dreams are really weird because you don’t question the reality of them at all. like you could be being chased by a giant banana mafia and the only thing on your mind is ‘fuck, we gotta get to a blender pronto’
I suspect it’s difficult for men to imagine a world in which their bodies have long been inextricably linked to their value as an individual, and that no matter how encouraging your parents were or how many positive female role models you had or how self-confident you feel, there is an ever-present pressure that creeps in from all sides, whispering in your ear that you are your body and your body defines you. A world where, from the time of pubescence on, you can feel the constant and palpable weight of the male gaze, and not just from your male peers but from teachers and sports coaches and the fathers of the children you baby-sit, people you’re supposed to respect and trust and look up to, and that first realization that you are being looked at in that way is the beginning of a self-consciousness that you will be unable to shake for the rest of your life.Even if they are never verbalized, the rules of bodily conduct for females become clear early on: when school administrators reprimand you for the inch of midriff that shows when you lift your hands straight in the air or youth group leaders tell you that the sight of your unintentional cleavage is what causes godly young men to fall, you learn that your body is dangerous and shameful and that it’s your responsibility to cloister it in a way that is acceptable to everyone else. You learn that your body is a topic of public debate that everyone is entitled to weigh in on, from a male classmate telling you that those jeans make your ass look huge to the male-dominated United States Congress dictating the parameters that rape must fall within to be considered legitimate. To be a woman, and to live life in a woman’s body, is to be held to a set of comically paradoxical standards that make you constantly second-guess yourself and jump through a million hoops in pursuit of an impossible perfection.
Stop Catcalling Me (via albinwonderland)
This is a fantastically clear and salient account of extremely confusing experiences which I have never been able to accurately verbalise. Amazing.
How do we help our daughters! I hate thinking she will feel this one day.
why cant our skin be transparent
cuz thats fuckin gross
but imagine how cool it would be to see your heart do the thing
yes the thing do u have a fuckin problem with the thing
talking to someone
talking to someone and they mention a thing you like that you didn’t know they liked or knew about