The bins! the bins!

Remember SamCam? That’s tabloid-speak for Samantha Cameron, the wife of former Prime Minister David, and one of the stars of the 2015 General Election. Tory strategists deployed her as (in their own words) a ‘secret weapon’. She was seen meeting the voters, both with her husband and on her own. She gave interviews explaining why he was the right man to run the country. She made headlines when she revealed, during a visit to a Welsh brewery, that she’d been known to drink stout while she was pregnant. She wore clothes, which were duly discussed in all the papers.

By the end of the campaign, according to Loughborough University’s media watchers, Samantha Cameron was the 15th most talked-about person in press and TV election coverage. She was also the third most frequently-mentioned woman: the only women ranked above her were SNP leader Nicola Sturgeon (4) and the Green Party’s Natalie Bennett (12). SamCam got more attention than Plaid Cymru’s Leanne Wood, or than the most senior women in the UK’s two main parties. She was more visible than any woman who was actually a candidate in the election.

The women’s pressure group Fawcett criticised this focus on politicians’ wives (SamCam being the most prominent but not the only example) as part of its #viewsnot shoes campaign against sexist election coverage. It was generally agreed that the same trivialising treatment would not be dished out to a male Prime Ministerial consort: the following year, when an actual female PM took office, the Metro underlined the point with a satirical piece headed ‘Theresa May’s husband steals the show in sexy navy suit as he starts new life as First Man’

But it seems we laughed too soon: the campaign strategists are back, and they’ve decided to weaponise Philip May. Last week he joined his wife on the sofa for an interview on the BBC’s early evening One Show. What followed was described by the Guardian as ‘a banal conversation [whose] aim was to present the Mays as a dull but dependable quasi-presidential First Couple’, while another critic called it ‘pure TV Valium’. But it was also a good illustration of the workings of the code I described in my last post.

The basic presupposition of this code is that female authority is unnatural and grotesque, threatening constantly to emasculate any man who comes within range of it. The resentment it generates is then expressed either through insults (‘such a nasty/bloody difficult woman’) or through ‘humorous’ references to archetypes like the nagging wife, the stern nanny, Miss Whiplash, Mummy and Matron. Women can either go along with this–join in with the joke, treat the insult as a compliment–or they can try to counter it by deliberately performing a more conventional and less threatening kind of femininity.

Theresa May has used the first strategy (telling us she planned to be ‘bloody difficult’ in the Brexit negotiations), and her appearance on the One Show with her husband was an example of the second. To see how it worked, let’s try a feminist decoding of some of the key, headline-grabbing moments.

I get to decide when to put the bins out. Not if I take them out.

“Ours is a normal marriage. At home my wife is in charge and she allocates me my chores. But in case I’m sounding henpecked, let me acknowledge that she does let me take the bins out at a time of my own choosing.” 

Philip was a tad off-message here, casting Theresa as an archetypal She-Who-Must-Be-Obeyed. (The bin-soundbite was odd in another way, too: does anyone really think that putting out the bins features prominently on the Prime Ministerial to-do list? Personally I’ve always assumed that the bins at 10 Downing Street are removed by the secret service and destroyed in a controlled explosion.) But she quickly stepped in to limit the damage:

There’s boy jobs and girls’ jobs, you see.

“Ours is a traditional marriage, in which we play traditional roles. Putting out the nasty dirty bins is no job for a woman, just as cleaning shit-encrusted toilets is no job for a man. Just because I run the country and was once photographed in a ‘this is what a feminist looks like’ T-shirt, I wouldn’t want the British people to think I have no respect for ancient and illogical stereotypes. I’m a Tory, after all, and if that means I have to talk what I know in my heart is complete bollocks, so be it.”

Good catch by Theresa there: after her husband inadvertently made her sound like a bit of a bully, she immediately reasserted the key point that he is the man of the house. Though not, as he would go on to clarify, in the manner of a Victorian patriarch, or that bloke from UKIP who had to resign after calling women sluts because they didn’t clean behind the fridge:

If you’re the kind of man who expects his tea to be on the table at six o’clock every evening, you could be a disappointed man.

