36 posts tagged “love”
I've been reading a lot about other people's New Years Resolutions, and, for the most part, I just find making resolutions kind of stupid. (No offense.)
It's like looking a kid in the eye and saying, "Yes, of course the Tooth Fairy is real. Promise."
You are NOT going down to the gym nights a week! (Trust me. I tried. And failed.)
Be realistic.
Plus, what's with all the deprivation? No cheese? No more champagne in your orange juice?
That sucks! January and February probably always seem so dull because everyone is trying to stick to their resolutions of depriving themselves of everything good in the world. Or, they've already fucked up their resolutions and they're making themselves feel guilty and stupid for not being able to finish anything. Ever.
So, I'm not going to make a list of things I won't do...but more so what I want to do MORE of. And I won't call them resolutions...it's more like, a hope list.
So here it is. my "more hope" list for 2009...
1. I'd like to eat more vegetables and fruit, and to drink more water.
2. I'd like to be more positive about myself and what I do.
3. I would like to feel more compelled to wake up early every morning, instead of laying there, hitting snooze and dreaming away the morning.
4. I would like to work more efficiently. I'll never give up Twitter, but surely there's a way for me to do more with my time when I'm working.
5. I would like to become more limber and more toned.
6. I want to listen more. I mean really listen.
7. I want to speak and write more honestly.
8. I want to care more about what the right people think and say.
9. I would like for my husband to have more peace of mind, and more free time to himself to just do whatever he wants.
10. More love. You can never have enough of that.
This is such a beautiful, beautiful post on marriage, friendship and partnership.
Today was our day in Japan, and I have to say, today has been one of the best days of my life. We didn't try to jam in a whole bunch of touristy things into our schedule, we simply walked through the Shinjuku district of Tokyo, with the simple goal of sitting under the cherry blossoms in Shinjuku Gyoen National Park.
Hanami means "flower viewing" in Japanese, and tons, and tons of families, friends and couples gather in parks, like Shinjuku Gyoen, to picnic, drink, and admire the cherry blossoms.
Now, I had of course heard that this time of year was the best to go to Japan because of the cherry blossoms. I've seen pictures of them. I've seen them in movies. I've read about how the blossoms look like snow when they get caught in the breeze and flutter to the ground.
However, nothing can compare to actually seeing it in person. I was so moved and so taken aback when I stepped foot in Shinjuku Gyoen, that I have to admit I teared up every now and again.
I am forever thankful to whatever ever good karma I sent out in the world to that allowed me to be in Japan this morning. The feeling I had while standing under the cherry blossoms, having those tiny pink and white petals falling gently fall down to the earth around me - catching in my hair, and softly brushing past my skin - I will never forget it.
So if you happen to be reading The Telegraph today, and you happen to mosey on over to the Digital Life section, you will more than likely see this:
The lovely Camilla Chafer was kind enough to interview Iain and I about how we met, and then another lovely lady from the Telegraph met us on our lunch hour and took our photo. She took us to about three different locations, but we had to take a photo with a laptop. That's actually Iain's personal laptop in the photo, which is really cool considering that's the laptop he used way back when we first started emailing, etc.
The other locations they took us to were a lot cooler and cozier than than the Cafe Nero above the Paperchase on Oxford Street, but we're still pleased with it. Plus, considering this is the Digital Life section, we knew they would end up using the LOOK AT US BEING ALL COUPLEY AND NATURAL SHARING THIS LAPTOP AND BROWSING THE WORLD WIDE WEB. Unfortunately they didn't use the one of us reenacting meeting for the first time, or the one wear I flashed the camera and Iain threw Mardi Gras beads at me from a balcony.
However, saying all that, we are very happy with the photo. (Let's be real, look at me at the photo above and now look at me here. Yeah. A bit of a difference, non??) Camilla did such a wonderful job and quoted us exactly, and this one bit of publicity that I can actually show my grandma! I didn't curse or say vagina once!
