The ban's real. So is every argument against it. Here's what I think of each one, where I'm on shakier ground than I'd like, and why none of it changes my mind.

I’ve been working on this for weeks. I finished it on Monday 15th June 2026. The same day the government finally did something. I don’t think that’s a coincidence.

He gets 23 minutes before the algorithm radicalises him. She gets 8 before it tells her she’s not enough. Same machine. Different position.

Every time I write about what the internet is doing to kids, someone says it's just bad parenting. It’s not. We age-gate everything else that harms children and back parents with the law. Social media is the one shop with no line, and we're blaming the parents instead of the dealer.

Twenty three minutes. That is how long it takes the internet to start teaching a thirteen year old boy that women are beneath him. He never went looking. It found him, in his pocket, while no one was watching.

Getting rid of one judge will not fix this. It was never just one bad judge. It was a system built in a world that has never taken violence against women and girls seriously enough. One man pulled the trigger. The system loaded the gun.

They reported it. They were believed. A jury convicted the boys who raped them ten times over. And a judge sent all three home, without a single night in prison. This was never just a verdict for two girls in Hampshire. Every woman in the country read it.

Smart glasses are becoming more of a thing. And it’s NOT good for women. Men are using them to secretly film us in public. One woman’s video got 23 million views before she even knew it existed. Here’s what we do about it.

Too much in my head. So I painted. Uncontainable is a mixed media artwork about feminist rage, collective voice, and refusing to be quiet.

You know Live. Laugh. Love. You have seen it on kitchen walls and coffee mugs and cushions and cards. Handed to women as the full extent of what they are supposed to feel and want and be. Content. Quiet. Decorative. Grateful. I took that format and I put something else inside it.

I started With Shaking Hands because I could no longer contain it. The rage. The grief. The watching. The knowing. The gap between the world as it is and the world as it should be, and the feeling of standing at the edge of that gap with no bridge and no ladder and no way across…

Everyone says you look just like me.
Let me tell you what that means.
They were choosing your colour
before you had even arrived.
Here is your doll.
Here is your kitchen.
You will learn to be good…