Spring Racing Carnival Feature

Sample articles that were written under the pseudonym of ‘Jessie Darling’ in 2011 for female-friendly site, ‘All About Her’, which was a place to sell female products and promote discussion about issues Australian women in their 20s and 30s would find interesting and relevant. The site closed in 2013, however its existence can be verified here: https://www.facebook.com/All.About.Her.Australia The Spring Racing Carnival November 30 2011.

Key words: Spring Racing Carnival, Jennifer Hawkins, drink, fashion, heels, pose So another year, another Spring Racing Carnival year of drinking, debauchery, dirty feet and apparently, horses, has come to an end. Everyone knows the funnest part of any event where you’re required to BYO and there’s no dancing (well…none formally required) like a work ‘do or any formal event to do with religion, is the dressing up. And after the obligatory snaps have been taken (the pose at home where your husband/mum needs to ‘GET THE WHOLE OUTFIT OMG!’, the pose with the friends attempting to emulate Jennifer Hawkins, the ‘Omg you caught me!’ random celebrity stalk pose’ and the ‘cool’ shot with drinks or sunglasses in it to be used as a dp for facebook) the races begin. The Fashion Race, that is.

What else are you there for?

9.30am. You arrive at pre drinks and are greeting by all your dolled-up friends. You smile through clenched teeth and secretly scold yourself for getting a fascinator that is too big or too small, depending on your sense of exhibitionism.

9.32am. Time to run to the bathroom in a panic after you accidentally got fake tan all over your friend’s $500 white dress.

10.00am. You hop on the train to The Races. Heels feel great. Make-up is firmly set. You look fabulous.

11.00am. You reach the gates, your tan has dried, your lip gloss reapplied, and you keep one eye on the lookout for potential photographers who are definitely going to pick you to be the next face of Spring Racing for 2012.

11.30am. The underage kids in too-short dresses and too much alcohol are blocking your view of what’s on offer at the kiosk. You give them the obligatory glare and snicker, and wonder how they got in. You can see nipple!

You think about how back in your day the races used to be a swanky soiree, conveniently forgetting that was you a few years earlier.

12.00pm. The official Fashions on the Field. You run to watch the parade because you are already a little bored of standing around drinking and being yelled at by boys in men’s suits; and conversation started heading toward horses, which you know nothing about. At the parade, you either love them or hate them depending on how much you’re cursing yourself for what you’re wearing.

12.30pm. You’re bored. Time for round 12 of the champagne.

1.00pm. Round 14, anyone?

2.00pm. Your feet are beginning to give. You watch the teenagers run past with mascara smeared on their faces and shoes in their hand. You wince, yet secretly wish you could do the same. WHY DIDN’T YOU ROCK A WEDGE? OR PACK FLATS?! Time for a drink.

2.10pm. You see a C-grade celebrity saunter past, seemingly unhindered by her 100-inch heels and 15kg hat. You attempt to persevere in the hopes of getting invited to Hamish and Andy’s marquee.

2.30pm. Finally, a photographer comes up to you. The moment you’ve been waiting for. The reason your skin is orange, your head will hang slightly off centre, your head is spinning and your feet will forever need to be glued into your slippers. You clear your throat, ready for action.

‘Excuse me,’ they say, ‘but could you move aside so we could get a photo of your friend?’

Addiction

March 14th 2012.

Jessica Meisels It’s taking over my life.

I can’t eat.

I can’t sleep.

It’s the first thing I do in the morning and it’s the last thing I do before I go to bed. I. Cant. Stop. I dream about getting my next fix. I worry that my friends and family will find out. Recently, I’ve stopped engaging in conversation, as I’d rather indulge my fix. Last Saturday night, I didn’t even go out. It consumed me. My mother seems concerned. I shouted that I was fine and that she was a raging lunatic before retreating back to my stash. You see I, along with 20 million other people, have let it surmount me.

My name is Jessica, and I am addicted to Draw Something.

The smartphone app, which has taken the world (or, my life) by storm, is basically Pictionary in an app format. A user can play anyone in the world by drawing a picture and watching their opponents guess and vice-versa. It increases confidence in my art skills, I argued to myself. Keep me connected with others. I’m feeling more creative and upbeat than ever, man. I was on top of the world.