Today is a rather special day, as it is me and Iain's first wedding anniversary.
Last year, at 11:00 on the 11th of January 2007, we got hitched and I can proudly say that we can still mildly tolerate each other to this day.
I really can't believe it's been a year. Not because I feel like, "THANK GOD WE MADE IT!" but because this whole marriage thing really doesn't seem to be that hard. You always hear on TV shows and movies that "The first year of marriage is the hardest." and that "Marriage is such hard work!" and I have to disagree.
Relationships, and not necessarily marriage, are hard, simply because compromise is hard. Living with someone else is hard, because you have two egos, two sets of hopes, and two sets of opinions under one roof. Two tempers, two sets of insecurities and hangups and one person who's body freaks out once a month and goes all hormonal and crampy and SHEDEVILISH.
Marriage is simply a incredibly committed relationship where both people are truly, honestly, and 100% in it for the long haul. Where the mentality isn't, "Well, if we break up," or "Well, if we get divorced..." Or at least our marriage is.
I've found that the fiercer you love someone, the more tragic (though less frequent) your arguments seem. Iain and I don't really fight, but when we do, it's not fun.
I can't speak for Iain, but I know that I've had to learn a lot this year. I've learned that when I'm depressed, or angry, or stressed, I no longer have the luxury of just shutting everyone and everything out, climbing under the covers and crying my way through the days. It's not fair, and you cannot shut your partner out.
Of course there are moments where we both know that I need to fall apart for a minute, so I hide under the covers and cry my eyes out - but I always blow my nose, pull back the covers and then look Iain straight in the face and try my best to tell him how I feel. How I really feel.
I'm not perfect at this, but I'm trying.
I've learned that I have to come out of myself, and pull myself out of whatever mood I'm in to be there for my partner. I don't know about you, but it's very easy for me to just ball up with whatever I'm feeling and just stay there. It's very easy for me to just stay in my own little box and only come out when I want to.
But your partner needs you. There are times that even though I'm feeling miserable, I need to be able to pull out of my shell, pull my WOE IS ME cotton out of my ears and LISTEN to what Iain needs and BE THERE FOR HIM.
In marriage, you cannot be selfish. You cannot be self obsessed and needy. It's a give and take situation, just like any relationship. And if you love hard enough, and you love honestly, every stupid argument, every Kraft Singles plastic wrapper that gets left out on the counter and every used tea cup hiding under the bed is so, so worth it.
Happy Anniversary, Iain.
I love you.
...and if you tell anyone I'll cut you.
Iain and I have been shitting ourselves with excitement as we're flying back to California on Christmas Eve to surprise my mom and sister! I KNOW, RIGHT?! They have absolutely no idea, and my Step Dad is the only person that knows.
We only bought the tickets a couple weeks ago, and about 3 minutes before we did I called up my Step Dad and was like, "Oh hai. Is it okay if we come stay with you for a week and surprise my mom?" He was sort of okay with it.
He's been lying left and right like a pro, and he even managed to "send" the box of gifts my mom was sending us and stashed it in the back of his truck.
I feel like a total asshole at the moment because I told my mom that I "ordered some stuff off some internet shop and they said it should be there by Christmas Eve, but I dunno". She also asked me if I sent her any Christmas crackers like I did last year, and I had to lie and say that I totally forgot. (Even though I have like 25 of them in my suitcase.)
My ego is so large I almost want to tell her that we actually are planning The Best Surprise Ever and NO I'm not just a loser daughter who moved 5,000ish miles away and would forget to SEND CHRISTMAS CRACKERS. But alas, that is what she must think until Monday.
We fly to SF, and then to Sacramento which makes me incredibly excited that I will not have to drive the 2+ hours in horendous traffic...but I was terribly less excited about this when I Googled the Death Plane we'll be flying in from SF to Sac...