“Ours is a modern marriage: I’m the kind of modern husband who’s totally relaxed about his wife going out to work. Especially as we have staff.

So, we’ve addressed the whole domestic labour question, what other boxes do we need to tick to establish the correct degree of gender conformity? Ah yes…

I like buying nice shoes.

“I am the most powerful woman in Britain, BUT THAT DOESN’T MEAN I’VE LOST MY FEMININITY”.

I quite like ties.

“I am married to the most powerful woman in Britain, BUT THAT DOESN’T MEAN I’VE SUDDENLY DEVELOPED AN UNMANLY INTEREST IN FASHION”.

I don’t think it [the PM’s red box] has ever made an appearance in the bedroom. I’ve never had to shoo it out.

My wife’s job is not more important than our marriage, but if push came to shove I wouldn’t hesitate to tell her and her box what’s what. Also: I’m letting your reference to ‘the bedroom’ (just the one, then?) pass because it shows that ours is a normal marriage. But if you persist with this I will bore you to death.

Press commentators didn’t so much decode these remarks as write some more of the same code on top of them. In the Tory papers, the consensus seemed to be that the interview had helped to soften May’s steely image, making her seem more human (which was usually code for more ‘feminine’). As Quentin Letts put it in the Mail:

Theresa relaxed in [Philip’s] presence. She looked quite different from her normal, taut interview persona. Her eyes seemed rounder, her body language looser and happier than normal.

Reading this reminded me of an old advertisement which became a target for feminist protests in the late 1970s.2015HJ5115_jpg_ds It showed a woman walking down a street at night wearing a trench-coat, which she then unbuttoned to reveal that she was naked apart from her underwear (the product being advertised): the slogan was ‘Underneath they’re all Lovable’. In Mail-world, power does not make women lovable, and therefore it cannot make them happy: instead of trying to do important, stressful jobs, they should just follow their natural instincts, move to Stepford and let men kill them and replace them with robots take care of them.

Meanwhile, left-leaning commentators focused disapprovingly on Theresa May’s reference to ‘boy jobs and girls’ jobs’. Apart from being crassly sexist, wasn’t it a bit rich coming from a woman who’s doing one of the ultimate ‘boy jobs’ in her capacity as the UK’s Prime Minister?  Well, yes—but that was the point. If a right-wing woman has ambitions in the public sphere, it will always be prudent for her to reassure us that in private she’s as conventional as they come. ‘The nation needs me and I’ve dutifully answered the call, but I’m really just an ordinary housewife, cooking my husband’s tea while he puts the bins out. And by the way, shoes!’ There’s more rubbish in this kind of talk than there is in the aforementioned bins, but for as long as it plays well with the media and the public, Conservative women will go on spouting it.

You might be thinking, but is it really any different for the men? In 2015 they too (with the notable exception of Nigel Farage) dragged their families into their campaigns. The two Prime Ministerial contenders, David Cameron and Ed Miliband, both made high-profile appearances in their kitchens, as if to emphasise their credentials as loving husbands and hands-on fathers. As Emily Harmer pointed out at the time, though, the way this works is not the same for men and women. When a male political leader presents himself as a ‘family man’, he may be projecting a ‘modern’ masculinity, but he is also activating a more traditional patriarchal frame in which a father is the head and chief protector of his family. His private role is thus consistent with the public role he seeks (‘what I do for my family I will also do for the nation’). If he gets it right, his performance will appeal to both conservative and more liberal audiences.

For a woman like Theresa May, by contrast, this strategy is not available. What she has to prove to avoid being damned as a virago is that she doesn’t try to usurp her husband’s position at home–she sticks to the ‘girl jobs’ and leaves the ‘boy jobs’ to him. Yet she also has to convince us that she isn’t too feminine (too weak, too indecisive, too emotional) to do the ‘boy job’ of governing the country.

The effect of these contradictory pressures was apparent in the One Show interview, where May shifted awkwardly between her familiar ‘strong and stable’ message and the coyer, girlier mode that made such an impression on Quentin Letts. I’ll admit, I found it excruciating, and it looked as if the Mays did too. But I don’t think we can blame them, or the campaign strategists, for inflicting this spectacle upon us. The sexist attitudes on show in it were an accurate reflection of the sexist attitudes that pervade the wider culture, and especially the popular media. I look forward to a time when these will be consigned to the proverbial dustbin of history, but for the moment they seem to have got stuck in the recycling.

