‘It Feels Like Life Is Narrowing’: Aspirational Lifestyles and Ambivalent Futures among Norwegian ‘Top Girls’

Going Out: Progressive Lifestyles in Nightlife and Beyond

Given the overall focus of the study, the interviews often took their point of departure in discussions about alcohol consumption and nightlife settings. As experienced patrons, they expressed a preference for ‘interesting’ venues with character and a distaste for venues characterised by a focus on ‘excessive’ consumption. For instance, Heidi described a venue she did not approve of:

[It is] a typical example of a place that I hate, but that we always end up going to every year, and it has actually become kind of funny [. . .] [it] is right in the middle of the western part of the city. And everyone – and now I’m probably generalising – but almost everyone looked the same, all the girls had fillers in their lips and that kind of look. Really tacky, like it’s cool to spray champagne around, that kind of place. I cannot think of anything worse. [. . .] It’s not my crowd at all.

Marking their distaste for ‘tacky’ venues and conspicuous consumption was just as much about distancing themselves from specific displays of femininity associated with these practices and venues. Underscoring the lack of individuality among the women at this venue and the displays of ‘fake’ femininine appearances contributed to constructing their own individuality, authenticity and progressiveness. This demonstrates how respectable middle-class femininity is often constructed through ‘othering’ of working-class women who are seen to lack the economic and cultural resources to consume ‘appropriately’ (Lennox et al., 2018: 14). This othering mainly centred around the presentations of bodies and displays of a ‘hypersexualised’ femininity, such as women who ‘use their money on silicone boobs’ (Maria), are ‘girly-girls’ (Nikoline), wear ‘sexy and skimpy outfits’ (Hanna, Tiril), ‘stilettoes and sequinned dresses’ (Maren) or ‘make-up, stilettos and a nice hair-do’ (Maja). These descriptions were in line with numerous accounts of ‘troublesome’ femininities in relation to alcohol and nightlife settings (see Griffin et al., 2013; Jackson and Tinkler, 2007; Nicholls, 2018 for examples of this). Following Skeggs (1997), such distanciations from what is seen as ‘vulgar’, ‘excessive’ and ‘sexualised’ are central in constructing positions as ‘respectable’ middle-class women.

At the same time, these descriptions also showed a disregard for what can be seen as luxurious, unnecessary spending as mere ‘showing off’ (Jarness, 2017). Maja’s description of her own style when going out was quite different and shows a veneration for a ‘simpler’ style: ‘I’ve never been that interested in clothing, make-up and that sort of thing. And never made much effort, just . . . decided to be a “low maintenance” kind of girl who is comfortable in my own skin (laughs).’ What Maja described is a style that does not require her to make an effort to look good; a style associated with comfort or confidence that is also more ‘authentic’ (Banet-Weiser, 2012); it is ‘her own skin’. However, as McCann (2020: 10) notes, ideals of ‘natural beauty’, such as Maja’s descriptions of a ‘low maintenance’ look, simply replace one set of gendered expectations with another. Nikoline argued that ‘it is that whole “dressing up for a man” compared to “dressing up for a girl” thing. Girls who dress up for other girls wear outfits that men often do not like at all.’ Hence, for Nikoline ‘dressing up’ was not necessarily problematic as such, it depended on who this ‘dressing up’ was for. In this way she tied her aesthetic preferences to her politics; to a progressive femininity that was in opposition to ‘the male gaze’ (Mulvey, 1975). This also extended to a distaste for nightlife venues that were ‘meat markets’ where ‘the only relation a man and a woman can have when going out is hitting on each other’ (Astrid). Distancing themselves from heteronormative interaction patterns and objectification of women was important in establishing their progressive – for some explicitly feminist – identities. In that sense, while respectability and performing the ‘right’ femininity is always a balancing act (Skeggs, 1997), for these women a progressive, middle-class femininity involved downplaying sexualised, feminine aestethics, in part because of the problematic gender relations these came to represent. Such relations were seen to reflect more general values as Maria described:

In the western part of the city it’s . . . I think it’s a bit more conservative. Gender roles are a bit more ‘stuck’ with typical expectations, a woman is supposed to look hot and be available, and there’s buying of drinks and . . . The gender roles are more traditional. I think there are different values in those kinds of environments. Even though there are of course women who prioritise their career and that kind of thing . . . I still think the conversations about those kinds of things are different.

