Can I Speak to Someone in Charge?

Emily Clarkson

• Publisher: Simon & Schuster UK
• Year: 2017
• Print ISBN: 9781471156908
• eBook ISBN: 9781471156915
• Topic: Personal Development
• Subtopic: Self Improvement

'JUST IMAGINE IF WE, THE NORMAL GIRLS, STOOD UNITED AS AN ENORMOUS, HYSTERICAL AND PROUD ARMY. WE WOULD BE UNSTOPPABLE.' 'A fresh, modern take on feminism and life from one of the most compelling voices of her generation' JANE MOORE
'A stirring call to action' KATIE SPICER Written with gumption, fearlessness and sharp wit, Can I Speak to Someone in Charge? is a window into the ridiculous ideologies and the absurd expectations that shape the lives of modern women.
In a series of open letters, Emily Clarkson addresses all manner of subjects, from body hair to Facebook friends to the perils of wearing Lycra. She unpicks the validity of notions such as 'the thigh gap'; questions the quotidian scrutiny by the media; ponders the etymology of the term 'plus size' and considers our unshakeable obsession with dieting, while wondering why some of us are still crying in changing rooms. Full of vital life lessons, outrageous confessions and poignant reflections, Can I Speak to Someone in Charge? is a love letter to women everywhere; reminding us that being strong, being kind and being yourself is really what 'normal' should be. 'Being asked to write a book was probably the best thing that's happened to me – up until that point I was gravely concerned that my mum was the only person reading my blog. I hope this book will speak to a range of women, and men actually, I hope it will make people laugh, but more importantly I hope it will open people's eyes to the fact that we've got a lot to do if we want to make growing up in a good and kind world a possibility for our daughters.' Emily Clarkson

Dear You, Lovely Reader

Hello! Oh lordy, you’ve bought my book. I cannot believe it. Thank you. This means a lot to me. This is my first time, so I’m a little nervous; be gentle with me. It’s so nice to have you here and I’ve honestly found myself a bit lost for words (just what you don’t want to see written on the first page of a book, eh?).

Welcome to Can I Speak To Someone In Charge? I never normally read the preface of a book, but just in case you’re a better person than I am, with more patience, let me tell you a little bit more about me, the blog and this book. The first thing I’d like you to know is that I consider myself to be a very normal girl. As I write this I’m lying on a sofa in my house with my feet in a suitcase (because I haven’t yet unpacked from a trip I got back from a week ago and the house is a mess) with no make-up on and my double chin out in force. I’m in my early twenties and I struggle, as lots of girls do, with the pressures of everyday life. Despite that, I am inherently very happy. I love life, although I don’t claim to understand it; the idea of space and time and nature and breathing and science and love confuse and terrify me in equal measure. I consider my life to be a true blessing and I therefore wanted to do something great with it. So I started my blog, Pretty Normal Me.

Pretty Normal Me began first as a hobby in November 2014, as I began to notice that the world around me somehow wasn’t quite right. We were living in virtual realities that we didn’t really understand (social media); we were all different sizes but still being encouraged to dress like clones of one another, and a lot of us were actually quite unhappy but we weren’t sure why. The catalyst for me was an online shopping attempt, when I noticed there were lots of companies not stocking clothes bigger than a size 12. Once my eyes were opened to the problem I couldn’t then close them again. From that point on I started seeing problems everywhere, not just in the fashion industry but in everything we did, from school to sport to parenting to washing our hair.

So I created a space where I hoped women would be able to come and celebrate themselves. Where they could be a bit squishy and be cool with it; where they could read something they were genuinely interested in and absolutely not have to feel guilty in any way, shape or form about the share box of doughnuts they’d just eaten; where they could be reminded that their lives were for living and that it was much too short to be spent counting calories, crying in Topshop or screaming at the scales.

I realised that being a ‘normal girl’ had become a near-impossible task, so I wanted to create a space that would inject a bit of normality back into the world. I wanted to remind my readers that it is OK not to be OK all the time. It’s OK to have fun, to snort when you laugh, to wobble when you walk, wobble when you talk; it’s OK to name your second chin, to get spots, to be fat, to be thin, to be sad, and it’s OK to be weird.