 

 

A very British sexism

Last week I inadvertently caught the beginning of Question Time, a long-running weekly political panel show which I have loathed and detested for many years. As luck would have it, I switched on at the very moment when its smug host David Dimbleby called on an audience member to ask the first question. Which was: ‘do we need a bloody difficult woman to negotiate Brexit?’ The studio audience applauded (they always do, and I have no idea why), while I reached, simultaneously, for the TV remote and the sickbag.

‘A bloody difficult woman’ was originally a comment made by the veteran Tory politician Kenneth Clarke about the present Prime Minister Theresa May. He came out with it (during what he wrongly assumed to be a private, off-mic conversation) during last summer’s Conservative leadership contest, in which May was one of several candidates; and he clearly didn’t mean it as a positive assessment. But like Donald Trump’s rather similar description of Hillary Clinton–‘such a nasty woman’–it quickly took on a new life as an empowering feminist slogan. It became a popular hashtag on Twitter, started appearing on badges and T-shirts, and was hymned on the Telegraph’s women’s page as ‘the ultimate compliment’.

The same paper offered a handy guide to the various subtypes of ‘BDW’, personified by women like the (late) TV dog trainer Barbara Woodhouse and the (fictional) Dowager Countess of Downton. Jan Moir in the Mail added Anne Robinson and Miss Piggy to the list. Moir also argued that Clarke’s insult was really a compliment. When a man calls a woman ‘difficult’, she mused,

that’s a tacit acknowledgement of [her] power. It means: ‘I can’t control her.’ It means: ‘She won’t do what I tell her to do.’ It means: ‘To be honest, I am a little bit scared of her’.

While I don’t agree with Moir that women should be flattered by this reaction, I do think her observation points to an uncomfortable truth which many mainstream discussions of sexism gloss over. Those discussions often define the problem women face as getting people (especially men) to ‘take them seriously’. Just this week, for instance, Girlguiding UK released some research which showed that girls and young women are very aware of the sexist treatment of female politicians, and it’s putting them off engaging in politics. News reports quoted 16-year old Emma Taggart, who complained about the excessive attention paid by the media to women’s bodies and their clothes: as she said,

Focusing on a politician’s appearance instead of what she has to say sends the message that even women in the most powerful roles in the country aren’t taken seriously.

The same point was made by another women’s organisation, Fawcett, in its 2015 ‘Views not shoes’ campaign against sexist election coverage. But while it isn’t wrong as far as it goes, I find this analysis superficial. The problem isn’t that we as a culture don’t take powerful women seriously. How seriously we take them may be inferred from the lengths we are willing to go to to demonise and undermine them. The real problem is not denial, but resentment of female authority–a resentment which no woman should take as a compliment, since what is ultimately behind it is misogyny.

Trivialising women with comments on their shoes or reducing them to the status of sexual objects (as in the Mail’s now-infamous ‘Legs-it’ photo), legs-for-commentsis only one expression of this resentment, one strategy for putting women (back) in their place. Calling them ‘bloody difficult’ or ‘nasty’ is another. But these codes are relatively simple and transparent. What I want to talk about is another, more insidious code, which is also pervasive in the British media.

The reason for talking about this, of course, is that we’re currently in the middle of another General Election campaign, unexpectedly announced last month by Theresa May. This ‘snap’ election has been widely interpreted as a Brexit version of Churchill’s ‘give us the tools and we will finish the job’–it’s a post-referendum referendum on May’s leadership. But when she first announced it, surprising her party colleagues, it wasn’t Churchill she put them in mind of.  Rather, the Sunday Times reported that ‘Tory MPs…have taken to referring to their leader as “Mummy” in their text exchanges’.

