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It’s safe to say that the trend over the past 100 years has been continuing progress in the sexual equality stakes (in England at least, and if you include progress that is, at times, frustratingly slow – basically, it’s a bit of a tenuous trend but let’s go with it while we’re feeling optimistic). Therefore, we can hope to expect good things in 2015. To move things along more quickly, let’s all agree to make some feminist new year resolutions, because it really doesn’t matter if you bite your fingernails.

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This is part of a series that covers our personal paths into feminism and/or why feminism matters to us. If you’d like to write a blog post on your discovery of feminism, please drop us an email!

I didn’t realise I was a feminist until University. I didn’t suddenly become a feminist. Once I realised that feminism wasn’t as big and scary (dare I say brutish?) as I’d always thought, and that actually it was all about equality and social ideas, I realised I’d been a feminist all along. And once I’d looked in the mirror and declared aloud that I was a feminist, life went back to relative normality.

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We’re aware that it’s been a long time since we last posted. Unfortunately, this ain’t because inequality’s been solved and we’re all living in a feminist utopia.

There have been a lot of changes for various members of the Jar Belles recently. Changes of jobs, houses, cities, relationships, health. It’s all been a wee bit stressful, but we’re more settled now (for the most part) and can no longer ignore the headlines that have been crying out for our attention. Ched Evans, watch yourself.

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Page 3 this week throws the spotlight on two amazing women – Amy Poehler and Tina Fey. While these two could easily be the subject of two articles as individuals, their careers have been so closely entwined that it made sense to celebrate the two as a pair. They also represent female friendship as it actually is – supportive, empowering, loving and FUN. The day gossip magazines start fabricating jealous cat fights between these two is the day I show up at their offices and reign fiery vengeance upon them.

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I was on a train recently and two women were sitting across from me. They didn’t know each other prior to the journey and I had the pleasure of watching them become friends over the hour. At first, they discussed their families (coincidentally, both were going to visit sick partners in hospital). By the end of the conversation, they were discussing the impact that beauty had on the way they perceived the world and were perceived by it. Watching these two intelligent women debate was fascinating, as one favoured the stance that it was harder to go through the world if you were less attractive and the other, if you were more. I tried not to eavesdrop on their private conversation but when issues of race and gender came into it, I was hooked. Then, in the corner of my eye, I noticed a man to my right trying to catch my attention. I looked over. He grinned, gestured to the women, then held up his hands, opening and closing them as if they were crab claws.

He’d called the women chatterboxes.