Yes. Those would be PROPELLERS. It's an EMB 120, it seats 30 people, and has *yet* to be involved in a fatal accident. I sat in horror researching and Googling this plane furiously, and all I could find is that sometimes it has a problem with "freezing", but the "chances of freezing" map I looked at said the Central Valley isn't a "high risk freezing" area. So. Hopefully we won't die. But believe you me, it will be the most terrifying 45 minutes of my life.
Anyway. We're getting a rental car at the Sacramento airport, and we'll high tail it to where my parents live, and surprise my mom and sister at about 6:00 at night on Christmas Eve. My goal is to make them cry for a good hour, so I have a feeling this will work.
I'm so excited I pee a little every time I think about it. In fact, writing this, I completely peed my pants.
We'll be taking loads of photos and videos, but most of the photos will be of my chihuahua licking my face....just so we're clear.
Happy Holidays, y'all! I'll check in with you soon!!!
xx
This past Thursday Iain and I finally did some Christmas shopping. On Oxford Street. I'm not exactly sure WHAT THE FUCK I was thinking going Christmas shopping at 5:00 in the evening on OXFORD STREET but there I was. Surrounded by people. PEOPLE WHO WERE DOING THEIR CHRISTMAS SHOPPING.
It was bad times.However, I managed to stay pretty calm. I even managed not to call anyone a cunt.
The upside to walking up and down Oxford Street amongst all the other Christmas shoppers were:
a) the pretty lights
b) I could purposefully hit people with my shopping bags and they thought it was simply because it was crowded.
c) the Russian "model recruiters"
There were these two Russian guys trying to recruit "models". One guy stopped me on the way in by saying,
"OH! Excuse me! You seemed to have dropped..."
And I looked around worriedly, thinking I dropped a penny or something and then the guy goes.
"You seem to have dropped YOUR GORGEOUS SMILE! HI! I'm Mika! What your name?"
"Come here and talk! YOU'RE GONNA LOVE THIS."
Again, I laughed in his face and kept walking.
Iain and I met up and did a bit of walking and I decided that I had yet to make love to a glass of mulled wine yet this season, so we headed to Covent Garden (not CONVENT GARDEN) in search of some romantical atmosphere and some hot alcoholic beverages.
Let me just say, if you're in London and want something Christmasy to do in the evening, GO to Covent Garden after the sun goes down. They're currently putting on their Christmas Deluxe market, where you can get all the sausages, cider, ale, misteltoe and fancy schmancy cheeses your little heart desires. AND they have space heaters! AND THEY HAVE MULLED WINE...TO GO! (Plus, they have the London Gay Men's Choir!)
Covent Garden is a special place for Iain and I. On my very first night in London when Iain and I met, our first meal together was at the Pizza Hut in Covent Garden (stuffed crust, Hawaiian with 2 bottles of Becks...just in case you were wondering) and we've since spent a lot of time there.
However, one of the main reasons we love Covent Garden is on our first night there, after three months of pining for one another, we were sort of drunk on the idea that we were really together. Finally. In person. And we could, like, touch and stuff. (Heavy emphasis on the stuff.)
We stood there on January 11th, 2006, holding hands and drooling at each other, when a busker near the Piazza started to play U2's With or Without You.
Basically, it was one of the most romantic, disgusting moments of my life and to this day I can't even hear that song without tearing up and mouthing the words and telling anyone who's within earshot of the time we heard a busker singing THE SONG at THE PLACE.
So, sure enough, when Iain and I were sitting at one of the outside tables at Covent Garden Market, eating hot dogs, and sipping mulled wine from a cheap paper cup, we heard a busker playing a Coldplay song, so we decided to walk over and listen.
Suddenly we realized that the busker wasn't just any old busker, oh no, it was Luca - THAT GUY WHO SANG THAT SONG THAT ONE TIME.
We stood there in the freezing cold, with all our shopping bags and our cheap drinks, and secretly hoping he'd sing the song....
And he did.
"I have learned not to worry about love, but to honor its coming with all my heart."