Actually, they’d called her that before: ‘Mummy’ also turned up in Tory tweets during last suheel boysmmer’s battle for the party leadership. GQ helpfully suggested that May was ‘nasty mummy’ to her younger rival Andrea Leadsom’s ‘nice mummy’.  And of course, nasty mummy won; we all know those Tory boys love a bit of discipline. When May became Prime Minister, the front page of the Sun depicted her stiletto heeled foot (she actually favours kitten heels, but why ruin a good dominatrix reference?) coming down on the heads of her hapless male subordinates. The headline, inevitably, was ‘Heel, boys’.

What was the Sun trying to say, though? It’s a Tory paper, it supported the side that won the referendum, and the text on the page implied approval of the party’s choice—’Maggie’ May was another Thatcher, she was going to re-unite the country and deliver Brexit to the people. But the subtext, if something so in-your-face can be called a subtext, was sending another message entirely. Give a woman the whip hand (geddit?) and she’ll treat you like dogs.

This isn’t just about Theresa May, and it isn’t just about the Tories. When Sylvia Shaw and I analysed the press coverage of the 2015 General Election for our book Gender, Power and Political Speech, we noticed a pattern in the way authoritative women were described. Here are a few examples: the first two are about Julie Etchingham, the news presenter who moderated the first TV election debate, and the rest are about Nicola Sturgeon, the leader of the Scottish National Party.

  1. Our Julie was also in a white jacket that gave her the air of an imperious dental nurse.
  2. This headmistress was not taking any nonsense from the naughty boys and girls at the back of the class.
  3. But the Aussie [Natalie Bennett, leader of the Green Party] backed the head girl Nicola when she took on the Prime Minister, saying: “I agree with Nicola.”
  4. She was very much like a primary school teacher, bobbing her head up and down, using her hands a lot.
  5. She ticked off Nigel Farage like a hospital matron who has found something nasty in the ward.

The women being described here had featured prominently in a debate watched by millions; one of them also had a day job running a small country. And what did the pundits compare them to? Head girls, primary school teachers, headmistresses, nurses, Matron. This is how female authority is made intelligible: through allusions to a set of archetypal roles in which women have traditionally exercised power–prototypically over children, or over adults infantilised by illness. There was no pattern of analogous references to men: their authority in the political sphere is taken for granted, and does not call for comment or explanation.

In the press reports I’ve quoted, the cultural references writers draw on in their comparisons are noticeably British (and evidently aimed at Britons of a certain age): Malory Towers, St Trinians, Hattie Jacques in the Carry On films. 8615-3006We’d only need to add Nanny, Bertie Wooster’s aunt Agatha and the Dowager Countess of Downton and we’d have the full set of Thoroughly British Battleaxes. These women’s authority is both a joke and a threat (or perhaps I should say, it’s made into a joke to defuse the threat): they’re bossy boots, petty tyrants, and in popular culture often grotesque—ageing, physically unattractive and either sexless or pathologically oversexed ‘man-eaters’.

Another common figure in this gallery of female grotesques is the man in drag, as exemplified by Margaret Thatcher’s Spitting Image puppet. Margaret Thatcher Spitting Image puppetThe running gag on Spitting Image was all about emasculation: Thatcher’s male Cabinet colleagues were portrayed not just as ‘a little bit scared of her’, but as terrified, spineless wimps. One sketch had her ordering a steak, and replying to the waitress’s query ‘what about the vegetables?’ with ‘oh, they’ll have the same as me’.

As this joke demonstrates, resentment of female authority is a weapon that can also be used against men. Whereas authority in women is unnatural and repulsive, in men it is normal and desirable: the unnatural man is the one who lacks authority, or worse, who submits to the authority of a woman. He is ‘henpecked’ or ‘pussy whipped’, allowing the  woman to ‘wear the trousers’. During the 2015 General Election campaign this unnatural role-reversal became a recurring theme in right-wing press commentary on Ed Miliband and Nicola Sturgeon (in case anyone’s forgotten, in the latter stages the Tories leant heavily on the idea that if English people voted Labour they would end up being governed by the SNP). georgeEd and Nicola were compared to George and Mildred, the characters in a 1970s sitcom about an overbearing nagging wife (another of British popular culture’s oversexed grotesques) and her long-suffering henpecked husband.

