Unless you’ve been living under a rock over the past few years, you will  have heard of ‘Fifty Shades Of Grey’. I have shamelessly jumped on various band wagons in my time, yet unusually, this wasn’t one of them. I think it may have had something to do with seeing my mother read the books on a family holiday which inadvertently created a link between sex and my parents. This thought was inexistent beforehand as I blissfully live in a constant state of denial over that fact. Therefore I deliberately kept one’s distance from Mr Grey and his play room.

Despite this, I, like most woman in the country, went a little bit weak at the knees when first viewing the film trailer for ‘Fifty Shades Of Grey’. “Oo La La” I intriguingly said with the sexual conviction of an awkward, hormonal, teenage boy. I was starting to come down with the fifty shades of grey fever. And so, being the single gal that I am with nothing better to do, my valentine’s day was sorted.

Slightly embarrassed by the thought of spending this particular day watching this film, I was slightly apprehensive when the big day came. I was expecting to see masses of couples but was pleasantly surprised to find the majority of the cinema goers were females, groups and cliques of females. While watching the film I couldn’t help but think, why are females infatuated with this film? It certainly wasn’t that every woman wanted to be Anastisia Steele; the shy, weak, cardigan enthusiast who canny handle her drink. It definitely wasn’t that women want a controlling man in their life. Then it hit me, Christian Grey isn’t the man every woman wants to be with, Christian Grey is the person every woman wants to be. 

He has it all;

A legally binding contract to keep your partner faithful, that sounds delightful.  

He makes stalking look sexy and casual, something i’ve been trying to do for years now and continue to fail miserably at. 

He makes breaking into a flat seem normal behaviour, which is usually an alarming act that I shouldn’t try again, so my friends tell me.

He has a few quid in the bank, something I wouldn’t object to. 

He has the emotional range of a teaspoon. 

He has been very successful in his career. 

He can literally tie his partner to his bed and keep them there while he galavants around town with the comforting thought that they will still be there eagerly awaiting his return. 

In ‘Fifty Shades of Grey’, Christian Grey is labelled alluring and provocative, whilst Annie Wilkes in Stephen King’s ‘Misery’ is branded psychotic and unstable. Frankly, I see striking resemblances between the two and have equal admiration for both. The more I saw of Mr Grey the more I liked, he has got this relationship thing all figured out.

That’s not to say we should quickly disregard poor wee Anna. Women can learn a lot from her too I thought. I praise the choice of underwear worn throughout the film. She wasn’t donning Ann Summer’s latest line of thongs and brassieres if that’s what you are thinking. Instead she had what looked like the comfiest pair of briefs I think i’ve ever seen on film. When she undressed down to her “granny pants”, as I heard someone behind me describe them as, there was a murmur of laughter from the audience. How dare they. Some may say they screamed virgin, but I thought they represented good decision making ability; they’re cosy, warm and roomy, what more do you want down there? It turns out that she was in fact a virgin, which doesn’t help me make my case in the slightest. However, Christian didn’t abstain in any way at the sight of them and she never needed to worry about camel toe. Anna’s the real winner here ladies, so who’s laughing now.

The second haze of laughter came after Christian took off the “granny pants” to reveal some fuzz below, god forbid. Personally, I thought it was refreshing to see some hair below on an actress, I hadn’t seen that much hair on screen since a PSE sex education video in first year of high school. Granted, a bit of a trim probably wouldn’t have hurt her, but the laughter would seem to suggest that we have become overly sensitised to seeing a bit of hair down there that it’s no longer considered the norm. Finally a film that doesn’t conform to Hollywood’s vaginal beauty standards, something I think women should welcome with open arms (or legs).

The real message of Fifty Shades is really quite powerful and moving: sociopaths are into lavish pubic hair. I admire Mr Grey, I wish I could inflict punishment on the submissive, not out of sexual fantasy but out of bitter revenge. Unfortunately, the ever present gender stereotypes hold us women back from being the dominator. There will never be any Christina Greys, only Annie Wilkeses. Now that really is “fifty shades of fucked up”.