White on Black

Anthropology this semester was a mistake. Naively thinking it would be a history and culture of all humankind it turned out to be exclusively the history of black people. I have nothing against this; black history is something white people need to be knowledgeable about, but there is something essentially very f***in’ weird about a bunch of rich middle class white students being taught about black history by a rich middle class white teacher, no offence lady but there’s something a little off colour about this. I mean hell, where is the black teacher for black history? This has got to be a mistake by the ‘open minded’ white middle class board of education surely, are we in the 21st century where black people and minorities are even allowed to step foot in our essentially bourgeois art school? Cause I ain’t ever seen one. (Ok maybe one, I’m looking at you mixed media girl).

Now I’m the as white as it gets; my mother in law literally knits me jumpers from high quality tweed wool (for fun!). My skin’s so shining white you can barely distinguish me from my zara home linen. This does not mean I want to talk to people exactly the same as me, the people who’ve read the same literature, went to the same art shows, the people that have the kind of dance moves that were popular in the fifties (why do white people always dance in a circle? Dance trauma from a childhood of the Hokey Cokey? Google it). Bring variety into our high brow activities because honestly, a Flemish lady in jeggings giving a dry powerpoint presentation at 8:30am on a Monday morning ain’t going to invigorate this sister for the rights of minority. There just isn’t enough coffee (fair trade, obvs.) and pastries in the world that makes that worth waking up for.


The fatal flower is the perverted shy girl, the one you wouldn’t suspect. Under a soft exterior lies a complex being with an unyielding wildness, anchored to the earth by her humble nature and inexplicable dry humour. She is the femme of now, the modern woman who’s thoughts transcend through cultures and time.

Over the coming months let ‘La Fleur Fatale’ be your guide to the hidden insights and stories of a watchful woman’s eye navigating through the ‘European’ way of life. Struggles and mishaps ensue as life is embraced and the thorny introvert femme clammers for life’s answers. All possible subjects are covered from death to Kim Kardashian and from sisterhood to the perfect strawberry frappe.

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