shinkirou-hana:
volpesvolpi:
vickiexz:
penjolina:
piddlebucket:
randomstabbing:
hilariousslut:
aliveforalittlewhile:
warcrimenancydrew:
historywhore:
warcrimenancydrew:
do you guys remember that one post about how men feel entitled to take up so much space and women have to deal with a lot less?
This is actually a documented thing. You always see men on the subway or tube or whatever using both armrests while women sit with their arms hunched together into their laps. That’s why I always make a point to take up at least one if not both armrests of the tube so men can be uncomfortable for once.
^ again, for all the people telling me posting this picture is complaining too much.
In my college classes (and high school too) guys were always stretching, sticking fists and elbows in my face, leaning their heads back over my desk, over my work, spreading their legs out, kicking my bag with their dirty shoes. And let’s not pretend they were in other guys’ space as much as they were in women’s.
It’s so true, this happens to me every day on the train. Same with the walking thing, women will weave out of the way whereas men just walk straight and plow down anything in their path. I always end up playing chicken with men on the sidewalk now, because I refuse to move out of their way.
I love playing chicken with dudes who hog the sidewalk. BODY CHECK! Fucking assholes.
“NOT ALL MEN ARE LIKE THIS!” FUCK OFF.
“AS A MAN, I THINK THAT…” FUCK OFF.
Men always have the same defensive bullshit to spout every time they get called out on their shit. AND IT IS BORING. They remind me of those toys where you pull a string an they have like 5 phrases they can say. Over and over and over.
same here with playing chicken, its hilarious sometimes because they get this flash of realization in their eyes that says ‘holy shit, she’s NOT going to move/??? what do????’ because THEY ARE SO USED TO EVERYONE MOVING FOR THEM
when i was younger my grandpa drew this on a piece of paper,
and he asked me how i, as the red circle, would get around the two people (black circles) if i was walking down the street.
so of course i came back with
moving out of the way for them as i walked.
he asked me if i thought men would do the same and, at the time, i did because i thought it was just common courtesy. but he told me that men would barrel straight through without giving a shit and that i should do the exact same. because i was the one walking and they were the ones in the way. so that’s exactly what i do.
i find this really fascinating because this actually what defines so-called masculine and feminine traits and gestures. the whole limp-wrist thing? that’s someone decreasing the amount of space they take up by not extending their arm fully. same with crossing one’s legs, how it’s considered more masculine to swing your shoulders when you walk creating a wider gait instead of your hips, how someone who holds their elbows tightly into their torso instead of letting them fall more loosely at their sides is considered feminine.
taking up space is not just a frequent habit of males in our culture, its actually how society thinks masculinity is supposed to be expressed.
This is my answer when people say eating disorders are personal problems and have nothing to do with sexism. Women literally socialized to take up as little space as possible all day every day.
There used to be a guy who sat in front of my in class in… Junior High? Anyway, he would always lean back over my desk and stretch and nearly punch me in the face… so I took to holding a sharp pencil up behind his head every time he leaned back.
Got rid of that habit real quick.
(ʘ‿ʘ✿)
(via sgtbarnes)
jmrichards:
mallamun:
gatisss:
jesusfuck
I don’t know where this is from, but…
Between this and that Toyota commercial-
Man, I hope genderfuckery of this highly attractive magnitude just INVADES popular media until privileged heteronormative cismen who unthinkingly dominate the world around them through objectification of women and shaming of homosexuality are forced to think.
Forced to think because when they see an attractive ass in panties, they can no longer instinctively flap their dicks at it and say, “I’d own that” without having to think about gender or sexuality. Torn between their habit of reflexively objectifying women and gay-shaming themselves and others, they would have no choice but to open their eyes a little wider and actually think about the people they share the world with instead of living in a neverending reel of imagery that reinforces a narrow reality where they are king.
Definitely reblogging for that commentary.
The world lies ahead…don’t be afraid to experience it.
(via thesacredcircle)
Here’s a situation every woman is familiar with: some guy she knows, perhaps a casual acquaintance, perhaps just some dude at the bus stop, is obviously infatuated with her. He’s making conversation, he’s giving her the eye. She doesn’t like him. She doesn’t want to talk to him. She doesn’t want him near her. He is freaking her out. She could disobey the rules, and tell him to GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM HER, and continue screaming GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME every time he tries to step closer, or speak to her again. And then he will be all, “I was just talking to you! WTF!” and everybody else will be all, “Yeah, seriously, why’d you freak out at a guy just talking to you?” and refuse to offer the support she needs to be safe from dude. Or, the guy might become hostile, violent even. Ladies, you’ve seen that look, the “bitch can’t ignore me” look. It’s a source of constant confusion, as soon as you start budding breasts, that the man who just a moment ago told you how pretty you are is now calling you a stupid ugly whore, all because you didn’t get in his car.