Then there was this little fable, composed by Matthew Parris for the Times after watching the second TV debate:

Spring is the season when pigeons distract us with their mating dance. The male paces about in an exotic strut, coocooing and puffing out his chest. The female makes a show of mincing away from him. He follows; she sidesteps; he pursues; she retreats. … On Thursday night on the BBC a similar courtship ritual could be observed taking place between two politicians, but with this striking difference. It was the lady in the dove-grey jacket [Sturgeon] coo-cooing with a puffed-out chest, and the gentleman in the dove-grey tie [Miliband] who was being coy.

The Sun, as ever, was briefer and blunter:

Nicola Sturgeon may wear high heels and a skirt, but the eerie silence from noisy ex-leader Alex Salmond proves she eats her partners alive.

All women who aspire to hold positions of power have to negotiate this representation of female authority as unnatural and emasculating (if not actually homicidal). And often, they find themselves trapped in a double bind. Margaret Thatcher, for instance, was damned both for not being enough of a woman and for being too much of one: while Spitting Image was portraying her as a man in drag, the Guardian was accusing her of ‘deliberately exploiting her gender as a weapon’. The writer seems not to have noticed that Thatcher’s gender was already a weapon—primarily one which others could use against her. Understanding this as a fact of life, she did not so much ‘exploit her gender’ as look for ways to turn men’s sexism to her own advantage.

According to her long-time ally Lord (Charles) Powell, one of the strategies she developed enabled her to get her own way in most arguments with her Cabinet colleagues: she would simply stand her ground until they backed down. ‘She knew’, explained Powell, that

private-school-educated British men weren’t brought up to argue with women. Only one or two of [the men in her cabinet] could stand up to that sort of treatment, or if they came from the same background as her… but most of the others got uncomfortable.

British ruling-class men of Thatcher’s generation had been formed by their experiences in an all-male world of public schools and single-sex Oxbridge colleges; as adults, their professional and political networks largely excluded women, except as helpmeets (wives and secretaries). In this milieu, the authority of women (personified by mummy, nanny and Matron) was something you had to put up with as a child, but you knew from an early age that when you grew up it would cease to be relevant. Since women were not your equals, or your rivals, you could afford to treat them with the pretend respect known to the upper classes as chivalry, or being a ‘gentleman’. This class-specific form of sexism was what Thatcher learned to manipulate. (Left-wing women confront a different set of challenges, but that’s a subject for a different post.)

Conservative women like Thatcher can also exploit the fact that authority itself is positively valued on the political right. As much as he or she may resent being bossed by a woman, your average Tory will take a strong female leader over a weak and ineffectual male one. If she passes their political virility test by being tough enough on their hot-button issues (war, national security, crime and immigration), conservatives may be willing to elevate her to the quasi-mythical status of the ‘Iron Lady’.

Despite her record as a hardliner on at least three of the issues mentioned above, Theresa May has not been given the ‘Iron Lady’ title. But it’s no accident that she and her supporters have spent the last two weeks talking incessantly about her ‘strong and stable leadership’. This is simultaneously a dig at her opponent Jeremy Corbyn (who is by implication weak and chaotic), and a message to anyone who might harbour doubts about a woman leader’s strength, determination or resilience. Like Thatcher before her, May is willing to embrace sexist stereotypes, but selectively, to suit her purpose. What she seems to be trying to project in this campaign is a combination of Mummy’s ruthless protectiveness (she’ll give no quarter when it comes to standing up for her British brood) and the stubborn persistence of the ‘bloody difficult woman’.

By now, though, you’re probably wondering what my point is: am I defending women like May and Thatcher? Am I suggesting British feminists should vote Conservative in June? The answer to that last question is no, absolutely not: I certainly won’t be voting for May’s clueless and inflexible leadership myself. To the first question, however, the answer is slightly more complicated. I’m not defending these women’s politics, but I am defending women politicians, and indeed women in general, against attacks which are rooted in misogyny.

