News presenter Tracey Spicer is not impressed with a magazine photo-spread and video featuring a male and female surfer:
It’s empowering to be objectified. Especially wearing lace panties and an apron whipping up a pisco sour in the kitchen, while your fully clothed man waits outside.
I spy this scene in an open edition of Stab surf magazine at a hipster coffee shop (ironically, owned by two sassy young women). “Do you want sugar?” the barista asks. “No,” I say, glaring at the cover, “a spoonful of sexism is more than sufficient.”
Welcome to the world of hipster sexism: the brother of surfer sexism; cousin of liberal sexism; and son of retro sexism. Under the umbrella of “self-aware sexism”, this is the use of mockery, irony or satire to say, “Look, we’re in the post-feminist era, so it’s safe to pretend we’re back in the 1950s.”
Old-fashioned objects and ideas are rebranded as hip and cool. Like a guy calling his wife “the ball and chain”. If you criticise it, you’re a harpy with no sense of humour. (The barista barely conceals an eye-roll.)
Watch the video closely and you’ll detect the surfing lass’s dismay at being forced to participate, the director threatening to feed her hogtied cat to his presa canario should she not cooperate.
The video would be deemed art had a grant funded lefty money sponge produced it.