As the blog grew I also wanted it to be a place where women could support one another and be supported in return, and I’m very excited as I think this is beginning to happen. There is a LOT of pressure on women right now and this was starting to worry me. I realised all of us were so much stronger when we stood together and I thought I would try to create a platform from which we would be able to do that. Well, ta-daa – three years later, here we are.

‘Just imagine if we, the normal girls, stood united as an enormous, hysterical and proud army, we would be unstoppable!’ This was the very first thing I wrote on Pretty Normal Me.

So now I’ve written a book, and I honestly cannot believe it. When I say I started Pretty Normal Me as a hobby, I really mean it; it was never supposed to be anything more than a passion project, a labour of love. And for a long time that is exactly what it was. I did it in my free time for no money with no one but my dog for company. But then I got really, really lucky and some lovely readers found me and supported me until, one day in June 2015, a lady called Abbie, an editor at Simon & Schuster, sent me an email (which I for sure thought was a prank) asking me if I had ever considered writing a book. (I had, by the way, in distant, far-off dreams I’d had as a child, which I never, ever, ever thought in a million years would come true.) Unsurprisingly I said yes and, with her help, and more recently, after her departure from S&S, the help of lovely Nicki, I have written one. (When I say I can’t believe it I’m not exaggerating.) Thanks also to my amazing, hard-working agent Becky and the rest of the fabulous team at S&S, Jess, Justine and Rich!

And now you’ve bought it (or stolen it) and you’re reading it, and that makes me happier than I can tell you. Thank you so much. So what can you expect? Well, if the front cover didn’t give it away, I’ll explain: this book is a collection of open letters. Although the blog was started initially as a reaction to the fashion industry, there are, as I said, lots of issues affecting women today and, to be honest, I thought it was high time that someone called bullshit on them. So here I am, screaming bullshit at the top of my lungs. At times I get a little ranty, at times you might lose me in a train of thought (I have a tendency to both speak and write exactly what is on my mind at any given time), but I hope you will get the gist of it.

But more than that, I hope this book helps you. I hope you read it and have moments of ‘Oh, thank fuck for that’, when you realise that you are not on your own in ripping garments of clothing in shop changing rooms and farting in the gym, because I can’t be the only one that lives for those reassurances. I hope you read it and laugh, whether that’s at me or with me, because laughter is the best medicine. And I hope more than anything that you are able to take something from it, whether that’s something you can draw on when you’re feeling low, or something that inspires you to speak up and fight for what you believe in, whatever that may be.

Despite the fact that we live online now and are never further than a charged phone away from the outside world, I know I’m not alone in feeling lonely from time to time. I’m grateful to my wonderful friends and family but there are some things I can’t talk to them about, simply because I haven’t got the words with which to do it. And so I hope in some way this book helps you feel less alone. Less vulnerable and embarrassed and less like the only one in the world, because you’re not. I hope this book helps you to remember that in some capacity. I also hope it opens your eyes to some of the injustices women are facing right now, and some of the areas in which the world is going wrong, so that when the time comes to stand up and fight, we’ll be ready to do it, together.

Now, rather counterintuitively, I am actually writing this letter last and, true to form, am running late with it, so I have to go. Not least because today is deadline day and the whole thing is becoming very real and I think I might need a minute to myself to go and freak the fuck out. So I’m going to leave you now – leave you to the passionate opinions of someone who is so, so grateful to have you here. Who doesn’t know you, but who adores you. Of someone who thinks that you are absolutely wonderful and perfect and great and who doesn’t think you should ever, ever change, ever.

So much love to you all, enjoy!

Em xxxx

Dear Emily Aged Thirteen

Oh my gosh, darling one. Hi, how are you? Look, don’t freak out or anything but this message is coming to you from the future. I’m twenty-three now and there is so much I wish I’d known at thirteen and so, just in case you’re reading this, and we’re able to completely fuck up the writing of history and everything that I believed to be true, I’m here to let you know that everything is going to be OK.

Now, first things first: you ought to know that blue eye-shadow has never worked for you and you’d do well to throw it away immediately. I know it’s the only colour you’ve got, but you’re going to need to work that out, because you look ridiculous. No arguments. Bin it, NOW.