No matter how much we despise the women being targeted, feminists shouldn’t applaud when they’re belittled and mocked using the code I’ve described in this post. We shouldn’t join in with the chorus of ‘bloody difficult woman’, ‘time for mummy’, ‘heel, boys’, and we shouldn’t pretend these jibes are really backhanded compliments. As I’ve said, what they express is resentment–and it’s not a specific resentment of right wing women, it’s a more general resentment (seen in varying forms across the political spectrum) of any woman who, as Rebecca West famously put it, ‘does or says anything that distinguishes her from a doormat’. We urgently need other ways of thinking and talking about women in authority: this one is toxic, and it damages us all.

Woman up! (part 2) The Tories

A week ago, as the media congratulated Scottish First Minister Nicola Sturgeon on keeping her head when all around were losing theirs, I suggested that Britain’s leaders should ‘woman up’. Evidently they got the message. Both the Labour and the Conservative parties are now embroiled in battles over who should lead them, and in both cases the main contenders are women. For Labour, Angela Eagle is poised to challenge the incumbent Jeremy Corbyn; meanwhile, on the Conservative side, the five candidates to replace David Cameron (who resigned after the EU referendum) include two women, Theresa May and Andrea Leadsom. May has been widely tipped to win, but Leadsom now seems to be gaining ground. Both women are currently ahead of all three men (Michael Gove, Liam Fox and Stephen Crabb).

Last week I argued that what keeps women under-represented in positions of leadership isn’t a lack of competence or confidence, it’s our attitudes to female authority. Powerful women are resented in a way their male equivalents are not; the more authoritative a woman sounds, the less likeable a lot of people (both men and women) will find her. But you might think the current situation calls that analysis into question. If we’re so uncomfortable with women taking charge, how have we ended up in a situation where women are the most credible challengers for the top jobs in British politics?

One answer to that question invokes the concept of the ‘glass cliff’. In politics as in business, women are more likely to be chosen as leaders when an organization is in serious trouble and the risk of failure is high. In that connection it’s interesting to recall one of the phrases used about Nicola Sturgeon last week—‘the only grown-up in the room’. Since then, other women, including Theresa May and, in the wider European context, Angela Merkel, have also been described as ‘grown-up(s)’. Though the term itself isn’t gendered, I’m beginning to think the metaphor is: it’s a reference to the most culturally familiar and acceptable form of female authority, that of adult women over children. When the men are responding to a crisis by throwing their toys out of the pram, it’s time for Mummy to sweep in and clean up their mess.

But Mummy is not the only female archetype to have featured in this week’s political narrative, as told in both the print and the broadcast media. Their coverage of the Conservative contest has come straight from the Bumper Book of Old Sexist Clichés.

A particular highlight was the BBC’s confusion as it contemplated a leadership election featuring more than one female candidate. ‘May and Leadsom may both be women’, it reported, ‘but they have quite different views’.

Twitter had some fun with this ridiculous statement. ‘Crikey’, exclaimed one commenter, ‘they’re letting women think different things now??’ Whoever wrote the offending sentence was evidently operating on the ‘default male’ principle I’ve discussed in previous posts. Men, as the unmarked or default category of human beings, can be understood and judged primarily as individuals rather than gendered subjects; women, by contrast, are almost always viewed through a gendered lens. This disparity is easily overlooked when there’s only one woman in an otherwise all-male field; in that (still very common) situation it can seem ‘natural’ to treat her as representing ‘the woman’s perspective’. When there’s more than one, it becomes less natural. By solemnly explaining that May and Leadsom weren’t just generic and interchangeable ‘women’, the BBC exposed the underlying sexism of its own assumptions.

But treating women as individuals is not the only alternative to treating them as an undifferentiated mass. In between these two poles there’s another possibility: bring on the time-honoured female archetypes. Here are just three that featured prominently in last week’s media coverage.

The power behind the throne

What cleared the way for the two Tory women who are currently leading the field was the unexpected withdrawal of Boris Johnson from the race, after his supposed friend and loyal lieutenant Michael Gove made a last minute announcement of his own candidacy. Which apparently he did BECAUSE HIS WIFE TOLD HIM TO. The woman in question, journalist Sarah Vine, was cast by the media as a present-day Lady Macbeth, using a husband who by his own admission was temperamentally unsuited to hold the highest office as a proxy for her own ambitions. For this she was vilified—most notably by another woman journalist, Rachel Johnson. Who happens to be Boris Johnson’s sister. (Cue Tammy Wynette singing ‘Stand By Your Man’.)

