The Art of Female BadAssery

Written by  //  August 22, 2011  //  Advice, Ask Alistair, The Dormitory  //  3 Comments


Ah Le Rosey… there’s nothing like a Swiss Boarding School to make you truly appreciate how exciting it could actually be to watch paint dry. I remember it… vaguely… sorry – too much smuggled in Absinthe makes the brain go hazy – but, what I do remember is that sometimes after the flying lessons, horseback riding, sailing, and scuba diving to our hearts content, we got so bored we all figured there was nothing like a good girlfight to break up the monotony of so many planned activities. That’s right, in case you haven’t figured it out by now, yours truly can be a bit of a scrapper when the mood strikes. I think we were all trying to channel our very own Alexis vs. Krystle lily pond catfight from Dynasty.

Do I fight clean? Heavens no! My philosophy to fighting has always been – it’s a fight. My job is to make sure you can’t hit me. At. All. If that means a good boot to the crotch and putting my foot up your clam then that’s what it means – hair pulling, eye gouging – nothing’s off limits when you try to fight an Arabella, because an Arabella will pound you into the ground before you can even think of damaging a hair on our entitled heads. The face is the money maker ladies, and whatever I have to do to keep you from getting anywhere near messing mine up, then so be it.

Consequently, I didn’t get in that many fights, not as many as kids who believed the honorable thing was to just exchange punches – I think that after a few rounds with me and coming out of it with missing hair, sore poons, and bite marks all over their faces made the other girls think twice about trying me, which is exactly the point to any fight, in my opinion. So, there we were, me and Dirk, my best gay, with the whole world at our fingertips, well, the world of the Chateau anyway.

But, once we got out of the incredibly traumatic institution known as grade school, all that fighting just didn’t seem sensible anymore. People have things to do – some people even work! I have places to go, Fauntleroy’s to shuttle around, and as Dirk recently pointed out, who wants to try and do some blow through a busted nose? This caused us both to then begin snorting in maniacal laughter, coke puffing above us like a cloud of flour, which then produced more peals of laughter – it’s a vicious coke induced cycle of shenanigans.

But yes, there was a time when I resorted to the exchanging of fisticuffs to get my point across, and while I’m not proud of it (okay, I’m proud of it), I am proud that I’ve never had to get a nose job to correct something someone pounded into me. Nose jobs for the hell of it, well that’s a totally different post altogether, we’re talking about fighting here, people, not what sort of work I’ve had done… allegedly…

My most recent letter got me to reminiscing about the days I spent back at Le Rosey, and the wonderful rows that we used to have – of course there’s always the stereotype of two gentlemen engaged in a good old slap-fight, but really, no one has the ability or capacity to fight as dirty as the rich do – it’s not that we love to physically throw down, we just have more to lose – we can’t be bothered with things like a clean fight – the art of the brawl is to get your opponent down as fast as possible so you can move on to the next topic of conversation, like stocks and the inability to find good help these days now that immigration laws are being so strictly enforced.

Granted, many of us believe we’re above fighting, but there’s just as many of us incredibly blessed people who aren’t above cutting a bitch to keep what’s ours and take what’s yours.

Enjoy, and you’re welcome.

Dear Alistair,

I have recently moved to a new school. Now I’m not a person who likes to obey, so I wanted to know what do you think are good ways to establish myself as “the bitch not to fuck with” in school?

- Badass In Training, CA

Oh my beautiful little Badass in Training – you are but a young Padawan to my Jedi Knight-ery. You couldn’t have asked a better person about how to do the job right.

So – first, you have to decide what kind of Bad Ass Chick are you going to be? There are several. You could be the kind of girl whose quiet, keeps to herself, and then when messed with you suddenly strike out with great fury – coming in quiet, then going out guns blazing, the silent but deadly sort of strike – think Carrie but with less pigs blood and telekinesis and more “I’m going to scare the fucking shit out of you FOR LIFE.”

This is the most optimum form of Female Badassery that will keep you feared and respected but keep you out of the principal’s office. This was Dirk’s preferred method of attack – he was so good at putting on a show for the Headmaster – everyone thought he was just the sweetest, most creative, well-mannered child to grace those hallowed halls – they had no idea that lurking under that cherubic little face was a queen ready to pounce. I spent hours picking the broken glass out of Misty St. Claire’s hair and cheeks when she tried to take Dirk’s smuggled in copy of Barbie and the Rockers: Out of This World – he is NOT a bitch to be fucked with.

While “The Dirk Technique” will keep you out of trouble with teachers and principals, it won’t technically establish your dominance right away – you won’t be able to teach others that lesson until you’re actually tested, which makes it difficult to cement yourself as the baddest chick on the block right off the bat.

Another option is the “Cool as a Cucumber Badass” – this is the kind of woman that I believe all of us could learn from – she’s composed, cold, serene, and matter-of-fact – but cross her – and you’ll have a stiletto rammed into your temple so fast you won’t have time to even begin to apologize for offending her delicate sensibilities.

For this mode of badassery, I suggest taking a cue from the White Witch – she’d roll up on someone, promise them sweets and kindness – and then as soon as they were no longer useful to her it was turning to stone time. You can’t get nastier than willingly uttering a word that you know is going to kill every other person on the planet other than yourself just because you can’t bear to see anyone else on the throne – BAD. ASS.

However, if complete and total global annihilation isn’t exactly what you had in mind, might I suggest a more localized but still incredibly effective annihilation?

This brings me to my next model, and the greatest model of all things Female BadAssery – the one and only Tura Satana – if you don’t know who Tura Satana is – well I should smack you. Repeatedly. It’s what she would’ve wanted.

This woman is the greatest female ambadassador (it’s a word!) to ever walk the earth. She was born to a silent film star father and a circus performing mother, as a young girl she was attacked walking home from school and her assailants got off scott-free – she vowed vengeance, and mastered the arts of aikido and karate before hunting her five attackers down over the next 15 years of her life. If that’s not enough, she then became a famous burlesque dancer, posed nude for silent film star Harold Lloyd, dated and turned down Elvis Presley after he proposed marriage (of course she kept the ring) and starred in the greatest ode to female badassness of all time – Faster Pussycat! Kill! Kill!

If you haven’t already run to your nearest odd movie seller or online movie dealer (already checked Netflix, don’t bother) then get this movie STAT – clutch it your chest like the little badass in training you are as this is your new primer in all things kickass – Tura as “Varla” in this movie is the greatest model of “I don’t take shit from anyone” you are ever going to find – she dances, shimmies, car races, slaps tricks up for not obeying her, and kills anyone that gets in her way – all in the middle of the desert dressed in head to toe jet black with nary a hair out of place – that’s BAD. ASS.

About the Author

Alistair Blake Arabella

“Alistair Blake Arabella” is the brainchild of entertainment writer and managing editor Vanessa “2 Fingers” Berben . If you’re missing the latest refill of your Dexedrine prescription, there’s a good a chance Alistair’s in your bathroom and has already crushed it up and snorted it. Now be a good little kitten and fetch her drink. If you’d like to receive the hallowed word of Alistair drop a line to – you just may be in the next episode of “Ask Alistar” if you’re very, very lucky.

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