Maria here distanced herself from ‘conservative’ gender relations, not just in nightlife settings but generally. ‘Prioritising a career’ was one key marker of this equality but not sufficient for an identity as a progressive woman; this also involved specific ‘values’. Hence, while many spoke about enjoying their emerging careers, being able to ‘really “go for it”’ (Nikoline) and ‘prioritise work right now’ (Maja), they also emphasised the meaningfulness of their work. Several had careers in government, law or politics; jobs that were seen as fulfilling and enabled them to ‘work for an important cause’ (Kristina). It was also clear that the workplace was not the only arena for creating a sense of achievement and progress. Rather, their careers were one part of broader lifestyles filled with cultural activities such as learning about art and music, or physical achievements in sports competitions. As well as jobs and careers being a source of self-realisation and enjoyment, Ingrid stated that spending time improving herself had become very important: ‘It’s probably mostly working out, being healthy and feeling good, really. So that’s what I prioritise. It’s a lot about me, you know. How I can optimise myself (laughs).’ The women’s present lives were often depicted as a time to cultivate and focus on themselves, their interests and abilities, reminiscent of McRobbie’s (2015: 3) argument that ‘the perfect’ is now on the ‘horizon of expectation’ for young women. For the participants in this study, being aspirational both in and beyond the work domain seemed to go hand in hand with, and indeed be a marker of, their progressive, middle-class lifestyles.

Staying In: The Taste of Successful Femininity

As mentioned, many of the women talked about being at a time in life marked by feelings of change and this was reflected in how they viewed their alcohol consumption. While nightlife settings continued to be important spaces for drinking alcohol, a number of women described an increasing centrality of domestic settings. For instance, Ingrid described how her drinking practices had become ‘quieter’:

It’s probably quieter now. Now it’s probably more dinners. Not as much ‘going out’. If you are partying, you are kind of back to being in someone’s home . . . It isn’t like a ‘super-party’, more like a dinner, drinking wine and enjoying ourselves . . . Or . . . party? That sounds silly (laughs). It’s more like gatherings with alcohol.

For Ingrid, and many other participants, private settings and in particular dinner parties with friends and family were increasingly taking priority over clubbing. This was associated with a more controlled way of drinking that centred on ‘enjoying’ alcohol, in particular wine, which traditionally connotes cultural capital (cf. Brierley-Jones et al., 2014). For some participants, such as Nikoline, the transition to ‘mature’ alcohol consumption was a matter of realising a long-time aspirational identity:

I like the image of it, the aesthetics of having a glass of wine while reading a book (laughs). It’s how I wanted to be when I was 17 years old. That sort of grown-up person working and having a glass of wine in the evening. There was something temptingly middle-class about it (laughs).

While Nikoline was the only one to identify explicitly with a middle-class identity in this way, the change in drinking practices was a recurring theme. Answering the question of how she likes to go out, Tiril questioned whether this was even the right word to describe her participation in nightlife settings:

It depends on how you define ‘going out’. I use the city scene quite often at night. It’s often a concert, and then a few beers, and that’s it for the night. But going out to dance at a place like a nightclub, I never do that. But I often go to different events in the city. Last weekend there was something called ‘Culture at night’ and a lot of cool events were on, and that evening we had wine in one place, then went to a gig, and then went back and had some more wine, and eventually went home.

Tiril literally reconstructed what it means to ‘go out’, stating that she would ‘use the city scene’ at night. Rather than partying and dancing, Tiril mentioned cultural events and drinking wine with friends in a controlled manner. The participants generally emphasised their (existing and expanding) cultural capital by asserting how their lives were rich in cultural activities such as concerts and going to the cinema and how they pursued their interest in food and in gathering friends for dinners in their homes. These dinners were not just about polite exchanges, but included ‘lots of discussions [. . .] that’s something that always happens in our home’, as Heidi put it. Continuing in the same vein, Hilde talked about how her and her husband’s home had become a social meeting point among their friends:

I’m very interested in cooking. And my husband and I enjoy cultural activities, we often go to the opera, concerts and those sorts of things. Movies. [. . .] And we are very fond of having people over, having friends for dinner and that kind of thing. Our apartment often becomes a sort of social meeting point.

