Polly Vernon

MY MATE SAYS SHE’S started playing ‘patriarchy chicken’, a game the internet invented that involves women not getting out of the way when entitled men bowl down a pavement, like they own it and the entire world, and just know everyone will step aside to let them pass, for THEY. ARE. KINGS! As a consequence of her politicalstatement-cum-extreme-sport, my mate is getting battered and sworn at – but (she says) at least she’s making a point.

I find myself divided by the concept. On the one hand: I loathe the word ‘patriarchy’! As lazy catch-all pieces of rhetoric go, it’s up there with ‘privilege’, a righteous bit of Twitter-spew that falls apart when you ask the spewer to be a leetle more specific about what they mean in this instance. I reckon every feminist argument is lost the instant the ‘p’ word is invoked. At the same time: I do love a game of street chicken! I’m at it constantly. Patriarchy chicken is for amateurs, TBH. Until you’ve played ‘grown-up lady on an adult push-along scooter chicken’ (her: whizzing toward you at some speed and quite as if she doesn’t look like a total muppet; you: unbowed, shoulders back, tits aloft, jaw set, mode: ONWARDS), well! You have not lived!

‘Tourist selfie chicken’ is where you either pretend you can’t hear the entreaties of tourists to stop and take their group photo, or you plough straight through their carefully contrived selfie set-up, because you have places to be, but their prime concern is: where next for an almond Magnum and a sit-down? ‘Ineffectually wielded yogamat-chicken’ is where you don’t get out of the way of the person with a cumbersome rolled-up yoga mat strapped horizontally to their back, even though they threaten to take you out every time they turn to look out for traffic/incoming ladies on scooters. ‘MAMIL[1] chicken’ involves shouting obscenities at MAMILS if they cut you up while riding their insanely overpriced bikes, which they will: it’s what they do. And ‘Chicken-chicken’ is where a fellow commuter pushes past you in a tutty harumphy little rush, all hoiked up on the belief their schedule is more precious than yours – leaving you with no option but to speed up along whatever thoroughfare it is you share, until you successfully revenge-push right past them, because: that’ll learn ’em! Yeah, it will!

Of course, one might argue that if your sense of status is so tightly tethered to how much you have to get out of the way of others when you’re walking up the road, it could be rather more fragile than is desirable… But, really! Where’s the fun in that?

[1] Middle-aged Man In Lycra