But then, the cracks started to show. My drawings were getting lazy. I kept playing for hours, thinking that the next drawing would finally be my pay-off to get the pastel colours everyone else seems to have. I was late to work and became distant from my family. I swore I’d never become one of them. Like drugs, cigarettes and bacon, I’d never been overly enticed by the idea of chaining myself to something, such as a mechanical gadget, that will probably blow up when Fight Club eventually takes over the world. I can’t help it. I tried to resist it. I scoffed at my friends who weren’t able to turn their iPhones off at dinner, laughed in the face those who would rather spend a night in playing Words With Friends. But now that I’m in, I don’t know how to get out. I was thinking of staging a solo intervention, although that sounds like a lot of planning and creepy self-talking, and hours of Draw Something wasted. Perhaps going cold-turkey, but I’m scared visible ticks might start to show and I’ll end up overdosing in five days’ time. Maybe the trick is to grow gradual, to start with 10 games a day and ween myself off it until at last, I can be free.

Luckily, like Angry Birds and Farmville before it, Draw Something will probably just come to be another passing fad, like yoyos, or LSD. In the meantime, keep me on watch, but I’m totally fine – excuse me, I have to go, I don’t want sexxiibeb360 to think I can’t guess her picture of who The Beatles are in less than 5 seconds.

Sisters are doing it for themselves.

November 15th 2011 Jessica Meisels

So another day, another study showing that women are still being paid less than men. I am so bored of this. Aren’t you? But we have a female Prime Minister and Governor-General, you say! And what about the hard, foolproof evidence ─ Julie won Masterchef! But in terms of overall corporate positions, it seems that we are behind China and even India when it comes to having women in high-paying roles, largely due to the Aussie woman’s ideals of ‘having it all’. But is this really possible? And is it about time we stopped beating ourselves up?

My mum used to fume about celebrities who claimed to have found the ‘work/life’ balance so easily, failing to mention that they also had a cook, cleaner, nanny and assistant to help equalise this so-called ‘balance’. I loved when earlier in the year, Jackie Frank lived up to her name when asked how she does it all ─ ‘I can’t’ she replied flatly. Something had to give. Whilst trying to maintain a high-powered career as the editor of Marie Claire, as well as succumb to the roles of mother and loving wife, she simply admitted that there were times when not all three could achieve 100% devotion.

Jessica Irvine from Business Day has lamented that the new age woman ─ daughters of baby boomers who fought for our right to work ─ are now amounted with the pressure of needing to be a ‘working mum’. And it’s true, you have to admit these days that eyebrows can get raised when people tell you their primary role is a housewife. How times have changed! She says this is because although women may have found fairness in the workplace, they are still the primary caretaker when it comes to home duties ─ cooking dinner, taking care of the house, making sure that woman on TV isn’t judging her loo ─ which ultimately creates a power shift where women are forced to give up high-powered positions or lucrative careers for the sake of their ‘second job’ as a family organiser/peacekeeper/monarch/therapist/sock-finder.

Irvine also reported on a study that found men were four times more likely to ask for a pay rise than men. I’ve never been in that situation ─ sounds awkward and nerving. But apparently, that’s exactly the problem. Women are so busy pleasing everyone and wanting to be liked, that they have forgotten that it is this very exercise that has them standing in their own way.

So what, you’re asking, the rule is for me to be an aggressive, money-seeking bitch who forced my partner to clean hair out of the drain? In an ideal, man-eat-man world, yes. But we know the problem is not that simple.

I don’t have a partner, and I don’t have children, so I will play out the scenario as I envision it with my partnerto-be and recent divorcee, James Marsden. Both of us will need to make sacrifices with our future children, Tyrone and Laqueesha. This means sitting down during one of our many massage sessions and saying that taking care of the house is a joint responsibility ─ whether it be making a chart that involves taking turns at dinner, picking up said kids or doing laundry if our butler, Niles, falls ill. After listening intently, he will of course agree, and get me a Tiffany’s diamond for my quick thinking and ingenuity, stat. I will then inform him that I am a woman in the 21st century and am therefore not his baby machine, and want to work and feel challenged and engaged with my career, which means occasionally he will have to miss a day to be home with the kids, or skip a movie premiere to make me feel loved and instead whisk me away to Monte Carlo. He will nod empathetically and reward me with a rendition of his dance moves from Hairspray. I will then tell him that I don’t want to be the one who has to tell him these things, that He Should Just Know. He will of course agree and offer to vacuum after making me a tea.

I’m sure if you try these tips your scenario will of course work out exactly the same. Because all men love to be told when they are wrong, need to change and need to help out. What else are women for?