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I’m sure there’re numerous late millennials who, like me, credit David Bowie’s Goblin King for their early sexual awakening. 

The film Labyrinth taught me more about the fragility of men and the power dynamics between the sexes than any textbook. In my teenage years, I watched it on repeat. 

Labyrinth is a sinister film with Jim Henson puppets. Many, many essays have been written about its lessons and subtext. The queerness. Fear. Control. Feminism. The self-sabotaging nature of a young girl’s subconscious and “the looming possibility of sex”. (Though no one’s ever been able to explain the cockney worm.)

Labyrinth taught me more about the fragility of men and the power dynamics between the sexes than any textbook.

In the film’s finale, after Bowie’s tight leggings have led 16-year-old Sarah on a merry magic dance through the bogs and ballrooms of a ridiculous twisted fantasy to find her stolen baby brother, he pleads: “I ask for so little. Just let me rule you… and you can have everything you want.” (File under: if Hinge bios were honest.) 

Above: David Bowie as the Goblin King in the 1986 film Labyrinth. 


Sarah has a profound moment of clarity. She finally sees this pale goblin mullet man for the desperate creature he is, with nothing but slaves to validate his existence, and declares: “You have no power over me!" Her words shatter the illusion of dominion and unravel the dark world he’s created. And then Bowie turns into an owl, because of course he does. 

Cave people weren’t born powerful. They had to start dicking each other over first.

“You have no power over me!” I’ve heard that line a hundred times. My friends and I would yell it to each other at school. We’d scream it at teachers. “You have no POWER over me!” (Which they loved.) The line had a musicality. An emphasis. A punch. It framed my perception of authority. If the Goblin King can’t tell me what to do, then no one can. Your superiority is fictional, officer. 

Power, in general, is a fabricated notion. Cave people weren’t born powerful. They had to start dicking each other over first. And once hierarchies were established, people were born into power via luck of the draw. Henry VIII believed that God sent him to be King. That his power to do whatever he wanted was bestowed upon him by an even higher power. But the whole establishment was completely made up. Like shape-shifting owl goblins.  

Above: The death of Queen Elizabeth II's was felt by many, but not all, and those not mourning 'properly' we're often accused of being disrespectful. 


The British monarchy is a confusing beast, because lots of British people love it. This is because we think having a king or queen makes us better than everybody else, whereas it actually makes us look a bit silly, as we hand over our hard-earned dosh to pay for their castles and weddings and misdemeanours. “What about tourism!?” we yell, in a country that famously detests foreigners. 

The Queen’s death made an impact. Especially on the BBC, whose relentless coverage of *people being sad* saw viewers nickname it Mournhub.

The Queen’s death made an impact. Especially on the BBC, whose relentless coverage of *people being sad* saw viewers nickname it Mournhub. We were supposed to mourn for the queen, because she “dedicated her life to this country”. I, too, would dedicate my life to a place that made me and my family extremely rich. 

As always, social media users clambered over each other to do the viral post, with commemorative images and earnest thanks for everything Elizabeth tirelessly did for us. “Think about all the stuff she did for charity!” they sobbed, without pausing to wonder why the UK needs so much charity in the first place. I, too, would do loads of stuff for charity if I was a hereditary millionaire with a team of staff waking me up with English breakfast tea and foie gras sandwiches every morning. 

When the Queen died, a lot of people were sad. A lot of people weren’t sad. The Queen was, without a doubt, one of the most notable hangovers from a colonialist era in which lots of innocent inhabitants of lots of countries were treated unforgivably. It’s the responsibility of all of us to make ourselves aware of these things. Your boy Churchill wasn’t a saint, either

Above: Of Queen Elizabeth II's death, The Daily Show's Trevor Noah said; "You can't expect people to show respect for something that never respected them.”


Those who refused to publicly mourn, especially those who had experienced the aftershock of the British Empire, were told off with a waggy little white finger. “HOW DARE YOU? THIS IS SOMEONE’S MUM,” they were told. Vile behaviour, apparently. Disgusting words. How dare you? How dare you not speak in the way that we want you to speak at a time that is more important to us than it is to you? “HAVE SOME RESPECT!” 

This is interesting, sociologically. Tone policing, Wikipedia says, “is a personal attack and anti-debate tactic based on criticising a person for expressing emotion. Tone policing detracts from the truth or falsity of a statement by attacking the tone in which it was presented, rather than the message itself.” Tone policing is used a lot against Black and brown people when they try to explain the pain, injustice and impact of racism. It’s also used against women, with the ‘angry feminist’ trope weaponised so effectively that women even tone police each other, playing right into the hands of that pesky patriarchy.

Tone policing occurs when you refuse to even listen to what somebody has to say, because you don’t like how they said it.

When you police somebody’s tone you are reprimanding them. You are sending a message that you believe you are entitled to tell them how to speak. A power dynamic is implied. Tone policing occurs when you refuse to even listen to what somebody has to say, because you don’t like how they said it, because there was too much passion in the delivery. It’s an excellent way to shut down a debate.

