I don’t know what asshole invented the idea that teenage girls are the cause for all evil, but I really hope that person never has to raise one. I don’t want him to see her dissolve in his fingers as society tells her to eat less, be thinner, be the damsel in distress, be something for a man to fix, be different but not too different, be special but never ever a special snowflake - I don’t want him to watch as she realizes that no matter what she loves, she’ll be made fun of for it. She can simply like her coffee from Starbucks and suddenly she’s vapid and thinks herself poetic. She’ll want to play video games but be called a fake nerd, particularly if she poses in any remotely flirtatious way because for some reason despite the entire community playing games with poorly dressed women they still hate it when a real girl wears less clothing, she will be seen as trespassing in a specifically male space - but when she falls in love with a female-based television show for children, she’ll watch as men step on themselves to sexualize it. If she wants old-fashion romance she’s seen as being naive but at the same time is told to keep herself ‘pure’ for some dude that might not hurt her. If she admits to being anything, she makes herself a target. She will be told her worth is based on how much a man values her. She might love to cook but she’ll hate being asked to stay in the kitchen, she might love to read but get told she’s too introverted by half the population and ‘not that special’ by the other. If she loves to go out and party, she’s ‘just another college co-ed,’ if she loves to spend her friday nights watching anime, she’s a shut-in. God forbid she be proud of something: the words “I’m different from other girls” are a death sentence because we live in a society that doesn’t want to see women like that, a society that doesn’t like the idea maybe we all are actually different and not carbon copies of each other, maybe we all would like to feel unique and loved and worth knowing - maybe the real problem is that she will be raised to believe being a girl means silicone and photoshop and dying as a way to move forwards a plot - and she doesn’t want to be seen as that. When she says “I’m not like other girls,” she means she’s not like the girls she sees on tv, these invented two-dimensional creatures that say one line and then get chased down by monsters.
She can try all she likes. She’ll be shut down at every single fucking turn. What she doesn’t know is that they’re getting her ready for when she’s grown up because she’ll be so used to being stepped on she’ll just give up. Why respect women when you don’t even respect little girls?
And when she is burning up, when she mentions that her insides are volcanoes and her skin is too thin to contain them: she will be told she is hysterical, that she’s doing it for attention.
I don’t want him to watch as she shuts down, as she learns to live as a paradox, I don’t want him to see her rip herself to shreds in order to be perfect, I don’t want him to realize that there’s no way she’ll get help because she’s only doing what she’s told.
”—Teenage girls aren’t the downfall of society, society is the downfall of teenagegirls. /// r.i.d (via inkskinned)
A trend I’ve noticed that not only artists have but one many other people don’t often understand is the denial of being any form of good.
By “artist” I mean an actual artist but also dancers, writers, etc. (I speak especially for dancers though, since I was also one). I, personally, have never claimed to be a good photographer, artist, or dancer. And I’ve been doing those things for years. And years,
Look, you can yell at us all you want. I’ve had people get deeply annoyed, people give me all sorts of looks, people harbor something hovering on disdain. I feel like a lot of people don’t understand that all I see are the flaws in what I do.
Yes I can be proud of the things I do - those pieces or moments where everything clicks for once and the little jumping beans inside of you leap for joy. But it doesn’t mean I would regard myself as good - either a talented artist or dancer or photographer.
I, like every artist and every person, have a lot of growth and evolution to do. There’s always flaws and room for improvement. So yes, I never said I was a good dancer, only a very trained one. I won’t say I’m a good photographer, or artist, because I don’t think I am. I’m not there yet, and I won’t be for a long long time.
So, this is why I, at least, had never said I was a good dancer, and why I never claim to be a good artist who makes pretty art.
**I used “I” through this because I don’t know for sure if this is how people actually think. It’s just something I’ve noticed from observation and I don’t want to make an error.
So I really want to try doing a Tamar cosplay and I was wondering if anyone out there had any ideas about costume, hair style, ect.
I’m going to try to stick to her descriptions in S&S but I would love some ideas/ feedback…
When I designed Tamar for my drawing, I tried to mix pirate, medieval, and practicality. I also used the sash, pants, pirate shirt thing similar to what’s worn under a kefta.
I’m coincidentally also thinking about cosplaying Tamar and in that I’m thinking more pirate/steampunk/Asian influences, but the beauty of Tamar is there’s so much room for creativity since it is a bit vague!
“Fantasy is silver and scarlet, indigo and azure, obsidian veined with gold and lapis lazuli. Reality is plywood and plastic, done up in mud brown and olive drab. Fantasy tastes of habaneros and honey, cinnamon and cloves, rare red meat and wines as sweet as summer. Reality is beans and tofu, and ashes at the end. Reality is the strip malls of Burbank, the smokestacks of Cleveland, a parking garage in Newark. Fantasy is the towers of Minas Tirith, the ancient stones of Gormenghast, the halls of Camelot. Fantasy flies on the wings of Icarus, reality on Southwest Airlines. Why do our dreams become so much smaller when they finally come true?
We read fantasy to find the colors again, I think. To taste strong spices and hear the songs the sirens sang. There is something old and true in fantasy that speaks to something deep within us, to the child who dreamt that one day he would hunt the forests of the night, and feast beneath the hollow hills, and find a love to last forever somewhere south of Oz and north of Shangri-La.
They can keep their heaven. When I die, I’d sooner go to Middle-Earth.”—
Guys heads up. When women try to talk to you about rape culture and you start deflecting with hypothetical gray situations, all we hear is you trying to convince yourself that you haven’t been an unknowing rapist in your past