We’re one month into the Trump administration and the world is looking scarier than ever. Transgender children are losing rights. Immigrants are being banned. Healthcare is being rescinded even further. America, to put it bluntly, is on fire. And no one’s quite sure how to put the blaze out. Impeaching Trump is the obvious answer. Hell, it’s the answer I’ve been clamouring for since the man was elected in November. I’ve signed petitions, supported my pals in America in their #NotMyPresident marches. Donated to organisations that are trying to sue Trump. You name it, I’ve done it. But impeaching Trump probably isn’t the answer. At least, it’s not the whole answer. See, one of two things will happen if Trump is impeached. His supporters will get angry. Violently angry. They’ll refuse to accept the decision – and they’ll take to the streets with guns and fire His supporters will lose…

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If you read my last post about my issues with the blogging community, or my post about whether or not bloggers should be political (spoiler alert: the answer is yes, they should be!), you’ll know I have little patience for people who have no opinions beyond ‘I like that lipstick’. Or rather, I have little to no patience for people with platforms that refuse to speak out about issues – whether it’s feminism, politics, racism, or any of other other things that are wrong with the world. I’ve been thinking a lot lately about why this is. About why half my social media feed (okay, less than half – I follow pretty fantastic and outspoken people) is silent about the rise of fascism and the deportation of immigrants and the racist nature of the beauty industry and all the other terrible things happening at the moment. And I think there…

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I have a confession to make. A confession that will probably destroy any hopes and dreams I have of becoming a successful blogger. But this blog has always been a place for airing my slightly controversial opinions, so here it goes… I don’t believe in the blogging community. In fact, I don’t know if I want to be a blogger at all. /END BOMBSHELL Now before you all burst into tears, don’t worry. This blog isn’t going anywhere. I’ll still be bombarding you with my opinions and words three times a week. I’ll still be Tweeting every thought that comes into my head (#FollowMeOnTwitter). And I’ll definitely still be using the blogger hashtags to shamelessly promote my content, cos a girl’s gotta get dem views. But, if I’m perfectly honest, I think the blogging community is complete bullshit. Not because all bloggers are awful. Not because I haven’t made any…

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If you study an arts degree at university, chances are you’ll have to write a dissertation in your final year. Dissertations range between 5,000 and 15,000 words, and are generally accepted to be the bane of every undergrad’s degree. There are a lot of fancy books in university libraries about how to write a dissertation – but when it’s 2am and you still have 9,000 words to write, those books aren’t too helpful. So today I thought I’d share with you my tips for how to write a dissertation, since I know a lot of my readers are in the middle of writing theirs right now. Full disclaimer: this is based on my own personal experience of writing a dissertation for my History degree at the University of York. Each university and each course have different expectations for dissertations, so this should be treated as a rough guide only. But…

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Today – that is, the 16th February 2017 – is my birthday. Yup, that’s right. Ya gal just turned 22 (cue Taylor Swift music). I’ll be honest with you: there was a time when I didn’t think I would live to see my 22nd birthday. See, my teenage years were difficult. Of course, every person’s teenage years are difficult. Being a teenager is difficult. But my teenage years were full of mental health problems so severe that I genuinely thought I’d be dead by now. Sorry. Things got a bit morbid there. The point is, I survived it. But teenage me didn’t think she would. When I think back to how I felt as a teenager, my heart breaks. If they ever invent time travel, the first thing I’ll do is nip back and give my teenage self a cuddle. Tell her that it’ll be okay. Tell her to stick…

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