All in Bodies
How many times have you rushed to the toilet in a panic when you’ve suspected that your period has reared its ugly head unannounced? How often have you inwardly cursed yourself for forgetting tampons and resorted to a flaky makeshift toilet tissue pad? Or covertly emailed your colleagues to see if they can help a sister out?
The Femmeniste exhibition will tackle female experiences and issues such as sexual harassment, women's mental health, cat-calling, girl hate and much more, by bringing together spoken word artists, female rappers and dancers, as well as art and photography... Whether you’re an artist, a writer, or just want to spread the word, your input is what will power the revolution!
Take out your phone and open a social media app. I’ll bet it only takes a few swipes before you come across a post related to clean eating, the newest celebrity diet or a gorgeous fitness model, primed to infuse you with #fitspo. It’s the new, healthy way to live, and we just can’t get enough of it.
Therein lies the problem.
As International Women's Day approaches, we take a look at the two year career of the Women's Equality Party, who have accomplished a great deal in their short life span.
It’s that time of year again, when the chic elite stomp the pavements like a catwalk and, for the first time in months, the weather is not permitted to dictate one’s outfit: it’s London Fashion Week. Like any magazine writer worth their salt, I consider it an obligation to comment. But my fashion-conscious musings for the week don’t focus inside the hallowed halls of sequined glamour; I would rather give a shout-out to clothes that can make me feel my most fabulous...
A year to the date since the Women’s March of 21st February 2017 (the first day of Donald Trump’s presidency), the Time’s Up Rally was held to commemorate this anniversary. As a Leeds-based magazine, Harpy was unable to attend the London rally, but caught up with our friend Kirsten Peters-Roebuck (@KirstenP_R), who was there in full force.
December 2005 – I sat in front of the mirror outside my bedroom, rapidly jotting down my burning desire to host the launch of my world-changing first novel at my local library, so that ‘Forest Hill (the quiet, Tubeless corner of London that I grew up in) could be remembered for something more than the weird old walrus down the road
Of late, my entertainment and social channels have been somewhat bombarded by a bizarre media frenzy surrounding the phenomenon of the "armpit vagina": yet another indictment on a society that feels compulsively obliged to comment upon the female body.
