As someone who is interested in vintage and vintage inspired fashions, mainly of the 40s and 50s, I’ve noticed a super problematic thing that people, mainly female-identified people, tend to say when speaking about their fashion choices. It’s usually somewhere along the lines of, ”I choose to…
“Poverty is not simply having no money — it is isolation, vulnerability, humiliation and mistrust. It is not being able to differentiate between employers and exploiters and abusers. It is contempt for the simplistic illusion of meritocracy — the idea that what we get is what we work for. It is knowing that your mother, with her arthritic joints and her maddening insomnia and her post-traumatic stress disordered heart, goes to work until two in the morning waiting tables for less than minimum wage, or pushes a janitor’s cart and cleans the shit-filled toilets of polished professionals. It is entering a room full of people and seeing not only individual people, but violent systems and stark divisions. It is the violence of untreated mental illness exacerbated by the fact that reality, from some vantage points, really does resemble a psychotic nightmare. It is the violence of abuse and assault which is ignored or minimized by police officers, social services, and courts of law. Poverty is conflict. And for poor kids lucky enough to have the chance to “move up,” it is the conflict between remaining oppressed or collaborating with the oppressor.”—
“I don’t want to be rude. I just wish you would cease discussing your no-carb, no-fat, gluten-free, low-salt, no-fun diet. Nor do I want to hear about the “snob” diet, or the one where you eat certain foods only during certain times of the day, or the raw diet, or how you get all your slimming meals delivered. Do not speak to me of Weight Watchers or Overeaters Anonymous, Jenny Craig or the Dr. Perricone salmon skin cult. Mention not the regime where you don’t consume anything until you’re about to pass out, and then you eat a single cube of cheese. I really don’t want to hear about your cleanse, your juice fast, or how much energy you have now that you disdain all solid food. Do your skinny jeans fit? Is your skin glowing? Are you retaining water? I didn’t just ask that, because I don’t give a crap. Don’t tell me your goal, current, or ideal weight, your set point, how much you have lost or gained or that you’ve reached a plateau. You’re worse than boring me. You’re torturing me.”—
But what if I did want to live together, or have children, or get married: would that make me less queer? What if I wanted to do all of those things with a same-gender partner: would I be more queer then? Would your perception o f me as queer differ if you knew whether or not I’ve been polyamorous in the past, if I’ve fucked anyone of the same gender before, how many people of the same or different gender I’ve fucked, or whether or not my partner and I fuck each other in ways that same-gender partners do?
I can’t help but feel like someone’s counting the notches on my bedpost. Maybe I’m doing the math myself, trying to understand my own identity as it fits (or doesn’t fit) within a broader social community: anti-marriage, plus dildo sex, plus past experiences, plus political alliances = queer enough. Queer enough, plus different-gender invisibility and straight privilege, plus monogamy = insecure in my identity.
“When I am lonely for boys it’s their bodies I miss. I study their hands lifting the cigarettes in the darkness of the movie theaters, the slope of a shoulder, the angle of a hip. Looking at them sideways, I examine them in different lights. My love for them is visual: that is the part of them I would like to possess. Don’t move, I think. Stay like that, let me have that.”—Margaret Atwood (via deer-me)
Congrats on once again joining the meat brigade! :P What made you give up your vegetarian ways?
I realized that all my reasons for becoming a vegetarian when I was 14 didn’t hold up to my adult reasoning and experiences. I have never believed that people are not meant to eat meat but do believe that many modern farming and slaughter techniques are both inhumane and harmful to human health. I realized I’d be doing more good by supporting humane and organically raised meats than I would by abstaining. I also recently had an epiphany that on some level I’ve held on to vegetarianism in a misguided attempt to be a “Good Fatty.” I know better than that now. I will still likely eat meat relatively rarely, mostly for special meals and occasions, but I no longer unilaterally restrict my diet.
“I’ve stopped classifying things as “love” or “friendship”
according to arbitrary superficial details—the feelings I share
with certain friends are so intimate, so beautiful, that it’s
ridiculous that I don’t call them lovers just because we don’t
sleep together. It’s fucking absurd that sex should be the
dividing line between our relationships, between which ones
take precedence, between who we play with, live with, sleep
with, who we take care of first, who we die with at last.”—
rule number one do not break if you decide you must break do it in the shower when no one is home let the stinging steaming circle your heart while you let the tears mingle down the drain where they belong
rule number two always be perfect never burn your food never look poor hemlines must always be straight make up must be on every day all days everywhere do not frown frowning causes wrinkles do not argue with a man arguing causes black eyes if you do get a black eye learn how to cover it with lies make up alibis from girlfriends
rule number three never let the neighbors hear don’t cry in the garden at night while mamaw is sipping a long neck budweiser do not implore to be heard when the neighbors are next door with their lights on pressed against their nicotine stained walls listening gossiping
rule number four never talk about it let sleeping dogs lie even the curs that bite little girl legs and swallow chunks of teenage hearts keep it a secret locked away in a swallowed locket given to you by a stranger who called themselves your mother guard family secrets and always be sweet submissive and willing
rule number five keep your chin up always behave as if everything is perfect don’t every utter anything true be gracious and go to church laugh gaily and twitter around like an unbroken sparrow with golden vocal chords wear the family crest on your chest weld it there if you must but be the spokesmodel be the lie
rule number six backstab your best friend throw her under a ghost bus never let her think she’s safe promise her everything and bless her heart behind her back twine your fingers in her hair at night with your left hand and cut it off with your right hand while she sleeps
rule number seven always choose a husband just like your father make him mean and surly let him run your house your heart in the bottom of his bottle always praise him to anyone hold on tight lest he be gone finding some other younger version of your dreams twining around his rough neck
rule number eight don’t ever be brown have the blondest hair possible be the most slender reed in the pond use any measure you can to be seen as pale accepted normal don’t be biracial drums kept under the bed the history of the feathers let them float from your hands they’re filthy anyway
rule number nine never leave texas don’t steal away in the night suitcase and a fistful of photos stockings in a run tears in a well in your bra make up a bygone don’t move so far the sun doesn’t even come there don’t make a new life new friends don’t find joy don’t open up don’t admit it was wrong don’t learn to love don’t be brave don’t you dare