
As a kid, I LOVED the movie Grease. The hair. The poodle skirts. Drinking milkshakes in diners, having girly sleepovers with your friends, singing songs with made up words like ramma-lamma-lamma-ka-dingity-dinky-dong.
My friends and I would shoo-bup-bup along the school bleachers. My sisters and I spent an age choreographing the perfect Grease Lightning arm routine. We’d buy lolly fags and say “tell me about it, STUD.”

But when I watched it back, 25 years later, I was like: “What the hell? I don’t remember these fat jibes and slut shaming and bad messages. WHAT IS THIS MOVIE?”
It’s a movie whose central messages are: Smoke. Change everything about yourself so boys will like you. Be a bit of a slut, but don’t be too much of a slut. Cool. Now let’s dance it out. (Ok fine that bit, I quite like).