Debate at the stone table

I'm not one for social convention.

I don't really follow it. I'm polite, but I'm not up to date in latest social etiquette trends, and if I don't agree with a certain convention, I refuse to fall into line.

In August, I had lunch in a coffee shop with a male friend. I was surprised when he insisted on paying for what was supposed to be my purchase. He took it from my hands and wouldn't hear of it that I paid myself. I offered to pay but didn't kick up a fuss, I gave in almost immediately.

It took me a few days to look back and consider my actions. And when I did, I seriously regretted not putting up a fight. I sat down with a notepad and Biro to put my opinion together, and here's what I came up with.

"The notion that when out to eat with a member of the opposite sex, the male of the pair is obliged to pay for what the female desires as well as his own purchase - strikes me as truly medieval. In this modern day and age, post the Equal Pay Act, post feminism, post women's rights, and in spite of the many laws prohibiting unequal treatment of men and women, so many people see this as the "done thing" - merely British etiquette, a custom we are supposed to follow."

It being an issue I had become so fired up about, I got in touch with my most opinionated friend to find out what he thought of such a custom. He told me quite undoubtedly that absolutely, the convention is appropriate, and that the male should always pay.

In Costa a few weeks later with a girlfriend, I once again got my notepad out to take down her opinion.

"Megan feels the situation is conditional. She says that it really depends on the 'format' of the meeting. A traditional dinner date is one that should be paid for by the male if he offers. The custom does not apply if the relationship between the couple is non-romantic. A lunch date is the financial responsibility of both parties, but the male should pay for cinema tickets if he invites the female on the date."

For me, Megan's view sums it up - it's complicated, ambiguous and no one's entirely sure what's right or wrong.

Some say that you might damage a guy's pride by not letting him pay - that it's part of his alpha male status, and stripping him of it is immoral. I argue that what about my pride? Does it not matter that I don't want to feel incompetent, unable to pay for myself?

I'm no female supremacist. I'm not a radical feminist. I appreciate that times have hugely changed, but I still believe equality should be fought for on either side it is needed. If that makes me a feminist, I'm a feminist. I believe in equality. By that I don't mean women and men should be treated exactly the same and have exactly the same societal roles, because we are different - physically, mentally, emotionally. However, there's a line where "different roles" becomes sexism, and for me, such a social contract borders on sexist.

I'd love to end this post with a philosophical thought and a bang, but there's not much I can say.

Instead, I want the opinion of anyone and everyone who might be reading this. Let me know, by comment, email, Facebook, Twitter (@pocketsizegeek), telepathy, whatever, I'm interested in your opinions, and how you've acted in these situations in the past.

Let me know.

My name is Lizzie, and I wear big knickers.

A few months ago, I found a picture I had drawn years ago. I'm guessing I was about 9 or 10 years old, at which time I think I saw myself as rather a fashion feature writer and enjoyed drawing pictures of models wearing sparkly halterneck minidresses, stillettos, glossy hairstyles and flawless makeup, then writing descriptions about the model and their get up, just like a lady in a proper ladies magazine would. Or at least, how I thought they might.

This particular picture was of a woman with a (weirdly) skinny neck, big pink (extra shiny) lips and a mane of long wavy (yellow) hair. In the description, I had written "Veronica is perfect because she is thin and has long golden hair, sapphire blue eyes and always looks perfect".

How incredibly depressing! That at the age of no more than ten years old, that was what I perceived as perfect. Especially taking into consideration that while "perfect" Veronica had her long skinny legs, beautiful long blonde hair and blue eyes, I was short and stubby with straggly brown hair and eyes that couldn't ever decide whether to be the colour of pondwater or sludge. I must have been far from perfect, by my own standards.

Me at 10. Hardly Veronica...

Fortunately, I do hold myself in higher esteem nowadays. I grew up and learnt beauty is just a concept/in the eye of the beholder/comes from within blah blah blah and, apparently, I stopped believing that to find perfection I must first look to the categoric opposite of myself. I know that my ideas of beauty would have derived from my socialisation by media, classmates and no doubt Disney movies, thus learning by the age of 10 the concept of attractiveness and sexuality.

Now, I don't want to go on about the "evil" media and how it's brainwashing us all, but we really do grow up learning, and thenceforth doing, some ridiculous things.

 For example, false eyelashes - whose genius idea was it to use a strong adhesive on the most sensitive part of the face in order to give the illusion of having moths attacking your eyeballs? WHY?! Oh, sorry, that's right. All in the name of sexy.

 Uncomfortable clothing. Tight leather trousers. Corsets. Strapless dresses (constant hitching up at parties and ceaseless fear it's going to fall down and you're going to reveal all). Leg suffocating skinny jeans, pencil skirts, strappy high heels (oh the pain), leather trousers, thongs...

Well. I'm going to make a stand. I refuse to put myself through discomfort in the name of sexy.

My name is Lizzie and I wear big knickers.

I don't buy them from La Senza. Or Ann Summers, or Triumph or any other sexy underwear shop. I bought them from good old M&S, who supply most of my underwear because it's comfortable.

My point in writing this post is not to say we should all wear sackcloth and be done with it. I love wearing nice clothes, I love feeling pretty, I love getting dressed up, I love clothes that flatter my figure, I love bright colours and pretty patterns. What can I say? At the end of the day the stereotype fits: I'm a girl.

No, I totally believe in wearing nice things, in going out and having an amazing time in your beautiful new shoes and your sparkly dress if you'd like to. What I don't believe in is wearing that all-revealing bodycon dress which you don't feel comfortable in at all, but you do it anyway because the magazines say that's high fashion and society dictates that's how you'll look hot.

At the moment I've been trying to care less about what people think. Non-school uniform days at school used to send me into hysterics, I was so stressed about what people would think or how I would look compared to my classmates. Moving to sixth form college and ditching school uniform meant I no longer had time for tears each time I had to dress myself in my own clothing. For a while I was meticulous about what I should or shouldn't wear. I'd always plan outfits in advance (because it took up to an hour and several changes of mind and there wasn't time in the morning). I realised something had to change when I was shopping one weekend. My criteria for new clothing was not "do I like this top/pair of jeans/dress (etc.)?", but "can I imagine [insert someone popular's name here] wearing this?".

And it wasn't just with clothing I was doing this - also a lot of my actions, words and decisions were being chosen on a similar basis, and that wasn't right. That wasn't OK. So I've made a decision to try harder for it not to bother me what people think of me. If someone's worth knowing, they're not going to care what I'm wearing, and they're going to respect me whatever I say.

I'm still guilty of caring about what other people think, of course I am - it's not much more than human instinct, but I've resolved not to buy clothes I don't like just because I think they're fashionable and I can imagine someone I perceive as "cool" wearing them and I'm so much happier for it. Living in a bubble separated from things you love because of what people think isn't what life is about. It's not long enough to pretend to be people we're not.

I want to broadcast to you all that I'm not ashamed of my big knickers. I'm not ashamed of my bright colours and my t-shirts and the fact that, yes, I wore this jumper yesterday. If you're reading this, I'm challenging you. Dare to stop caring. It's worth it.