I am honestly so much more content sitting in my room alone at night smiling and crying to myself as I watch my favorite tv shows, than being out in the uncomfortable situation that involves me pretending to be having the good time of my life with boring people, who don’t know a thing about me, who don’t care about me, who do pointless things.
I have kept her story to retell. It is one of the small legion I carry, each one extraordinary in its own right. Each one an attempt—an immense leap of an attempt—to prove to me that you, and your human existence, are worth it.
Here it is. One of a handful.
The Book Thief.
If you feel like it, come with me. I will tell you a story.
I’ll show you something.
Markus Zusak, The Book Thief (via excessivebookshelf)
So to say women are their own “worst critics” when it comes to beauty puts the blame on women for a beauty-obsessed, body-shaming and misogynistic world created and maintained largely by dudes.
Miss Representation blog takes on the bs surrounding that Dove commercial and the implication that women are somehow the worst part of beauty culture.
This operates in the same way as woman-on-woman conflict or “cattiness”, for that matter. How often do you see dudes, called on their misogyny, try to deflect criticism with “well, women are shitty to each other, too”? Placing the blame on women for that competitiveness and such. Except, when you’re raised in a society that tells you from day 1 that women are icky and women suck and you quickly learn that the only way to make headway against that is to side with dudes against other women, and then the vast bulk of narratives around relationships between women depict at least *some* level of competition…what the hell else do you expect? We’re working within the rules y’all set, and then we’re to blame for following those rules?
Just like if women *aren’t* “our own worst critics” about beauty and appearance, we’re slobs, unloveable, unfuckable, useless, probably dykes, etc. Self-critical about your appearance? Vain and/or low self-esteem. Refuse to participate in culturally-mandated self-criticism around your appearance? You either don’t care enough to take care of yourself, or you’re just a stuck-up bitch, depending on how the situation plays out.
Damned if you do, damned if you don’t.
Must be a day that ends in -y.
We were discussing homosexuality because of an allusion to it in the book we were reading, and several boys made comments such as, “That’s disgusting.” We got into the debate and eventually a boy admitted that he was terrified/disgusted when he was once sharing a taxi and the other male passenger made a pass at him. The lightbulb went off. “Oh,” I said. “I get it. See, you are afraid, because for the first time in your life you have found yourself a victim of unwanted sexual advances by someone who has the physical ability to use force against you.” The boy nodded and shuddered visibly.“But,” I continued. “As a woman, you learn to live with that from the time you are fourteen, and it never stops. We live with that fear every day of our lives. Every man walking through the parking garage the same time you are is either just a harmless stranger or a potential rapist. Every time.” The girls in the room nodded, agreeing. The boys seemed genuinely shocked. “So think about that the next time you hit on a girl. Maybe, like you in the taxi, she doesn’t actually want you to.
I don’t want to be a feminist anymore. Like a five-year-old, I want to close my eyes, stick my fingers in my ears, stomp my feet on the floor and scream “No! No, you cannot make me, I won’t, leave me alone!” I am, simply put, too tired. So very, very tired.
I am tired of fighting with my friends. I am tired of arguing that someone groping and slapping my butt isn’t “what I have to expect”, just because I’m at a bar, and the one attacking my butt has a drink in the other hand. I am tired of hearing “boys will be boys” and “when you’re dressed like that …” and “that’s just what guys do”. I am tired of trying to drown those sentiments in loud, repetitive no’s, screamed over and over again, till my throat is sore and my voice weak – just to hear them repeated, as soon as exhaustion threatens to silence me.
I am tired of being afraid. I am tired of seeing someone writing something offensive, sexist, racist, ageist, ableist, somewhere online. I am tired of seeing those writings getting likes and lol’s, and SO TRUE’s. I am tired of being consumed by confusion and anger, typing, typing, typing and typing a seemingly endless response, including research, links and statistics, and then hesitate clicking “submit”. I am tired of knowing that I hesitate because I am afraid of the flood of responses that will come. I am tired of knowing that I will be bombarded with lighten up’s, stop whining’s and get a sense of humor’s for so long, that I will start to wonder if I am indeed wound up too tight, a nagger and humorless. I am tired of the fact that I’m afraid of being called a cunt, even though I don’t find genitalia insulting or demeaning.
“Amelie has no boyfriend. She’s tried once or twice, but the results were a let down. Instead, she cultivates a taste for small pleasures: dipping her hand into sacks of grain, cracking creme brulee with a teaspoon, and skipping stones at St. Martin’s canal.”
—Jean-Pierre Jeunet, Le Fabuleux destin d’Amélie Poulain
She waited for the train to pass. Then she said, “I sometimes think that people’s hearts are like deep wells. Nobody knows what’s at the bottom. All you can do is imagine by what comes floating to the surface every once in a while.
Haruki Murakami (via langleav)
Now all you can do is wait. It must be hard for you, but there is a right time for everything. Like the ebb and flow of tides. No one can do anything to change them. When it is time to wait, you must wait.
Haruki Murakami/ The Wind Up Bird Chronicle (via thatkindofwoman)