This ‘female power behind the throne’ trope is a sexist triple whammy. It blames women for acts of treachery committed by men; it reinforces the view that the ‘natural’ way for women to exercise power is indirectly, via their influence on men; and it also gets used to suggest that a man who allows himself to be influenced by a woman (aka ‘henpecked’ or ‘pussy-whipped’) is weak and unfit to lead.

The family woman

With Johnson gone and Gove’s challenge looking shakier by the hour, Theresa May emerged as the new front-runner, and the much less well-known Andrea Leadsom also began to look like a serious contender. As the media geared up to explain who these women were, another traditional archetype came lumbering into view: the female politician who’s a housewife at heart. She may be running the country, but her family still comes first. Margaret Thatcher was a great performer of this role: old-fashioned though it now appears, it offers women—and especially Conservative women, who need the support of the traditionalists in their party—an opportunity to present themselves as both competent and unthreatening. Their apparent enthusiasm for everyday domesticity is meant to reassure us that they have not been unsexed by power.

Before the referendum, Theresa May’s main concession to the demand for some token display of femininity involved the wearing of slightly unorthodox shoes. But now she’s an aspiring Prime Minister she has turned up the emotional temperature. In what was billed as ‘the most candid and intimate interview she has ever given’, May revealed what the Daily Mail called the ‘softer side to the steely favourite to be the next PM’—most notably by speaking of her own and her husband’s ‘heartbreak’ about not being able to have children. Childlessness is always suspect in women—Nicola Sturgeon was asked about it in the General Election—but it’s more forgivable if it’s involuntary. By speaking openly on this subject, May addressed the one minus-point identified in a Telegraph article assessing her merits as a leader:

She’s been married to the same man since 1980 (morally sound: check), doesn’t have any children (could be a turn-off for some but it does mean she’s less likely to be distracted on the job). She cooks a new recipe every week and goes to church every Sunday: she knows there’s more to life than Westminster.

Andrea Leadsom also cooks, prays and, as we learnt from an interview in the Telegraph, ‘finds comfort in the familiar routines of family life’.

“When in doubt, cook a Sunday roast, get the family around you and you’ll feel fine afterwards,” she says. “If my boys are there, it’s beef and Yorkshire pudding. If it’s me and my daughter and husband, it’s more likely to be chicken…”

That last bit shows real attention to detail. Chez Leadsom it’s not just the roles that are traditionally gendered, the food on the table is too. Red meat for the boys and white meat for the girls. (‘Beef vs. chicken’ is a classic example of what’s known as ‘metaphorical gender’, where the two items in a pair are judged to express a masculine/feminine contrast despite having no directly gendered meaning—other examples include ‘square vs. circle’ and ‘knife vs fork’).

After last year’s General Election, when both David Cameron and Ed Miliband gave interviews in their kitchens, some commentators suggested that active involvement in ‘the familiar routines of family life’ had become a symbolic marker of likeability for male as well as female politicians. But that moment—if it was one—seems to have passed. No one was asking the men in the Conservative contest what they cook for their families at the weekend, or whether they have children (and if not, why not).

That’s not to say the men have been exempt from gender stereotyping. But with them it’s more about the steeliness than the softness. In its profile of Stephen Crabb (who, like Leadsom, was previously little known outside Conservative circles), the Mail seemed to have come down with a touch of the Vladimir Putins, informing readers that

…rugby-playing wannabe PM Crabb’s broken nose adds grit to his boy-next-door charm.

Crabb’s response to a predictable question about his lack of experience in government prompted another reference to his sporting prowess:

‘I’ve got more experience than Margaret Thatcher had when she became leader,’ Crabb fires back, like the ferocious rugby-tackler he is.

But in interviews with men these passing references to masculine pursuits are largely decorative: in the journalist’s actual conversation with Crabb, the focus was on politics rather than rugby. It’s only women who are required to spend a good part of any interview affirming that something else is more important to them than the job which is the reason they’re being interviewed.