Denim skirts are going to go out of fashion (they will come back in, so don’t throw them out). Thankfully so will UGG boots, big elastic belts, all tie-dye prints, wearing leggings as trousers, kitten heels and the ‘formal’ dresses that go down to your knees that Mum keeps finding. (They don’t come back in. Burn them, burn them now.)

Your hair. PLEASE STEP AWAY FROM YOUR HAIR. The natural colour is lovely (from what I can remember), although I suppose I’m too late and, by the time you’ll be reading this, Becky will have already helped you to make it that weird orange colour. STOP THERE. In a few months you’re going to try and fix it and it’s going to go wrong, really wrong; it’s going to go purple and Mum is going to go ballistic. Oh, and when you turn sixteen you’re going to want to cut it all off. PLEASE DON’T DO THAT. Your head is much too big to pull off something like that. I regret it so much and it took ages to grow back. Just leave it alone.

Now, I know Facebook is very new and exciting but for the love of God stop writing on everybody’s ‘walls’, stop telling them you love them, telling them secrets publicly, and please stop talking in abbreviations – it’s not that hard to type the whole bloody word. You have an education; utilise it. With that in mind, please stop using a ‘z’ instead of an ‘s’; it’s weird as fuck. In a few years, Facebook is going to start showing you posts from years ago and you’re going to hate yourself for being so hopelessly uncool. If you want to talk to someone, text them; the limit on your phone allowing only twenty texts per month is going to be lifted very soon.

For the same reason it’s probably a good idea to start smiling in photos. STOP POUTING. You look absolutely ridiculous and it means that whenever I try and get sentimental over my childhood I can’t because I look like a moron in every single photo. Your braces aren’t that bad and they’re not going to stay on forever; in fact, at the end of this year you’re going to BEG the orthodontist to take them off and, despite his better judgement, he will. If you can, please hang in there because, as a result of that decision, I still have a terrible overbite.

Oh yeah . . . and also, you know that pink pencil you’ve been putting on your eyes every morning? It’s lip liner.

Now, down to more serious stuff: you ought to know that you’re going to get an ACTUAL boyfriend. I won’t tell you when because that’ll ruin the surprise but, trust me, it’s going to happen. He’s not going to ask you out over email and it will last longer than four minutes; it’s going to be the real bloody deal. You’re going to love him to bits and he’s going to catch you totally by surprise; he’s going to tell you he loves you one day and ask you to move in with him . . . don’t whatever you do freak out, it’s going to be great.

That said, you need to prepare yourself for the fact that you’re going to make so many catastrophic mistakes in the interim and there’s nothing I can do to stop you. That would take away all the fun and you wouldn’t learn anything, but it’s worth you knowing that it’s going to be fine. Where you can, stop stressing about boys and relying on those stupid algorithms you and your friends are making on scrap paper in the back of the classroom to predict your future – they don’t know shit and, when it’s meant to happen, it will.

I reckon your first kiss is just about due any day now, actually, so try and enjoy that and don’t be too nervous. Over the next few years some of the boys you’re going to cross paths with are going to hurt you and make you sad. If they’re doing that then you need to know they are NOT the one. Although you’ll get confused, so confused, love does not have to hurt; in fact it’s going to do the opposite – it’s going to make your heart sing (yes, you DO grow up to be this cheesy). You’d do well to remember that, and it’ll also mean that when the right guy shows up you’ll know who he is because you’ll feel happy in yourself. You won’t try to change a million different things, you won’t always need to look your best, and you will be so happy just being you.

You’re also going to embarrass yourself in front of many a man – don’t panic. It’ll be mortifying, I won’t deny it, but one day it’ll be a distant memory. Roll with the discrepancies. Although they’ll feel like hell at the time, they’ll shape you into who you need to be. You are going to try to change yourself so many times and, at the risk of sounding like our mother, you’re going to show off. I can’t stop you, so do what you’ve got to do but just don’t take anything too seriously.

