afford a great life and few enough to have an insanely brilliant social life.

Reality

They haven't realised you have no idea what you're doing yet. Or that your suit is from Primark. You have to fight the urge to wail when you see how much of your paycheck goes to tax (how do you forget every month?) and there's a part of you that is seriously annoyed that work is not like school, where you had 6 weeks off over the summer. You are the youngest person there, and everyone seems to think this is what you'll be doing forever. They have no idea that you are also a rock goddess who will become a millionaire from making crafts on etsy and eventually marrying Rupert Grint.

E vs R: Social life

Expectation:

Drugs! Drugs at a rave in a warehouse! Where you know people! And you and all your friends are wearing really awesome clothes! And you end up dancing on a roof with a gorgeous stranger! Or you're spending a night at home and it's amazing because you NEVER spend time at home over the weekend unless you're hosting a bijou dinner party. You and your really good looking, funny friends are chilling out and eating take out from boxes and laughing constantly and by the end of the night you'll have got off with the one you've had chemistry with for ages. He will then become (almost instantly) your long term boyfriend. Or you head to the beach, in the vintagely cool beat up car one of you owns somehow, despite being a paperboy. You all strip off and run in screaming. When you emerge, you still look really hawt and drink beer from the bottle by a bonfire.

Reality

You're home. Again. You could have gone out but you didn't. Mainly because none of your friends are free on a weekend because they're all frickin' engaged or married. You eschew dinner for a family sized pack of crisps and low fat Philly cheese. Occasionally you text the boy you sort of like. Or you go out! Big Night out! Wooo! To Wetherspoons...

E vs R: Living Situation

Expectation

You live in a loft appartment in a warehouse in a totally cool hipster area. Cause those are where the cheap places are. You either own it, or rent it with ease. You have wooden floors, a leather sofa and bare brick walls with neon strip lights and it looks totally fucking cool. Everything is open plan. Your bedroom is huge and really kooky, with an actual en suite and bay windows. Everyone is constantly shagging, because if you have housemates, they're really hot and you have total chemistry with them.

Reality

Holy crap, when did rent get so expensive? You live in a tiny flat with crap decorations. You've made an attempt at style, but all the Ikea furniture in the world couldn't make this crap look good. Over half your paycheck goes on this place, but it's still the cheapest place on the market. Your freezer contains some reduced ready meals and vodka. Your fridge has some ever so slightly gone off hummus and 3 kinds of milk. Your flat is where romance went to die-no one has sex there. It is not a place for sex. It is a place for watching tv under a heated blanket and making fart jokes whilst eating chips with gravy. And how the hell does it get this messy this often?!

E vs R: Looks

Expectation

Your hair is SO shiny, and you have no wrinkles. And you're really thin despite living off your diet of take out from boxes and ice cream off a spoon. Because you're in your mid twenties. And no one ages or gets fat in their mid twenties. Your clothes are quirky and colourful and all fit and damn you have good skin. Are those your real eyelashes....?


Reality

You have never been this fat. Your ability to diet and exercise has just vanished. Along with the Boursin in the fridge. Your hair is being really bloody weird but you can't afford to fix it, so you half heartedly trim it with the kitchen scissors and occasionally put olive oil in it (which, rather leaving it looking like Zooey Deschanel hair, leaves it greasy and hanging round your face). Nothing fits, and you don't own an iron or a tumble drier so all your clothes are faded and wrinkly. Your underwear drawer is HOT though. No one ever gets that far, because your other clothes look like they've been kept in a big ball under your bed, but you know that underneath your clothes really gorgeous undies exist. Somewhere. In the lard. 

And that, my gorgeous Readers, is that!
Ash 
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