Pop Culture Rewind: The Divine Feminine

Editorial Assistant, Martha Florence brushes away the cobwebs of misogynism from Friday the 13^th 

This February, we were very lucky to have a Friday that fell on the thirteenth. Yes, I said lucky. There are many acts of micro-feminism I thoroughly enjoy flaunting as obnoxiously as feasibly possible, but my absolute favourite is revelling in anything that includes the number thirteen. 

Misogyny has messed up a lot for us. Wowie, shock-horror. I’d like to use this Veiled women’s issue to clear up a few misconceptions plaguing the day that gets an unreasonable amount of hate, all because a few little boys had some hissy fits. You know the type. 

Traditionally, way back when in a nicer time, Friday the thirteenth was a day for women, a day to honour goddesses and the feminine. 

Let’s backtrack a little. Friday has historically been associated with a few different goddesses. The Norse goddess Freyja—or Frigg, after which the day is named—is the goddess of beauty, love and fertility, sex, war and death. Her cloak of black falcon’s feathers shimmers with sensuality and offers a powerful gift of fertility. But she loves to dwell in the thick of a regency courtship, she can also be found stalking through battlefields, hands all bloody, stealing half the newly-slain souls as her own. Personally, I think the new romances featuring MFCs of Abject Femininity need to go back to their roots, or at least peruse a mythology book. Femininity used to signify ferocity, not fragility—something else curdled by the dawn of androcentrism. Equipped oh-so helpfully with a liberal dash of pick-me-choose-me desperation and a trusty push-up bra, these girls really aren’t showing us in our best light, huh. It’s dirt, darling, it doesn’t bite.  

Returning to the topic at hand: another Friday deity is Venus, ruled by both the planet and the Roman goddess of love, desire, sex and victory. I love how all these goddesses are a fabulously dichotomous blend of savage and gentle. WAR on Tuesdays; Wednesdays are reserved for blind dating, roses galore. Unlike Frigg, Venus’ origins are a little blurrier, though she is thought to have risen Aphrodite-like from the ocean, and became mother of Rome. 

Now onto the number thirteen—a sacred and potent symbol of feminine power. It is associated with lunar cycles and fertility; many ancient, nature-abiding cultural traditions used a 13-month calendar with 28-day cycles closely following the moon. Then men discovered the mighty circadian rhythm and decreed it would forever and always rule over their (their!!!!!!!!) mojo-dojo-earth-globe. I swear I’m not bitter. 

But with the rise of patriarchal religions and pettiness, slowly the number was tainted, and turned taboo. The Last Supper had thirteen attendants; Judas, the last and thirteenth member, turned out to be a bit of a wanker. This ill-omen began in Old Norse mythology which believed thirteen around a table would lead to the death of one member. Supposedly, there were thirteen steps to the gallows, and a hangman’s noose of thirteen knots. But it was during the witch hunts when both the number and Friday became completely solidified into bad luck. Fearful of feminine power, or simply unable to deal with the fact a single day wasn’t about them, under patriarchal oppression the day was twisted into a sinister threat.  

As it happens, however, the only truly threatening thing about thirteen is its association with feminine power. 

In tarot readings, the thirteenth card is Death; the good kind, out with the old and in with the new sort of thing. It symbolises new beginnings, fresh starts. If you’re a Swiftie, the thirteenth is a pretty fab date. And traditionally, when the thirteenth fell on a Friday, it was a special day for women. 

It was considered a sacred day on which to honour and celebrate the feminine, filled with festivals, joy and light. 

And so, whenever we have a Friday thirteenth, take it as a double blessing. A wink and a nudge from the world; an extra bit of luck. 

by Martha Florence