the thing about being someone who’s never catcalled is that you start to wonder why like is it because im ugly???
and then you realize that youre judging your worth by whether or not you are objectifiable to a man and thats so fucked up like honestly its so fucked up
"John Lennon Syndrome"
A white guy who preaches peace/love/good gender politics but is an abusive asshole to the people he is close to and does not uphold those values in his personal life.
So apparently iCloud was hacked and pretty much every female celebrity’s nudes were leaked. I’d like to remind my followers not to post them, because they’re supposed to be private, and just because some asshole leaked them doesn’t mean you should make it worse by spreading them around.
Apparently it’s not socially acceptable for a man to invite another man out just for coffee or to go out for a meal, in case it’s perceived as a date. Like it’s fine if you wanna go to the pub and drink beer and have a chat but make it non-alcoholic and suddenly you’re not…
I love lipstick. I want to write an essay about the politics of lipstick. I like lipstick that’s deep, deep red. I like lipstick that’s purple, lipstick that’s black and dark for when I want to dress up my melancholy. I like sharing lipstick with sisters. and I laugh at boys that think I wear lipstick for them to notice, I laugh, lipstick is an art you can’t ever understand. from picking out a color, testing it on the inside of my wrist, pursing my lips during the application of it. I like when I kiss a baby and leave lipstick on their cheek, when you hug someone and leave lipstick on their shirt, when it gets on your teeth and you use your tongue to get it off, when you sleep in lipstick and wake up with it on your pillow case. in 1997 mama left for Ethiopia to see her mama for the first time in 12 years. I was six and I cried the entire way home from the airport. and when we came home there on the kitchen table was the teacup mama had been drinking out of. at the bottom a sip of tea and black cardamom seeds. and there on the rim of the cup the lipstick imprint of my mama’s kiss.
If you are silent about your pain, they’ll kill you and say you enjoyed it.