Yesterday, 28 ruling class arseholes did their Ordinary People act. I'm used to it. I am not quite so used to seeing them in their ordinary people drag while screeching racist rot.
With the advice on the needs, benefits and restrictions of sex being constantly yelled at us, it's a wonder how anybody retains any sort of libido in the West at all.
You can enjoy the looks, quips and works of a celebrity very much while remaining entirely unmoved by their political advice.
The stubborn feminist or even the mildly stubborn fan of greater wealth equality knows that the GST should only be paid by those who drive their children to the finest schools in the finest cars.
By Tuesday, I wanted to die.
If these toffs really can’t see that studies in decolonisation or trans-national feminism or queer theory or, for heaven’s sake, Marx are not absolutely entwined in the great exchange of ages they defend, then they have not been reading.
How are we to understand the likes of Jeff Bezos who believes himself to be a champion of human rights, while workers in his factories have suffered heat exhaustion?
Me Too isn't a movement. It hasn't moved for a year. We now have Me Too institutions. They claim their work is political. Yet their work is to be as apolitical as possible.
Social science, both popular and academic, is obsessed with the power of little things including, it would seem, the placebo pedestrian crossing.
Bitterness and misanthropy have long been attributed to those whose declarations pose a threat to the false order of joy. Here's why misery is better for you.