I’m not gonna let y’all sleep on this
If you are female, expressing hatred for your own body is not just acceptable, it’s practically de rigeur. Failure to indulge in the requisite amount of self-flagellation – my thighs! my skin! my face! – isn’t just negligent, it’s unfeminine. Self-hatred is fundamental to how femininity is constructed, more fundamental than any of the more obvious external symbols (dress, make-up, shoes). What matters is not that you are beautiful, but you know your place in the beauty hierarchy (and since every woman ages, every woman’s place will eventually be somewhere at the bottom).
Young women are encouraged to bond over their dislike of excess body hair, surplus flesh and “uneven” skin. They are meant to do so in a jovial way, egged on by perky adverts informing them what “real women” do: worry about having underarms beautiful enough for a sleeveless top, celebrate curves with apologetic booty shakes and cackle ruefully over miserable Sex-and-the-City-style lunches of Ryvita and Dulcolax. It’s a gendered ritual; men get football and booze, women get control pants and detoxes. We are supposed, of course, to be grateful. Hey, you don’t have to be perfect! Just know you’re not perfect and act accordingly, with the appropriate levels of guilt and shame!
Fairy tale after fairy tale tells us that what matters is being beautiful “on the inside” but what does that really mean? It means submission, obedience and the suppression of one’s own desires. Don’t be haughty and proud. Clean the hearth. Kiss the frog. Love the beast. Suck it up when you’re replaced by a younger model. Sure, you may look fine, but you mustn’t feel fine. You mustn’t be vain. You mustn’t be angry. All fury and pain must be turned back on itself. That way you’ll be a real princess: silent, fragile and never threatening to challenge the status quo."
Glosswatch, Almost Famous, real women, and the normalisation of self-hate. (via nextyearsgirl)
In Septemeber 2014, Missouri lawmakers decided women must wait 72 hours to “reflect on their decision” before they can get an abortion. ‘Cause, ya know, an abortion is one of those spur-of-the-moment decisions like ordering pay-per-view or having another glass of wine. And what about cases of rape, incest, or medical complications? Well, they have to wait 72 hours too.
On its own, this is pretty upsetting. But when you consider how easy it is to get one of those shiny metal things used to take people’s lives? That’s when the blinding rage sets in.
if anybody asks me why i hate men, i’m just gonna redirect them to this post.
it’s pretty fucking obvious that men only want to invest in breast cancer research to further degrade, objectify, and jerk off to body parts they already feel 100% entitled to. that’s what is at stake for them.
what about the women whose “tatas” weren’t saved? how must they feel being surrounded by awareness ads that focus more on keeping women’s sexy-sexy-titties-to-continue-titillating-the-males than saving real life human beings and helping survivors?
If anyone’s wondering, those posts came from here. It’s a forum for breast cancer support. Give it a read, and you’ll see how many women are outright abandoned by their husbands, sometimes after being married for decades, because their “tatas” couldn’t be saved.
This is Sam Pepper. If you don’t know who he is, Sam is a successful YouTube prankster with over 2 million subscribers. He recently uploaded a video titled “Fake Hand Ass Pink Prank" where he pinched unsuspecting girls’ butts without their permission. None of this was done with the girls’ consent…meaning Sam Pepper sexually harassed and assaulted these women.
This is no longer a “simple, harmless prank” but rather a very serious matter and offence. If you haven’t seen the video yet, you can watch, dislike, and report it HERE. You can also take the pledge to help stop sexual violence at itsonus.org. Please do not let Sam get away with this kind of behavior. He crossed the line and needs to be held responsible for his disgusting actions.
I would literally punch him and I wouldn’t stop