Julie Burchill: Dispatches From The Feminist Frontline


You know what, Julie? I’m not sure that helped. But cheers anyway.

Never let it be said that age is dulling Julie Burchill’s appetite for a scrap.

Her good friend Suzanne Moore came under sustained fire from the Twitter community last week after including the line  “We are angry with ourselves for not being happier, not being loved properly and not having the ideal body shape – that of a Brazilian transsexual,in a piece about female anger for the New Statesman.

Burchill, whose own career is based on an outstanding natural ability to piss off even those who admire and generally agree with her contentious opinions, did not hesitate when she saw her buddy copping heat. Hurling her truncheon to the ground, she clambered up the rickety ladder and emerged triumphant from the feminist trenches, naked and bloodied, yelling about how ‘we’ (female working class journos) are “damned if we are going to be accused of being privileged by a bunch of bed-wetters in bad wigs,” into No Man’s Land until the Observer’s Reader’s Editor could get a decent grip on her ankles and yank her back in.

This response is now the subject of an investigation, but it’s safe to say Suzanne Moore’s contribution to this increasingly fraught debate will, in time, become little more than a footnote.

Mission accomplished, methinks.

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