For Hilde there was a clear connection between the cultural activities outside of the home and the dinner parties in her own home. Both were a means of presenting herself as an intellectual and cultured woman who is knowledgeable about a wide range of ‘sophisticated’ consumption practices. These practices were also associated with cultivating an attractive home and private sphere; ideally creating a home that is a ‘social meeting point’. The topic of wine and food came up across a number of interviews as something the participants were trying to ‘upskill’ on. As Heidi put it:

I would like to learn more about wine. [. . .] if you’re out and you get a really well-matched wine with a dish . . . even if I can’t describe it, I understand that it’s well matched and try to figure it out myself. I really enjoy that. I think it’s fun to go to the bottle shop and get assistance from the staff, ‘I’m planning on cooking this or that, could you help me find something that goes well with that?’

For Heidi, learning about wine was not only about the pleasure of ‘really well-matched wine’ when going out for dinner, but as much about the skill in pairing food and wine. This was something she aspired to learn to improve her dinner parties. Here we see a parallel to McRobbie’s (2015) suggestion that successful femininity now also involves mastery of the home and domestic sphere as ‘the perfect’ becomes the measure of ‘the good life’. Demonstrating knowledge about wine was a way of asserting one’s own good taste and, again, appearing ‘cultured’. While most participants were critical of the ‘elitist’ sentiments inherent in these practices (cf. Jarness, 2017), Camilla nevertheless stated that ‘you don’t bring a bottle of prosecco if you’re invited to a dinner-party. You bring a locally produced red wine that you know is a bit expensive.’ In this way she displays both her cultural and economic capital (‘locally produced’, ‘a bit expensive’) (Bourdieu, 2000). And finally, being knowledgable about food and wine was seen as an important part of being a good hostess as Hanna describes:

I think that if you’re making a nice dinner, having something nice to drink is part of that. And I don’t mean water or a Coke. . . . It’s also about good manners and etiquette. Good food and good wine . . . That’s something you’re supposed to be knowledgeable about. And it’s a nice thing to offer when you’re hosting a dinner party. [. . .] I really love hosting dinner parties, I like bringing people together.

For Hanna, knowledge about wine and food was a matter of ‘good manners’ and ‘etiquette’; something she believed she was ‘supposed to’ know about as a woman in her social position; that is, as a middle-class woman. However, this reference to ‘etiquette’ is reminiscent of a fairly traditional understanding of women’s responsibilities. Indeed, while many participants described how dinner parties were something both they and their partners were interested in and participated in – and that the guests were often other couples – they also tended to describe a gendered division of labour in the preparation of these dinners. As Hilde said, ‘it’s teamwork, but he often gets more in the way than he helps’.

‘Having It All’?

As demonstrated above, the changes in the women’s drinking practices were embedded in broader lifestyle changes that were pointing towards their imagined future lives and lifestyles. For most, this future also involved a family and/or children. In the previous section we illustrated how the participants were already taking steps towards and ‘preparing for’ this future as ‘cultured’ women and competent home-makers through lifestyle activities they enjoyed – demonstrating their educated middle-class tastes through both alcohol consumption, social activities and cultural events. However, many also demonstrated an ambivalence towards the future, seeing it as in some ways rewarding, but also as constraining. Observing friends who had already established a family reinforced this ambivalence, as Ellen described:

With these new mothers, there’s a lot of baby-talk . . . I think they sometimes appreciate having me in their social circle to get some input on how it is to still be free, so to speak (laughs) and not have everything figured out and in order, while they very much live that A4 life . . . But there are still similarities. And everyone is kind of engaged, discuss politics, that sort of thing . . . solving world problems, even my friends with babies . . . But it is a bit different.

Ellen’s friends’ ‘A4 lives’ – rigid and standardised – served as a contrast to her own ‘free’ lifestyle. She emphasised how it was possible for her friends to maintain a progressive mind-set and do meaningful things (‘solving world problems’) after having children, but acknowledged that their social life together had changed. Other participants also used the notion of ‘freedom’ to describe their current lifestyles. For instance, Janne, who saw herself as ‘an entrepreneur’, described how she enjoyed the ‘freedom’ in her current lifestyle and had chosen not to establish a family at present: ‘This [freedom] also makes me choose not to have that part of life, as in having children. I don’t want that now.’ Although Janne mentioned the structural constraints informing her decision (money and time), not having children was first and foremost presented as her individual choice. This mirrors Crofts and Coffey’s (2016) analysis of how combining work and motherhood remains a highly gendered ‘choice’, which women more than their male partners bear the responsibility for. This individualisation of structural inequalities is an important dimension of post-feminist discourse (McRobbie, 2009). Janne’s statement implied that she was still planning on having children at a later stage, just not ‘now’. This was repeated in a number of interviews and only one participant explicitly considered not having children. Instead, for the majority establishing a family was rather a matter of timing, demonstrating the need to have a ‘carefully monitored life plan’ at hand (McRobbie, 2015: 17). Kristina discussed the option of getting a less demanding job in the future in order to combine work and family life:

I don’t have children at this point, I’ve only got myself to think about, and that means I have the opportunity to do it (work hard), travel a lot and so on, and I think I’ll have the opportunity to find a less demanding job later if I need to.

For Kristina, as for a number of other participants, maintaining her current career and lifestyle at the same time as having children did not seem a realistic option, and having children would entail a trade-off such as finding a ‘less demanding’ job. This trade-off, however, was in conflict with the women’s emphasis on gender equality and their aspiration to have ‘meaningful’ careers. For Maria, whose friends had started having kids, the prospect of scaling down her career conflicted with her basic values:

I don’t want it to be that way, that if we have children they’ll grow up thinking that ‘Dad works and supports the family and Mom’s got a “pretend” job’, right? That her main job is being with the children? I don’t want kids, if that’s how it will be. I want it to be equal, you know [. . .] It’s scary. That freedom, in a way. That’s what I feel I’m giving up. I found it hard moving in with my boyfriend, because of that . . . It’s narrowing, you know, how your life will be. It’s been so wide open, the world full of opportunities, and suddenly it’s getting narrower.

Maria’s feeling of life and opportunities ‘narrowing’ seemed symptomatic for many of the participants. Even though the idea of starting a family in the future appeared both natural and wanted, this was nonetheless associated with a loss of freedom as well as of with the risk of falling into more traditional gender roles, in which caring for children would become her main responsibility and her career would no longer be valued. For a number of participants, this dilemma meant that they postponed what appeared to be the ‘inevitable’ future, as Heidi described:

This is probably a really egotistic thing to say – but I’m very aware that this is a time in my life where . . . I think it’s a wonderful time where you have a job you like, you have a good income and few commitments. I really appreciate that I can travel, and that we can prioritise our interests. And I’m very much like ‘oh no, but I have to have . . .’ – I want a family at some stage. I just kind of postpone it like ‘in five years’ and then again ‘in five years’, so that it’s always further ahead.

The tension inherent in Heidi’s comment seems to revolve around the impossibility of combining not only her career but her entire present lifestyle with future family life. As this seemed like a tension she could not resolve, she continuously postponed having children. Rather than considering a future without a family, Heidi’s comment seemed to reflect the inevitability of family life as the normative destination (Gordon et al., 2005).

However, although the participants enjoyed the (middle-class) privilege of only having oneself to think about (cf. Allen, 2016), it was also fraught with tensions around being ‘self-centred’ (Ida) or ‘egotistic’, as Heidi put it above. As Budgeon (2016) argues, being a single woman may be acceptable as an empowering and legitimate choice, but only up until a certain age. Similarly, Nikoline told how she enjoyed her present lifestyle, but also mentioned the shame she associated with living what she saw as a privileged life:

Sometimes I feel bad about complaining about being busy or stressed about something, because I have no one I have to support. I have myself, a full salary that’s big enough to support a family. [. . .] It really feels like . . . what older people write about, ‘what today’s youth have come to’. I am that person, and I like it, and have the attitude that ‘Okay, too bad you didn’t do that!’ (laughs). [It’s an] extended teenage period, only with money.

Nikoline refers to media representations of ‘today’s youth’ as irresponsible when depicting how she enjoys her current situation and lifestyle with a substantial income that could ‘support a family’. While she is critical of such media stories, it is still clear that being a ‘progressive career woman’ with a good salary does not quite suffice as a mature feminine identity. Instead, Nikoline feels like she is living a luxurious ‘extended teenage period’, which is not seen as appropriate or legitimate. This demonstrates how refusing family life comes with not only a risk of being seen as narcissistic (Edelman, 2004) but also is perceived as refusing ‘the good life’ more generally (Ahmed, 2010).