OR
You could follow the rules. You could flirt back a little, look meek, not talk, not move away. You might have to put up with a lot more talking, you might have to put up with him trying to ask you out to lunch every day, you might even have to go out to lunch with him. You might have to deal with him copping a feel. But he won’t turn violent on you, and neither will the spectators who have watched him browbeat you into a frightened and flirtatious corner.
So we learn the rules will protect us. We learn that, when we step out of line, somebody around us might very well turn crazy. Might hurt us. And we won’t be defended by onlookers, who think we’ve provoked the crazy somehow. So, having your ass grabbed at the bus stop, having to go out to dinner with a guy you fucking can’t stand, maybe even having to fuck him once or twice, it’s a small sacrifice to avoid being ostracized, insulted, verbally abused, and possibly physically assaulted.
It’s a rude fucking awakening when a woman gets raped, and follows the rules she has been taught her whole life — doesn’t refuse to talk, doesn’t refuse to flirt, doesn’t walk away ignoring him, doesn’t hit, doesn’t scream, doesn’t fight, doesn’t raise her voice, doesn’t deny she liked kissing — and finds out after that she is now to blame for the rape. She followed the rules. The rules that were supposed to keep the rape from happening. The rules that would keep her from being fair game for verbal and physical abuse. Breaking the rules is supposed to result in punishment, not following them. For every time she lowered her voice, let go of a boundary, didn’t move away, let her needs be conveniently misinterpreted, and was given positive reinforcement and a place in society, she is now being told that all that was wrong, this one time, and she should have known that, duh.
For anybody who has ever watched the gendered social interactions of women — watched a woman get browbeaten into accepting attention she doesn’t want, watched a woman get interrupted while speaking, watched a woman deny she is upset at being insulted in public, watched a woman get grabbed because of what she was wearing, watched a woman stop arguing — and said and done nothing, you never have the right to ever ask, “Why didn’t she fight back?”
She didn’t fight back because you told her not to. Ever. Ever. You told her that was okay, and necessary, and right.
You didn’t give her a caveat. You didn’t say, “Unless…” You said, “Good for you, shutting up and backing down 99% of the time. Too bad that 1% of the time makes you a fucking whore who deserved it.”
Nobody obtains the superpower to behave dramatically differently during a frightening confrontation. Women will behave the same way they have been taught to behave in all social, professional, and sexual interactions. And they will be pretty goddamned surprised to come out the other end and find out that means they can legally be raped at any time, by just about anybody.
strugglingtobeheard:
severelycalm:
thegenderpurple:
I am a gay woman of colour. I have studied Gender and Sexuality for four years, am getting my Masters in the same, have acted for many years in drag, and want to eventually write a book about Drag and Gendered Performance.
And here is what unnerves me a little about the androgyny on Tumblr. I feel alienated by it. For the simple reason that my body/mind/sexuality is left out. Androgyny is an aesthetic. But it is also gender performance, an intellectual perspective and a sexual identity. I am androgynous. Not by aesthetic always. My clothing may reflect it sometimes. I spend a lot of time in drag, and my gender identity encompasses every breast-bind, every change of shadow on my face. But it is not my only body. And I have many bodies, and many mental states, and many bedroom moves – and they are androgynous.
Don’t get me wrong. Aesthetically androgynous women are GORGEOUS. Aesthetic androgyny is GLORIOUS. I am uber attracted to androgynous ladies. Have dated quite a few. But it is not the only androgyny. And sometimes, I want people to remember me. To recognize that you don’t need to know me to consider the possibility of a particular identity. To remember that this identity lies in my stride, in my gender performance, in my mind. To know that I can bend my gender to match you, to contrast to yours, and to fit my will. And all of it is authentic, is genuine, is mine.
I use my makeup to gloss my mouth and shade my eyes sometimes, and to texture my facial hair and draw on a mustache sometimes. The same tools on the same body. The same mind in the same body. A combination of masculine and feminine in the same body.
See me. I can be anything from femme to super butch to quite a motherfucking sexy drag king. I’m not going to wax Foucauldian about gender identities, because I want to break it down to this – androgyny is more than its popular representation. It is something that is visceral, and I do not want it underrepresented. And I am nervous because I don’t want to encroach on the aesthetically androgynous groups, but I want to make myself heard. ANDROGYNY IS OF THE MIND. Beyond all else.
Sometimes it looks like me. Like this.
This is important; also I’m posting this because god damn, this person is fine.
Thank you. I’ve always felt I am androgynous but I would take too much to achieve that mainstream white androg look. But what about me and my internal? Respect that as what it is too. Too much emphasis on appearance when discussing gender
(via akoaykayumanggi)