I think I have spent my entire life worrying about love.
Wondering when it will find me, if it would find me, and if I were even worthy of it.
I spent a better part of my teens wanting boys to love me, even though they weren't capable of it. (Or were busy loving somebody else...) When I finally did find some one I thought loved me, I was sure that was it. I would never have to have my heart broken again.
However, my heart did break again. Over and over. It broke when I found out this boy didn't really love me. But it broke even further when I found out I did not love myself. The pain of not loving yourself is and will always be greater than any man breaking your heart - as chances are, you broke it long before he did.
I sat for months in two different rooms. I went from shop to shop in my car. I went to work. I watched the sunrise and sunset from the windows of that coffee shop. I watched the moonrise outside the same coffee shop, through the smoke from my cigarette, and the cigarettes from a group of people I pretended were my friends.
While I did all this, I worried about love. I worried about why it felt like my family didn't love me. I worried about why I didn't love me. I even worried that my dog didn't love me. ("WHY? WHY don't you like the sweater I bought you? It was TWENTY DOLLARS. Chihuahuas love sweaters! What is WRONG with YOU?")
Slowly but surely, I stopped worrying about everyone else so much, and I just thought about myself.
I watched Sex and the City in my pajamas. I went to the same bookstore night after night. My sister played me Jack Johnson in her car while we snuck out and went to In 'n Out burger because we didn't like the dinner our step dad made that night.
I cried listening to Fiona Apple. I screamed Since You Been Gone at the top of my lungs while flying down the freeway.
I figured out I could write.
Maybe, just maybe, I would be loved for the first time.
We spent our winter on opposite ends of the world, tucked in whatever empty, frozen corners we could find, talking until the wee hours of the morning.
We spent our spring, in love, and on opposite ends of the world. Both continuing to learn to love again, and learning how to love ourselves.
By the time we were finally under one roof, under one blanket, I knew love.
But knowing love doesn't mean I stopped worrying about it. I worried about the lost love of toxic friends, the love I never had from toxic parents, and still fought to fully love myself.
Somewhere along the way, all this worrying caused me to build up my own little shield. A shield that helped me fight the outside world. All the people who wanted a piece without wanting to give anything in return. I fought and I fought and then one day, I realized I was starting to fight the people who were on my team.
I got so concerned with protecting my heart that I forgot that I didn't need to protect it from you.
I was busy declaring to the world that if you don't love me enough you will never get in, that there were moments where I didn't let you in. I was hard, when I only needed to be soft. I was defensive, when there was no attack. I was tough when I could have been gentle.
And I worried about love when it was all around me.
There are people in my life who will never love me like I need them to. And that's okay.
I want to learn not to worry about love. I want to learn that just because one man did not love me the right way, it doesn't mean that you will stop loving me the right way.
I will stop worrying about love. I will honor it's coming. I will honor you, and all of the love that's on it's way.
So! A whole freakin' week later, I'm finally going to share with y'all about my experience at the FWSA's Feminism and Pop Culture conference.
Just so we're all clear, I'm not writing this to try and say FUCK YOU to the FWSA or to the speakers there. However, I am here to say Fuck You to anybody who tries to pigeon hole me and my beliefs and tells me what I can or cannot do as a feminist.
So, for all of you feminists and women out there who have been told you can't wear makeup and be a feminist, or have dirty sex if you're a feminist, or even shave your fucking legs. This is for you.
I didn't necessarily learn anything new about Feminism at the conference. However, I did learn a shit load of things about feminists.
Before I begin...I just need to make something clear. Since my original Gaping Vagina post, I've put a lot of thought into such things like stripping, and porn...things that are very much controversial subjects on their own, and especially in the feminist community.
I would just like to apologize to anyone who I've offended with that post. Not that I suddenly think that stripping or pornography are empowering...but I know that there are a lot of fabulous women out there who are a lot more, um, open about their sexuality than I, and sometimes their behaviour can be confused with being GV, when really, they're actually making informed decisions about their life and their sexuality, and it's not my place to judge them and say that I know better than them.