I know you know this already, and you’re going to cringe as you read it, but it’s got to be said: you are going to be so grateful for any male attention for the next few years but that’s so wrong. I don’t want to throw the big scary words around, but a lot of the messages you’ll start receiving on Facebook Messenger are going to be borderline sexual harassment. The worst part about this is you’re going to go along with it rather than speak up for yourself. In fact, you’re going to get oddly excited by it all but you don’t need to do this. This is not the kind of attention you want; you deserve more, remember that.

You just need to remember to respect yourself, and that you’re not ‘frigid’ if you don’t want to send a photo to a guy – you’re sensible. And I know that’s not what you want to be right now but trust me – it’s so much better than the alternative. Boys have just started watching porn and, because they’re a bit weird right now, they’re going to assume they can treat girls how they like, but they will grow out of it. I know it makes you uncomfortable when they talk about it in front of you and that’s OK. Don’t feel like you need to laugh along in order to fit into the preconceived ideas they have for you; you will never be that person and I don’t want you wasting a whole heap of time trying to fit that mould.

But actually, and I’m sorry to say, it’s not just the boys you need to worry about. More so than them it’s the girls that are going to cause the problems. This is something I know you suspect already, although you won’t admit it for a while, but I’m serious. You need to start worrying, and fast.

Girls, I’m afraid, are inherently mean creatures. You are too – we can’t help it. Particularly for the next few years it’s going to be a relentless stream of passive-aggressive bitchiness all wound up into a little ball of competition and hugs. There are so many times when you’re going to think you’re doing something for the boys – wearing something for that one guy in particular – and although of course there is an element of that, most of your insecurity here is going to come about as a result of other girls, and you will, in turn, start making the effort for them. I can’t stop you, and unfortunately it’s not going to go away, but you might as well know about it.

Girls are going to say things over the next few years completely by accident, without thinking anything of it or even trying to be rude, that are going to stay with you for years and years to come. I wish you had thicker skin, and I wish I could tell you this was all going to be water off a duck’s back but, I’m really sorry, some of it is going to stick. I’m just giving you some warning. They don’t mean to be bitches, most of them; it’s a dog-eat-dog world out there for a girl and I’m afraid that’s the way it has to be for a while. Don’t take it personally. That said, don’t bite back . . . never bite back. It’s not worth causing someone else years of insecurities just because you feel embarrassed and victimised. Some of my biggest regrets are offhand comments I’ve made to people, which I’m well aware if the tables were turned would still be upsetting me today.

The whole sex thing is important here too, as it’s as much to do with girls as it is with boys right now. Please spread the message far and wide: it is NOT a competition. Never feel like you need to do something because your friends have. In the grand scheme of life no one cares who the first fella was who felt you up. You don’t need to tell people when it happens. Everything you do should be because YOU want to; not because the girl you sit next to in English has. I promise you this: sex will not make you a better person, it will not make you more mature, and you’d do well to remember that every other girl out there is just as scared as you right now. Please, please respect yourself.

The other thing you need to know is that over the next five years you are going to be told by anyone who has even sensed a grey hair coming on that ‘your school years are the best of your life’. I have to say, unless it all goes incredibly, drastically downhill from where I am now, this is absolute horseshit.

There will of course be elements of school that are amazing. Memories will be made that will last a lifetime and you will have so much fun. Having said that, though, you will also have some really shitty times and, I promise you, since leaving school they are much fewer and further between. I now get to wear whatever I want EVERY DAY, I don’t have someone okaying the length of my skirt before I go to a party (although if it’s really short enough that it needs to be ‘okayed’ then it is definitely too short), I can eat what I want, whenever I’m hungry, I can stay out as late as I like and I can even smoke now. Although, please, for the love of all that is good, when Georgie takes you into the bushes in a couple of months and offers you your first cigarette, SAY NO. Apart from the obvious health stuff it’s a bastard to give up and is costing me a fortune.

There is SO much I want to tell you. I get a stabbing pain in my stomach as I write this because I’m so bitterly aware of the anguish you’re going to go through. When you’re feeling sad, don’t go it alone. I have memories of crying myself to sleep. I can still feel my cheeks burning when I remember feeling uncomfortable around people I didn’t know that well, and I vividly remember the heartbreak that comes with feeling like you don’t belong.

