Women of our time

Here’s something I realised the other day amid the daily panic and impending sense of despair that often takes hold around 10am – I figured out exactly which generation of women I am going to belong to when they write today’s history books.

You know, there were the suffragettes in the early 1900s to whom we owe our right to vote, the original ‘keep calm and carry on’ band of fearless females in the war-time 40s, the punk rockers who raged against the establishment and embraced mullets in the 80s, and now I know where I will fit into this historical female spectrum:

I will be a Recessionista!

I am a Recessionista. We, ladies, are all Recessionistas.

And so I declare to my friends and to all the 20-something good women of this country in the loudest voice I can muster via the written word: Even though you might be lucky enough to still have your jobs, we’re all going through this veritable wine drought, this time of consumer guilt and this period of waist belt tightening together. We stand and we unite at Stitch n Bitch, at the all-new Women’s Institute and on our Staycations. For one day in the not too distant future, we will be able to buy Kurt Geiger shoes again and feel the pinch on our feet rather than in our wallets, we will be able to increase our guilt-ridden carbon footprints on long-haul flights to salubrious destinations and we will also know how to knit, how to mend a broken drain pipe, how to bake banana cake and how to grow our own tomatoes.

We are the Recessionistas and we will rise again. More skilled this time, but with and equal if not heightened passion for shoes.