I'll go more into this in another post. Not to say I retract everything in my GV post, because I sure as fuck don't. I just know that I've opened my eyes a little bit, and am trying to be less judgemental about stuff.
So. I have heard lots of talk about how the older, "hardcore feminists" can be a *bit* judgemental of us third wavers, for many many reasons, (think lipstick, heels, and raunch culture) and I'm sad to report, the Feminist and Women's Studies Alliance conference confirmed whatever rumours I had heard.
I sat through an hour of pointless jabber about how women are objectified in advertising, because clearly, none of us had ever thought about that before. Or taken a fucking class about it.
But, I was trying to be open and patient of The Sisterhood...but then the woman speaking about about women in advertising said that she didn't think the"This is What a Feminist Looks Like" t-shirt campaign was "effective" because only "certain types" of women would wear that.
Certain types meaning Ashley Judd or those who are young and what society says is "pretty".
That statement really pissed me off, especially considering it came from a woman who looked like a stereotypical feminist. Sorry, but there are feminists who have short hair and don't wear makeup; that's not a secret and that's where the stereotype came from. And let's be honest, the reason she didn't think it was "effective" was because if a woman with clear characteristics of what a feminist is said to look like, and she wears that specific shirt, it wouldn't be effective, would it? It's like, "No shit you're what a feminist looks like."
However, because there is that stereotype, women of color, who are young, or old, or have long hair, or look anything other than a white, middle aged, short haired member of the upper-middle class and are wearing a shirt that declares in big, bold letters THIS IS WHAT A FEMINIST LOOKS LIKE is pretty damn affective.
There's a reason everyone paid attention to Ashley Judd when she wore that shirt, because to the rest of the world, she didn't look like a feminist.
Moments after that comment was made, a rather irritatingly perky professor from the back of the room stood up and said, "I find it very discouraging that my female students read magazines and go shopping after one of my women's studies classes".
In response to the woman's *concern*, a younger feminist that was speaking about outdoor advertisement in Australia at the conference, responded by saying, ""Well, that's what I do on my lunch breaks, as well..." but she seemed to go unheard.
Unheard because a woman who was as intelligent and as well spoken as she was couldn't POSSIBLY read Marie Claire on her break. Because that would make her one of those sheep-like idiot girls that are ruining everything, and completely cancel out what she said.
After learning about how degrading advertisements can be against women - I know, you're shocked right now aren't you! It's true! They are! - I'm sad to say, I was just a little pissed off.
I already felt as though I stood out like a sore thumb: American, probably the youngest one there, and I soon discovered, probably the most "uneducated" person in the whole conference:
I met a very nice German professor who, after asking me where I was from (to which I said "California" and then quickly realized she was expecting me to say, "Yale.") then asked me,
"So, what is your paper on?"
"My who?"
"Your paper."
"Oh. No. I don't have a paper..."
"So you're not speaking?"
"Oh no! I'm just hear to listen! Learn! To be a sponge!...Are you speaking?"
"Oh yes, I'm doing a bllaaahh blaaaah confusing blaaaaaah speech on theory of blaaaaaaah."
"...OH!."
It then became very obvious I was in a room of academics and scholars,
and was more than likely, the only person without a college degree
there.
Next was presentation from the keynote speaker Pamela Church Gibson, who provided us with the most awkward and blatant disapproval of younger feminists (and perhaps any feminist that wasn't an academic or a scholar). Apparently I should "have undoubtedly heard of or read her" but because I'm an uneducated, makeup wearing FOOL of a feminist, I had no idea who she was.
I quickly learned that she is an incredibly dynamic, articulate woman, with a half thousand credentials, but who is also completely frightening. She spoke with such conviction, that it was easy to just listen to her voice or her witty jokes, and ignore the true context of what she was saying.