If I could swap with you I would; I would do so many things differently. I’d say no to that first cigarette. I’d establish myself early on with friends who love me for me. I’d stop trying so hard. I’d leave my hair alone. I’d throw out those horrible green tracksuit bottoms you wear all the time but, most importantly, I would try really hard to be happy.

Because I wasted so much time not being, and I regret it so much.

All I can tell you is that it’s going to get easier. I promise you, every day will be easier than the last. There is so much I’d change, of course there is, but I know you and I know that you’re as stubborn as fuck, and so I’m pissing in the wind by even asking. But if there is one thing I need you to start doing, it is practising self-love. From time to time, please, try it for me. Look in the mirror, find something good and hold onto it. Look back at your day, your week, and find something you did that you’re proud of. Be kind to yourself, rest and have fun. You’ve got a very big heart and you need to make room in there for you. Please, do that for me. I promise the moment you do your life will get so, so much better.

The next few years are going to be an obstacle course and by the time you get to the finish line you are going to be absolutely knackered, but it’s one hell of a race and you will get there stronger and better than you ever thought you would.

I’ll be waiting for you when you get through it, with a massive glass of wine and a cigarette, because, let’s face it – you’re definitely not going to say no to that first one.

Good luck, little me, see you on the other side.

Em x

Dear School

cc All headteachers, PSHE teachers, people who organise the menus, exam boards, the teacher that told me that I’d get a D in my GCSE English exam

Hi, sorry I’m late. Mr Smith’s class ran over and I literally had to run here. (Translation: I overslept during my free period and, if I’m honest, I totally forgot we had a lesson. I know you know that, but thank you very much for playing along with my little charade.) Anyway, I’m here now. What did I miss?

You know, everyone who is anyone tells me that their school years were the best of their lives. Literally, I hear it everywhere. When I was at school and my parents would drag me to grown-up parties, it would be the default line; the patronising ponderings of someone resenting their mortgage, their bosses and the fact that they just found a grey pube. I know that if I so much as thought about complaining about a deadline or a teacher then I would be met with the inevitable: ‘Oh, you think t...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Chapter 1: Dear You, Lovely Reader
• Chapter 2: Dear Emily, Aged Thirteen
• Chapter 3: Dear School
• Chapter 4: Dear The Person Who Catfished Me
• Chapter 5: Dear Prosecco
• Chapter 6: Dear My Hair-straighteners
• Chapter 7: Dear My Friends
• Chapter 8: Dear My ‘Legal Stalkers’ (a.k.a. My Facebook Friends)
• Chapter 9: Dear My Body
• Chapter 10: Dear The Bottomless Pit That Is My Handbag
• Chapter 11: Dear The Owners Of A Resting Bitch Face (Of Which I Am One)
• Chapter 12: Dear Body Hair
• Chapter 13: Dear Make-up
• Chapter 14: Dear L’Oréal
• Chapter 15: Dear ‘Thinspiration’
• Chapter 16: Dear The Gym
• Chapter 17: Dear Women Who Know They Look Good In Lycra
• Chapter 18: Dear My Only Matching Set Of Underwear
• Chapter 19: Dear What Used To Be Food But Is Now Just Poison
• Chapter 20: Dear The People Who Actually Can’t Eat Gluten . . . Not The Ones That Just Don’t ‘Like’ It
• Chapter 21: Dear Anyone Who Has Ever Been Affected By An Eating Disorder
• Chapter 22: Dear Boys
• Chapter 23: Dear Equalists Of The Future
• Chapter 24: Dear Trump
• Chapter 25: Dear Topshop
• Chapter 26: Dear Cat-callers
• Chapter 27: Dear Hollywood
• Chapter 28: Dear Every Single One Of My Jumpers
• Chapter 29: Dear Janis Joplin
• Chapter 30: Dear Online Trolls
• Chapter 31: Dear No More Page 3 Campaigners
• Chapter 32: Dear The Sidebar Of Shame
• Chapter 33: Dear Mum
• Chapter 34: Dear Me As A Mum
• Chapter 35: Dear Emily Aged Seventy
• Acknowledgements
• Copyright