Tone policing took place after the Queen’s death. Monarchy apologists chose to ignore the centuries of pain and hurt and murder and colonial theft because… a tweet wasn’t nice? Yeeeaaaaaah. That’s the same. But, as Trevor Noah said so succinctly and irrefutably, in a monologue on the Daily Show: “You can't expect people to show respect for something that never respected them.”

Above: Tone policers cling to each other like a ball of grubby elastic bands to shut down the opposing voice, especially when the opposing voice is telling uncomfortable truths.


But there are people… a certain pool of people… a very specific group of people… who believe that you should automatically show them respect, even though they never respected you. I experience tone policing in the events industry. As Co-Founder of a voluntary entity called DICE, which stands for Diversity and Inclusion at Conferences and Events, I help event organisers curate events with lineups that are more representative of society (i.e. not just white men). You probably won’t be surprised to hear that our job is quite hard. 

I saw an event promoted recently about the ‘future of digital experiences’ that had an all white male (manel) lineup. I asked the organiser on LinkedIn if he foresaw that, in the future, all women would be wiped out… and should we warn them? His reply was: “Positive vibes only, please.” Followed by: “We asked lots of women and they said no, but if you care about equality, feel free to recommend some.” 

Even using the term ‘white man’ is a red rag to a bull and precipitates the immediate detonation of a ticking time bomb of fury. You will be policed. Because they deserve respect.

So, let me get this straight; if you’ve excluded women and people of colour (not to mention any other protected characteristics) from an event about ‘the future’, the only way I am now permitted to protest is via ‘positive vibes’. In short: you want equality? ASK NICER.  

Tone policing in the business world is out of control. And it’s a form of control. If you say the words ‘white man’ three times on LinkedIn, a white man will appear and accuse you of being racist and sexist. In social media, I recently shared a sensible (and true) quote from Cindy Gallop, who said: 

”At the top of our (advertising) industry is a closed loop of white guys talking to white guys about other white guys. Those white guys are sitting very pretty. Why would they ever want to rock the boat? The system is working just fine for them as it currently is. That closed loop of white guys talking to white guys about other white guys, is deliberately keeping women down. They are undermining women's confidence, sabotaging women - they feel threatened by women so they deliberately destroy women's confidence.”

I was called disgusting and ignorant for sharing this quote: “Stop it, you’re being cruel.” “This conversation is old news.” “You’re making everything worse.” I was called lazy, old-fashioned and mean-spirited. Even using the term ‘white man’ is a red rag to a bull and precipitates the immediate detonation of a ticking time bomb of fury. You will be policed. Because they deserve respect. Even when they haven’t shown you any. 

Above: Cindy Gallop, former head of BBH NYC, Founder and CEO of IfWeRanTheWorld, and Founder of MakeLoveNotPorn.


What’s interesting is how I felt seeing comments from men telling me how disgusting I was. I felt shame. Discomfort. Embarrassment. I felt fear. I knew it was likely these men would like me less. Maybe they’d tell other men to like me less. I was tempted to delete it all and pledge to never say anything of the sort ever again. The tone policing worked. It’s supposed to work.

A conversation with Lola Bakare (LinkedIn Top Voice and HBR columnist) afterwards opened my eyes. She said: “Why are we letting ourselves get shamed into silence, so that we delete our words or politely back down? That impulse to ‘save’ these men and our relationships with them is one of the reasons why the ones who commented on your post felt comfortable enough to do so. They need accountability, not for us to tiptoe around their egos. We can’t ignore facts just to help them save face. Instead, we should consider the impact of perpetuating a culture that enables this bad behaviour, and that culture’s effect on generations of women to come.” 

The power of tone policers is pretend, but they cling to each other like a ball of grubby elastic bands to shut down the opposing voice.

She’s right. Tone policing continues because they get away with it. Women, in particular, allow it. White women allow it. We care too much about what men think to risk speaking up about issues that matter. Once you see how much white women tone police all women, you see it everywhere. In offices. In emails. In WhatsApp groups. At hen dos. 

That’s not ok. The teenage me would be disappointed. The power of tone policers is pretend, but they cling to each other like a ball of grubby elastic bands to shut down the opposing voice, especially when the opposing voice is telling uncomfortable truths. Tone policing keeps things as they are. Tone policers think they have the power. It’s why you tell a toddler to say please and thank you, because you are in charge. But I’m not a fucking toddler, and neither are you. These offended white men are as powerful as a Jim Henson puppet. 

Tone policing is a sad, last ditch attempt at a moral high ground that never existed. It’s a weak jab, feebly swung as they tumble to the floor. It’s become so extreme that we’re telling people how to experience grief. We’re banning completely inoffensive words from the business vernacular. If you’re a man telling us to ‘ask nicer’ for equality, or a woman policing the language of another woman who wants equality, or if you simply cannot hear the term ‘white men’ in the context of research-based evidence that the world was designed for them: just shut up for five minutes. Really listen. And then show yourself into the fucking bin. 

Navigating the complexities of language and manners in the pursuit of equality is a labyrinth, but we have to care less about being liked, about upsetting the balance of tradition. We have to care less about losing a follower or two because someone got offended by facts. We need to channel a 16-year-old Sarah, rebelling against the Goblin King. “You have no power over me.” 

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