She also did this irritating thing where, because she's quite aware of her precence in the room and how comanding her voice is, she'd interrupt herself and say,
"And if anyone disagrees with me, PLEASE, speak up. I would LOVE to hear from you!" And everyone would laugh, and she'd say, "No, really. I would! PLEASE DO."
aka: "I DARE YOU to disagree with! I welcome you to challenge
THE POWER that is PAMELA. I will put you to SHAME, child. Shame. BRING
IT! WHAT!"
Aside from using distracting clips from Mean Girls
and Bring it On she used to show how Hollywood is trying to
be feminist (ahahahaha), this quote from her stuck out in my mind the
most:
"In Oxford, you know, where I live, I look out my window at night, and see these drunk young girls out in the streets, getting arrested. And I can't help thinking to myself, is this what I marched to Take Back The Night for? No. It's not."
While her statement wasn't meant to be harmful, I think it just reeked
of her disgust for younger women, and younger feminists. She might as
well have said, "Look what you're doing with this freedom I gave you,
you ungrateful cow!"
Apparently marching for freedom so women could walk freely at night without fear of rape means that we're only allowed to behave as those before us would have wished. Not that drinking until you turn into a belligerent asshole and start raving in the street about your ex and wind up getting arrested is a great idea, but I'm more than positive not everyone does that.
Granted, she did follow her statement up with, "Well, I'm not saying that you can't drink." But clearly, we're only supposed to drink as much as they say is okay. I suppose a thimble of gin and tonic is acceptable.
Was there a big, international feminist meeting where our foremothers handed out codes of dress and conduct booklets? Did I miss that?
Yet, despite all this crazy feminist talk, apparently Pamela thought it was cool to talk about the breast size of the FWSA member who introduced her, in front of the entire audience.
Now the FWSA member who introduced her was young, and blond, and yet despite her conservative sense of style, she couldn't hide the fact that she -MY GOD- had tits.
Let's face it, when you're over a B cup, it's sort of difficult to hide your breasts. And really, why the fuck should we have to disguise the fact that our we have "dirty pillows"?
When the Busty Lady mentioned something in passing about breast implants and plastic surgery, Ye Old Powerful Pamela pshawed, and said: "Oh honey, you don't need that. Trust me."
Not that the woman was saying she did need breast enhancement surgery, she was simply just talking about it. But I guess it's okay for Pamela to point out the fact that she has boobs.
'Scuse me for asking, but, like, isn't that the sort of comment that if a man made in the same context, we'd burn him at the stake?
What I found amazing, was despite hearing a woman who we're apparently all supposed to look up to, say something like that, a woman had the nerve to speak up, and quite angrily announce,
"Actually, I don't know why we're so keen on blaming that, a lady at the back of the room still women, and making women accountable. We should be holding The Men accountable."
Yes. Because clearly, women are treating themselves and each other so well. You're right. It is just The Men's fault.
...Fuck off.
By the end of Friday's session, I was feeling more than a little preached at, and as if I should be apologizing for being born after 1970; like I should have skipped lunch and gone to Boots instead to buy some makeup remover.
Or perhaps I should be even taking it a step further, and should have started asking around for the the name of a good plastic surgeon to help me get a new, less socially acceptable face.
Bitching aside, I really do think the FWSA have truly genuine intentions.
However, for an organization that declares: "Whatever your Feminism, you'll find growing networks or dedicated researchers and activists with membership in the Feminst and Women's Studies Association" on their posters, you'd think they'd be a little less, I dunno, judgemental and preachy.
"Whatever your feminism" my ass.
It would be one thing if it was an association exclusive to scholars or professors, but its not, and they claim to be so welcoming. Not so "elitists".
Perhaps I chose the wrong sessions to go to, or had too high of expectations. But I highly doubt it.
I went in with an open mind, and was left feeling like I could never be feminist enough for almost all of the women in that room.
What worried me, as well, is that no one ONCE brought up abortion. Or women's rights. Or equal pay. Aren't these things a little important? How about how analyzing why these things aren't really discussed within pop culture?
