LUV: There are times in a woman’s life when all she wants to do is sit on the floor and eat butter. But we can’t do that because we’re all too busy wearing flippy dresses and doing challenging jobs while nurturing twenty-first century families and maintaining complex and meaningful social lives and knowing “a great little vintage place I love” and being sexual beings and ironic and having valid opinions and groundbreaking sociopolitical insights and saying “squee”.
Which is why cupcakes are great. When made correctly, cupcakes are one-third actual cake to two-thirds buttercream icing, which means that, per cupcake, you’re getting half a cup of butter for your buck. Cupcakes can be made in virtually any flavour (including velvet), decorated in thousands of different ways, and eaten with one hand while the other holds a cocktail or a clipboard or a baby or Namibian farmer or a gun, and did I mention half a cup of butter?
Oh and they’re easy to make, too. Women are always making each other cupcakes – to show affection, to reward, for experimentation’s sake and also because all women know that “I’m making cupcakes tonight” is socially-acceptable shorthand for “Don’t come into the kitchen, I’m sitting on the floor eating butter.”
– Robyn Wilder
HAT – Sex And The City’s got a lot to answer for, hasn’t it? As well as tricking millions of plain-looking middle-aged recruitment consultants into thinking that a) being single is a lifestyle choice and not just the desperate last dice-throw of the world’s most ugly and awful percentile, that b) drinking cocktails and saying ‘fabulous’ a lot makes them look like stylish cosmopolitans and not a bunch of hairy fucking transsexuals and that c) by sitting at a table and saying the word ‘labia’ to their friends over and over again they’re basically exactly the same as a suffragette, it’s also to blame for cupcakes.
Before the cupcake, you’ll remember, was the muffin. Muffins were brilliant. They were massive and, pound for pound, they were cheap. They also came exclusively in various shades of brown, which meant that boys could happily eat them. Not like cupcakes. Cupcakes are tiny and, because they’ve all got great big sparkly lilac dog turds curled across the top of them, men cannot be seen near one without feeling profoundly emasculated. They’re also insultingly expensive. They cost about £12 each. There are human organs that you can buy on the black market for less than the price of a cupcake.
So fuck you, cupcakes, and fuck everyone who eats them. They’re just jumped-up fairy cakes, you know. If you really want to relive your childhood that much, why don’t you just wear a bib and shit yourself in public, you infant.
That said, cupcakes do have one thing going for them: they’re not macaroons. Macaroons make me want to shit blood.
– Stuart Heritage