Mummy bloggers. Fuck I hate that phrase. It’s so condescending, sexist and all kind of wrong. Not the words but the dismissive way in which the label is always used. But it’s only a label, and you all know me, I think labels suck. You are what you are who cares what they choose to call you or label you. Labels are words and you are not words you are how you behave. I have also started living more and more by my oft repeated mantra, the cease your relentless participation thing. I often do choose now not to participate. Because I can. I chose not to last night when they had a thing on Media Watch on ‘mummy bloggers’. Because I’m not one. Not really. Although I am a mummy. And I sort of blog. And because I knew it was going to irritate me on behalf of those who are and who I spend more time with now. Irritate me because of how generally dismissive mainstream media are of bloggers. Well ‘mummy bloggers’. Even when they’re pretending not to be. By bloggers I’m meaning those who it seems have a long term goal of sorts. Whether simply to measure their success by increasing their followers, their page views, or sharing their experience to benefit others. Or those with a commercial goal. Even if just to fund their ongoing blogging. So I chose not to watch for many reasons … one my pissed offness, two my feeling of maybe I should be taking this more seriously and mostly three, it would force me to think about what this is. But then I watched it via Woogsworlds blog, I do love the irony, and I thought about it. What this is. I’m not really a blogger. Really. This is just me for a year focussing on all the things I’m grateful for. And mostly the gift of life itself. It’s for me. It’s out there (a little) because that forces me to continue. I have to complete my year. I do not want to comment on other’s blogs just to increase my page views. I want to comment on other blogs because I like what they say and I want to share what I think. I want to remain authentic. It bothers me enough when I see if I put fuck in a title I get more page views, because suddenly it seems thats why I do it, but I do it because thats how I speak. I don’t want to read someone’s blog and suddenly feel let down by her inauthencity when she oh so subtly recommends I buy this or this because she swears by it but its clear she’s paid to say that. It’s disingenuous. No matter how many times she says she doesn’t take on brands she doesn’t relate to. I think I spent too many years in advertising, I am a tad jaded. Sadly, everyone has a price. The choice is ours to read or not. But I understand why its done. I just don’t want to. And there are ways to do it (ads on blogs are preferable to sponsored posts in my view) and those ‘mummy bloggers’ (damn I struggled to find the right descriptor for these fabulous women some journalists some not some career women some not with children who write and share online) who keep their authenticity will get all my page views. So blogging as a business is not for me but I love the big up yours these talented inspiring women are giving to the mainstream media. I love what they share. I love their truth. Just not when it gets smudged a bit.
I am horrified at how rapidly my eyes are getting weaker. I realised today I can’t even do groceries without my readers … not if I want to read any form of small print. They are just all so uninspiring. So, at the risk of being seen as very shallow I am so grateful for online shopping today, and the four pairs of funky readers I ordered, from vintage to cats eyes and even George Burns inspired ones.