But no. Let's sit around talking about Chick Lit and why Kirsten Dunst feeling about how her old cheer leading captain stole the other squad's dance moves in Bring It On represents how Hollywood warming up to feminism. Jesus. CHRIST.
While I do know that feminist scholars and academics do serve a role and are important in feminism, (or so I'm guessing) I just can't help but wonder if the money we all spent to attend the conference, eat mini-spring rolls, and sit around listening to a bunch of white women discuss obscure feminist theories, wouldn't have been more useful going to organizations like Planned Parenthood.
Instead of congratulating each other on have 5 different credentials after your name and discussing how mad Paris Hilton makes us...why not fucking DO something?
Is writing an extensive paper on a theory to get your PhD really doing something?
I'm not saying that it isn'tt...I'm just not entirely sure it is.
Yvonne Tasker, another keynote speaker, explained how the military spends unbelievable amounts of time and effort in designing the female soldiers uniforms to look just the right amount of "feminine" (read: just the right amount of tit), and I couldn't help but wonder how the second wavers seemed to have a problem with female soldiers being made to hide their curves, yet think a young feminist doing anything other than taping down her chest, and, god forbid, showing a bit of
I've heard the argument way too many times that young feminists who buy make-up, read women's magazines, and go shopping, are buying into the institutions that want to keep women in subservient roles. As one male commenter on Dollymix said to me, "So, how is your perusal of those magazines or your shopping in those fashionable boutiques challenging that?" Wow! Excellent generalizations there, smartass!
Not all of us who "shop", are buying Dior or Kate Moss for Topshop, or are even shopping in "fashionable boutiques".
We're not obsessing in front of the mirror and telling ourselves we're ugly, just because we're putting on makeup. (Or trying to look like Barbie, for that matter.)
We're not eating salads or drinking water because we're anorexic, or throwing up our meals afterwards. I don't have gym membership because I think I'm not worthy of love, unless I'm a size 4. I do it to stay mentally and physically healthy because HEY! endorphins are good for you.
Not all of us who do things that "don't challenge women's roles", are idiots, or don't know what we're doing.
I know why I wear makeup. I know why I've dieted in the past, and I know why I've stopped. Just because many feminists my age enjoy high heels and lipstick, doesn't mean that we're not doing a TON of positive things for feminism along the way.
We're not fucking stupid, and just because we're doing something that other feminists, or men, disagree with doesn't make us wrong, and it doesn't mean that you "know better" than us.
And while I'm at it, let's talk women's magazines real fast.
Sometimes when I go to the store, I want to buy a magazine. Unfortunately , most supermarkets don't carry Bust or Bitch or How To Not Me a Bad Feminist Magazine. What do they have? Heat! Hello! Marie Claire! Cosmopolitan!
Most of the time, I'll chose Timeout, but really, if I were to buy Marie Claire, my brain isn't going to start melting, and I'm not going to suddenly stop what I'm doing, rush to the toilet and throw up my lunch because of the advertisements that *objectify women*.
I doubt other women who consider themselves feminists are doing that either.
A lot of us do know better, and rarely buy those shit piles of advertisements and lame advise known as women's magazine. But you CANNOT TELL ME that I'm killing feminism by buying one.
People and "real" feminist generalizing and saying that feminist who wear makeup, shop, and read those magazines aren't challenging the institutions that want to keep women subservient, are dead fucking wrong. Wrong because it suggests that we're just blindly going through our lives and aren't making informed decisions; wrong as it just further perpetuates female stereotypes, and stereotypes about feminists.
But I guess if we're not being subservient to the likes of Cosmopolitan and Girls Gone Wild, our only other option would be to pigeon hole ourselves and be subservient to the traditional feminist values of our foremothers and academic feminists.
Damned if you do, damned if you don't.
The original and work friendly version of this post can be found over at Dollymix:
