On unmentionables

I've been cupgraded.

The other day I went into a lingerie shop. A slightly-more-fancy-than-what-I-usually-visit type of shop, but still within my budget. (Sort of.) The kind of shop where the staff actually ask if you need any help, rather than letting you work your way through the jungle of alternatives all by yourself. The kind of shop I usually hate. But this time I was determined. It was time to figure out some basics.

The last time I had my measurements taken, was in the US.

I had - out of pure curiosity - wandered into Victoria's Secret. Turns out Victoria isn't very secretive, or at least not very discrete. Before I knew what was happening, a girl was standing with a measuring tape around my bosom. That's right. They do that in lingerie shops in the US (or at least in that one they did).

It wasn't all bad. Aside from being assaulted by a stranger (and then visually assaulted by some random guy who happened to stand close by, witnessing the whole thing AND hearing my measurements, walking out with a smug look on his face...), it was handy to know what my US measurements were. It sure made shopping easier (their sizes are nowhere near European ones. Like most things US/Europe when it comes to measurements and such). It was nice to have someone tell me what size I was supposed to have, rather than what I'd through trying and failing (and  failing some more. Failing a lot, actually) had landed on. Bra-wise, I had a good stay in the US (there were other good things as well. But this one has been neglected on this blog).

When I got back home, however, I returned to trying and failing (because naturally, I'd forgotten my normal, European size by then. Naturally).

Look. I know I not long ago promised to keep this blog free of nail polish and other girly stuff. I like to stay true to my promises. But I feel this topic is important. It is impossible for guys to understand how women struggle with this. Finding a good bra - one that fits, looks good (both with and without clothes over it), feels comfortable, offers the right support and (let's face it), gives you the cleavage you want - it's difficult! Near impossible! Every woman's struggle - and so few men are aware of and appreciate it. They only seem to hate the damn things because they are difficult to take off.

I digress.

I really do.

In the shop I visited the other day, the lady asked before she took my measurements. But there ends the demure of lingerie shop ladies in Norway too. I don't know why ladies have this job, by the way. I can think of several men who would be quite happy to be able to examine and poke and pull and adjust breasts for a living.

The lady in question was very professional, though. Besides, she was the one that upgraded me. "Take in a few inches on the circumference, and go up on cup sizes," she said. Not one size up, even, but two. I feel - there is  no other words for it - busty.

Want to see a picture?

Yeahnoabsolutelynot. You didn't really think I'd post a lingerie shot, now did you? I'm still hoping to land a job sometimes soon, after all...

On fashionable affairs

Last week the Norwegian government presented the National Budget for 2012 (that's right - we don't believe in Mayan predictions here). It wasn't exactly a thriller - a budget presented by a majority government that has been sitting for six years, in a country where the economy is reasonably healthy and stable, the unemployment is low, while the rest of the world seems headed into a new financial crisis. Hardly the time to make dramatic changes. No one were overly excited.

That being said, it's still our National Budget, and regardless of how small the changes may be, there are some changes, and they will impact our daily lives. Thus, I found it slightly disturbing that what the media seemed to focus on was not the numbers in the budget, but rather, this man:

Actually, this pic is from last year. He wore a hat this year too, though

This is Mr. Sigbjørn Johnsen, our Minister of Finance. An esteemed politician, long-term member of Parliament, several-time Minister, former County Governor of Hedmark, the list goes on. He is famous in Norway for having such a jovial dialect and charisma that even when he says scary stuff like "the world economy is going to crash" or "we don't have any more money", it sounds okay. Nice, even.

He's an important guy, and definitely worth the attention of the media on the day of the National Budget presentations. That is hardly what bothered me. What made me question the priorities of our media was what they focused on about this guy. His outfit.

Take another look at that picture. The man wears a hat, and a long coat. "Norway's Don Draper!" the headlines read. Uhm, right. Look, I like the guy, I really do. But Sigbjørn is no Don Draper.

Later the same day, another newspaper - in the economy section no less - reported that not only was Mr. Johnsen the king of hats, he also knew how to ensure variety in his ties!

By changing ties throughout the day, he managed to look serious for the speeches, but quirky and fun for the interviews. What he actually said in these speeches or interviews, didn't seem to matter all that much for the newspaper.

I considered writing angry letters to the papers in question, or at the very least post a semi-annoyed Facebook status about it, but then I realized something. While these papers were clearly reporting about something far less significant than the National Budget they should be concerned about, they were also doing something not-so-insignificant: they were commenting on a man's fashion choices.

Female politicians are constantly badgered for what they are wearing, and why. They have to suffer through "the fashion police" commenting on their outfits in glossy magazines. If they wear the same dress twice, you can be certain the media will notice, and report. While we might not like that either, we don't think much of it. Because they are women, we accept it. Now that it was a man, I reacted.

So, instead of being annoyed, I decided that it was about time the media started caring what men wear. I'll be the first to applaud when they also start asking the Prime Minister where he bought his suit, or why the Foreign Minister is wearing the same tie two events in a row.

On girl-crushes

I have a girl-crush, on a guy.

You all know what a girl-crush is, don't you? When a girl meets another girl and the chemistry is just right, the talking goes very smooth, and you just want to be best friends forever (I'm not using the abbreviation BFF, because I've friends who use that in a completely different context...). Basically, it's the friend-equivalent of "love at first sight".

I've always thought that this only worked with girl and girl, since it would automatically lead to "potential love interest" problems if it was a girl and a guy, but that is not the case here. He is cute and adorable and everything, but I am pretty sure he was gay. And even if he wasn't, it doesn't really matter. It was still a BFF (not BFF) kind of connection.

The problem with girl-crushes is that they often entail the same problems as regular crushes. "Is she (now he) as interested as I am?"; "Should I call her (him), or will that be too pushy?"; "What if she (he) isn't as into giraffes as I am?" (or is this just me...?)

In the end this was probably just a girl-fling on a boy. It won't grow into girl-love. I probably won't see him all that much, and come to think of it, I can't call him, because I don't have his number (though I can Facebook him, but I am thinking that would be a little creepy, since we don't really know each other that well).




































I predict that 97% of the males reading this entire post did so because they hoped "girl-crushes" would be described in a somewhat graphic way.

I also predict that 78% of the readers (of both genders) only scrolled down this far in hope that I would explain the alternative usage of the abbreviation BFF...






Sorry...
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On having a sense of gender

I’m going to pose a controversial question at the end of this blog post. The only reason I can post it is because I am female. Had I been male, you would have said I was a sexist pig. Now the best you can do is to ask whether I am entirely unappreciative of the hard work put down my red stockinged sisters. (The answer to that question would be: “No I am not. But I don't think this has anything to do with that.”) Ah, well. The world is unfair.


I love a good laugh. Whether I get it from something I read, something I hear or something I watch doesn’t really matter. Comedy can be great in all its forms. Almost consequently, however, the comedians that make me laugh out loud, are male.

Of my favourite comedians I would count the Monty Pythons (all men, though some of them dress up as women a lot of the time), Hugh Laurie and Stephen Fry, Adam Hills* (Aussie hilarity, you need to check him out if you haven’t already), and several Norwegians so funny they make me laugh till I cry each and every time I see them. Again – virtually all of them are male.

The only comedienne I can think of that is really, really funny all on her own accord is Tina Fey, but what made her most funny work (in my opinion) hilarious wasn’t really her effort, but Sarah Palin’s… (Though Sarah Palin is a woman, so I guess my theory isn’t proved just yet.)

In literature too, I often find men funnier than women. Sure, JK Rowling’s Harry Potter series is written by a woman, and those books are funny, but they are more of the quiet chortle variety than roll around on the floor (I have no idea how that can turn into the acronym ROFL, but whatever…) kind. I have read books by men, though, that have put me in a permanent “cross your legs and hope not to wet your pants”-state of mind. Again, I can’t think of a single female writer who has had this effect on me.

In the blogosphere, the women are in majority (or at least so it seems). When it comes to blogs with an outspoken goal of being funny, however, the men are back in the lead. The female bloggers are often funny – but their blogs usually have another topic that they handle with humour.

It might be just my misinformation, my sense of humour, or maybe (even though I still don’t think this is the case) my unappreciativeness for the hard work put down by my red stockinged sisters; but I can’t help but wonder: are men funnier than women?

* Aaaand just because I couldn’t stand the thought of finishing off this post in such a controversial and non-funny manner (even though I did warn you), I am posting a clip with Adam Hills just to show what I mean when I say he is funny.

On ski jumping, gender equality and heavy wind

Norway is a country that prides itself with the title “World Champion in gender equality”. This is not just a self-awarded title, but one adopted after a 2008 World Economic Forum report. There is no doubt that women in Norway have a far better position than many of their sisters elsewhere. Historically, there are many milestones in the battle for equal rights that Norway passed a long time before many other countries. Universal suffrage was a reality in 1913. The law for equal rights between the genders was passed in 1978. In 1981 we had our first female prime minister. Today, the amount of men and women with higher education is roughly balanced, as is the amount of men and women in paid employment.


Personally, I’ve never been fighting on the barricades for gender equality or the feminist movement. The reason I haven’t had to do so is because the work put down in the generations before mine has led to a society where there are close to equal rights between men and women.

Don’t get me wrong, there are still miles to go, for instance when it comes to reducing the difference between men and women’s paychecks. While in principle no one is paid less simply because they are female in Norway today, there is still a tendency that professions that are predominantly male have higher wages than those that are predominantly female. However, because we have reached a point where in most cases the differences between men and women are reduced to the choices we make – and everyone is entitled to choose whatever they want – I don’t see gender equality as the main issue in Norway today.

Every now and then, however, there are situations where I feel the red stockings practically growing up my legs. One of these situations has been a prominent news story in Norway the last few weeks.

Another thing about Norway is our interest in winter sports. Ski jumping is a grand old sport that used to be a major attraction. Boys and girls in the 1950s would know the name of every ski jumper there was. They had their own miniature ski jumpers that actually could jump down a miniature hill. Ski jumping even had a linguistic influence – “Jumping after Wirkola” is a common expression in Norway today, describing “the difficulties associated with embarking on a task where one's immediate predecessor has accomplished an unusually good job” (thank you once again, Wikipedia). Bjørn Wirkola, famed Norwegian ski jumper, is the origin of this expression, but in modern use you’ll find it in everything from political speeches to tabloid papers.

Holmenkollsøndag – the Sunday in Holmenkollen – is another expression that sticks even today. It’s my impression that in “the olden days” (when my dad was young – which I wouldn’t have had the guts to call “the olden days” had I not been 100% sure he does not read my blog), everyone was going to Holmenkollen when there was a ski jump competition. Holmenkollen is one of Oslo’s biggest tourist attractions even today. It’s an old ski jump – or rather, it used to be. And with this we are closing in on the core of today’s blog post (yes, I do know where I am going with this – I am not just providing you with random factoids about Norway).

The thing is, the old Holmenkollen was not big enough for modern ski jump standards. Oslo is hosting the 2011 FIS Nordic World Ski Championship, and the ultimatum was clear: either the old Holmenkollen is upgraded, or a new ski jump will have to be built. To make an already long story a little shorter; after a lot of controversies, it was decided to tear down the old Holmenkollen, and rebuild it on the same location.

As it is the second oldest ski jump still in use, with a tower from 1939, there were many complaints about tearing it down. When I went to visit relatives in Minnesota, and told them about the old ski jump being torn down, my cousin Darlene nearly choked in surprise: “But they NEVER tear anything old down there! That’s what we do here!” Well, she was wrong. We do occasionally tear things down. Fortunately.

The new ski jump is just finished, and though I have only seen it from afar (it overlooks the entire city), it looks quite good. To celebrate the opening of the new ski jump an official ceremony was held last week.

As if we hadn’t had enough hullabaloo over the ski jump, another issue was raised: Who would be given the honour of jumping first in the new hill?

(We’re getting even closer to the core now, I swear.)

While ski jumping is a grand, old sport, it is almost exclusively a male sport. And there are strong forces trying to keep it that way.

There are no relevant reasons why women should not be allowed to participate in ski jumping. Arguments such as “they could hurt themselves” have long since been reduced to ridicule as sexism. And yet, for years female ski jumpers have been unsuccessful in their fight to be allowed to participate in international competitions such as the Olympics and the World Championship. The fact that women are excluded from ski jumping brings to mind attitudes that belonged in the Ancient Greek Olympic Games. It is not just a Norwegian problem – no female ski jumpers are allowed. You may not know any, but chances are that if your country has snow, it also has at least one disgruntled female ski jumper who is the victim of discrimination because she is not male.

In Norway, this discrimination has gotten a lot of attention the last few years. It is probably helping that one of the world’s top female ski jumpers is Norwegian. Anette Sagen has become the symbol of everything unfair about the male monopoly. She has received considerable support, but unfortunately it takes more than kind words and Facebook groups to change the mind of the stubborn old farts in charge of this (yes, I called them farts. Deal with it).

When the new hill in Holmenkollen (you thought I’d derailed again, didn’t you?) was to be opened, someone suggested that Anette Sagen was to be the first to jump. And, lo and behold, somehow this was decided. Finally, a victory for female ski jumping!

But. Then. The farts hit again.

How petty do you have to be to not accept this decision, but instead actively sabotage it, by sending out a male test jumper before Sagen had the opportunity to jump? And not just any male, either – it could perhaps have been justified as security measures had it been an actual test jumper (it is common prior to ski jumping competitions to let the semi-good jumpers try the hill. I think the logic is that the really good ones should be spared for the actual competition, while it's not such a big deal if the semi-good ones break a leg or two if the conditions are bad). However, the jumper in question was no other than Bjørn Einar Romøren, another one of Norway’s top ski jumpers, and incidentally the primary male candidate for Sagen’s job as the one to jump first in the new Holmenkollen.

There is no doubt that the decision to let Romøren go first was a deliberate attempt to spoil the symbolic value of Sagen’s jump; and sadly, it was successful. Romøren was duly punished, but in reality, he was only a tool for the old farts. What needs to be changed is not just his attitude, but the attitude of the entire ski jump milieu.

In the end, perhaps something positive can come out of this. The fact that a male jumper went first, despite the decision to allow a female one to do so, might be the final drop. Perhaps it can help trigger a demand that female ski jumpers are allowed to participate in championships. I sincerely hope so. Not because I care so much about ski jump (which I don’t, even though I am Norwegian), but because the treatment of the female ski jumpers represents a society I hoped we had given up on a long time ago.

On this day – the International Women’s Day – I’d like to make an appeal. Let’s change something here. Let’s make sure that from now on, the expression doesn’t have to be “jump after Wirkola”. From now on, it might as well be “jump after Sagen”. And especially not, as has been suggested by certain Norwegian commentators, “jump before Sagen”.




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It is somewhat ironic that the new Holmenkollen has been said to look like a woman in labour, where the ski jumpers are gliding down her belly and jumping out between her legs [disturbing image, I know]. From afar, however, it only looks like a giant phallus.