Deadlier than the male

But it hasn’t all been cosy domestic chit-chat. The Guardian’s Andrew Rawnsley, for instance, preferred another familiar formula: ‘the female of the species is deadlier than the male’. Her ‘softer side’ conceals a dark heart, and an insatiable hunger for power over men.

In her quiet but deadly way, Mrs May has been the most ruthless player of them all… She waited for the Tory boys to finish knifing each other in their pantomime version of House of Cards and then elegantly stepped over their twitching corpses to seize pole position for the succession.

Apparently we’re supposed to judge May as somehow more ruthless than Gove or Johnson because she stood quietly on the sidelines while they were figuratively killing each other. And then stepped over their dead bodies in a properly ladylike manner. As he reached for his dictionary of sexist clichés, perhaps Rawnsley regretted that May steps out in kitten heels rather than stilettos. Or perhaps his use of a subtly gendered rhetoric (juxtaposing ‘deadly’ and ‘ruthless’ with ‘quiet’ and ‘elegant’) was not the product of deliberate calculation. Perhaps he was just channelling the collective unconscious, where misogyny can flourish unencumbered by logic.

Andrea Leadsom has also been presented as a ‘sinister’ figure, sometimes using a strategy I mentioned in my previous post–comparing her to one of the archetypal female wielders of petty authority (head girl, headmistress, Matron, etc.) who are conventionally depicted as simultaneously ridiculous (their pretensions to power are comical) and repulsive. The Times sketch-writer Patrick Kidd brought these themes together in a comment he made on Twitter:

I can imagine Andrea Leadsom being a very reassuring pharmacist, if not a prime minister. She has something of the Night Nurse about her.

…..

So, let’s just recap. According to the media a Conservative woman leader should be ‘steely’ but with a ‘softer side’, fully domesticated but immaculately shod, dedicated to her job yet insistent that family comes first. She must be a grown-up, firmly restoring order and  cleaning up whatever mess the children have made; but she should approach the task in a spirit of service, downplaying any personal ambitions she might harbour. Her behaviour should be ladylike, her ruthless streak carefully concealed, and she should not court cheap popularity.

There is one woman who fits that specification, and I think it’s high time she stepped up. Or rather, flew in. Ladies and gentlemen, the next leader of the Conservative Party and Prime Minister of the United Kingdom will be… MARY POPPINS. If Mary can’t sort us out, I really don’t know who can.

Readers should note that at present an hour is a long time in British politics: all factual statements made in this post were accurate when I wrote it, but they may well be out of date by the time you read it. Updating the text to take account of new developments would be virtually a full-time job, so I’m not going to attempt to do it comprehensively. But I might add the occasional newsflash.

NEWSFLASH: since this post was published, Ken Clarke has been caught on camera calling Theresa May ‘a bloody difficult woman’–another well-worn archetype to add to the list. 

NEWSFLASH, 5 July 18.50: The bloody difficult woman has just won the first round of voting with 165 votes to her rivals’ combined 164. Andrea Leadsom came second with 66.

NEWSFLASH, 9 July 8.40: after the second round of voting it’s now a straight choice for the Tories between May and Leadsom, and we’re drowning in media commentary on what it means that this has become a contest between two women. A dozen columns have appeared warning that it isn’t a triumph for feminism (no indeed, but which feminists ever said it was?) Newsnight has debated which of the two women is more like Thatcher (Leadsom according to Norman Tebbit). Another well-worn trope, the catfight, has made an appearance: Leadsom has apparently claimed to be a better candidate because, unlike May, she has children. (As noted in the post above, May evidently saw that one coming). The stereotypes just keep on keeping on…

NEWSFLASH, 11 July 12.00: Leadsom has announced her withdrawal from the leadership contest. I’m not sure what will happen next, but I think it’s time to draw a line under this post. Here we go.

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Theresa May became Britain’s 76th Prime Minister (and the second woman to hold the position) on July 13, 2016. This blog deals exclusively in language-related feminist commentary, but if anyone’s interested in my other, non-linguistic thoughts on this contest and its outcome, check out this post on Trouble & Strife‘s website