Challenge #01653-D192: Boys’ Club
Female superhero puts her foot down and demands a practical costume. – @knitnan
“Where’s my costume?” asked Major Power, still in her civilian gear.
“It’s in your locker.”
“The only thing in my locker is a g-string bikini and a pair of ballet flats.”
“Yup. That’s your costume. Updated for market appeal.” Mr Mann smiled genially. “It’s for merchandising. The focus group doesn’t lie.”
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In solidarity with all people whose work is unseen and unpaid.
Fair pay for all work needs to be a thing.
Let’s Get Some Things Straight With Feminism
•If someone claims to be a feminist, BUT says and does things the exact opposite then they’re not actual feminists.
• YES, there is extremists/false feminists, BUT don’t EVER confuse these with ACTUAL feminists, and DON’T assume all of us feminists are like that.
• If it ain’t ALL inclusive and intersectional, then who’s it really for?!
•YES, there’s women that abuse and rape others. YES, there’s women unfit to be mothers/stepmothers/guardians/etc. DON’T let anyone tell you that feminists think all women are innocent, because not all of them.
•Also, don’t let anyone tell you that feminists think men are weak, just because you got abused or raped by a female. YOU ARE NOT WEAK.
•YES, we believe the women who commit the same crimes(Such as abusing or raping, etc etc) should serve the same jail time as men.
•YES, we believe that fathers should be able to have custody of his child(ren), if he happens to want them or if it needs to happen.
•YES, we believe that fathers can be single parents. Gender roles SHOULD NOT play a factor in parenting. Like I said above, some women aren’t fit to be parents.
•We’re ALL about abolishing gender roles and anything that has to do with gender(Genderized clothes, toys, etc etc). Have some pizza roles, instead.
•We firmly believe that as long as you don’t hurt anyone, BE YOURSELF(Be girly, Be a tomboy, Be Goth, be whatever).
•RELIGIOUS FREEDOM, But as long as you DON’T hurt anyone with your religion.
•If you have questions, JUST ASK A REAL FEMINIST. DON’T ask anyone who thinks we’re all bad people, because we aren’t.
•NO, we DON’T want to be superior to men, we just ant to be EQUAL to men. That’s it.
•We believe you can do WHATEVER you want with your body, it’s yours to choice what you want do with. As long as you are’t hurting yourself(Like starving yourself, etc etc), then we’re fine with that.
•We care about people’s mental health. And don’t let people tell it’s just girls who have mental illnesses.
•NO, not all of us have white feminism. REAL feminists include people of color, too.
•Feminism ISN’T a bad word. Don’t listen to anyone who tells you otherwise.
•Feminism is just another word for equality for everyone. So, don’t say to someone “you should just call yourself an equalist/egalitarian if you want equality for everyone”. Call yourself what you want, as long as you want equality like the rest of us feminists.
•NO, we don’t think all men are bad, SOME yes, but not all. Don’t let anyone tell you that we’re man haters, because we aren’t.
•NO, we are NOT close minded people.
•YES, we feminists are liberals. Liberal ISN’T a bad word.
•YES, some of us do shave, are housewives/stay at home moms, etc etc, BUT that doesn’t mean we are’t real feminists. NOT everyone wants to do the same thing as that.
•Now, I hope that clears some things up. If you have questions or have a problem, then my inbox is open and ready.
(via kinshisetsunai)
Two feminist geniuses are saving thousands of newborns
The developing world sees as many as 99% of newborn and maternal deaths worldwide. Baby Hero, a company which sells baby products, is trying to lower the odds: For every product sold, they send a neonatal survival kit, compact enough to fit in a ziplock bag, to poor mothers in need. Their plan takes Toms Shoes and Warby Parker a step further.
Follow stylemic
And for the record, as the article notes a bit further down–they’re not doing a facile “donate shit people don’t need or could make/buy locally and support their own local economy” Toms Shoes approach. They’re supplying these neonatal kits to local health workers in two locations to distribute to women who need them.
(Source: mic.com, via the-ghost-who-sold-the-world)
when i was five, and romance didn’t exist for boys, it did exist for me. “she’s going to break hearts one day,” people said, speaking about me over my head. i smiled, because that is something little girls are supposed to be pleased to hear.
when i was six i was supposed to kiss my best friend because he was a boy, and when i wouldn’t, he pushed me down hard enough that my palms bled. he said if i told a teacher, he’d tell everyone i kissed him and i was bad at it. i washed off in the school’s bathroom sink and cried about it all through recess.
at eight, i stopped wearing dresses because i couldn’t turn cartwheels in them. “a tomboy,” somebody said about me, over my head, as if i couldn’t hear them. i said, “i don’t want to be a boy,” and they laughed. “we know, sweetness.” i said, “i’m not sweet, i’m serious,” and they laughed again. “you’re cute,” they said. i smiled at that, because that’s something little girls are supposed to be pleased to hear.
at nine, i had too many friends that were boys. “i don’t like it,” my father said, standing in the kitchen. i didn’t understand it. “your body is going to start changing soon, and i don’t want those boys looking at you. i don’t like it,” he’d repeat. we moved away that summer. i lost everybody.
when i was eleven, my teacher took me out of the classroom and asked me to put on another layer because even though it was hot in there, all of the boys were staring at the little forming bumps on my chest. i remember embarrassment spiking down my spine like lightning. i begged my mother to take me bra shopping. it was terrible there, in those bright stores with bright lights and beautiful women with tight thighs. it was terrible and embarrassing to touch or look at or even think about these things.
at thirteen, my best guy friend wrestled me to the ground and covered me in kisses no matter how much i asked him to stop it. “it’s supposed to be like this,” he kept repeating, “just stop struggling.” he told me i was pretty and lovely and that boys and girls can’t be friends. he told me to stop being so mad at him, that little girls are supposed to be pleased about these things.
the same winter, i was catcalled for the first time in my whole life. i jumped when the car pulled up by my side. they said “baby” over my head as if i wasn’t who they were discussing. i didn’t smile about it. i had to sit down to stop myself from vomiting.
when i was fifteen, half of my friends were boys. my best friend was in love with me. he told me i was breaking his heart. he said that if i didn’t love him back, he’d have nothing to live for anymore. the story with the rest of them is all the same. either they left me or they thought they fell in love with the idea of somebody i wasn’t.
that summer when i was sad - and i was sad categorically, always - i tried reaching out. when i turned to the boys, all i heard was, “don’t cut, you’re beautiful,” “don’t kill yourself, you’re so pretty,” “think of the scars, sweetie,” “when you cut yourself, i’m the one who starts bleeding.” i didn’t smile, although i think girls are supposed to be pleased to hear these things. i didn’t know how to say: i don’t feel beautiful, and even if i did, what i’m doing to myself has nothing to do with you, or what i look like, or how fuckable i am to you. instead i told them i was fine, and fixed, and nothing bad was happening.
when he broke my heart, it was because i told him no. when he left, i cried because it hurt to watch my best friend go. when he left, he said that he’d never liked me for my soul: only for my curves, the only real way to measure worth in a girl.
at sixteen, i had only girl friends. they were gentle, and different, and walked me through things. they held my hand when classes got too loud for me, and it meant friendship. they kissed me on the cheeks when i was crying, and it meant friendship. they slept next to me and it was friendship in the way i wasn’t used to. i was used to “stop being a tease,” to “why are you doing this to me.” it was just friendship, and it was excellent.
i was called a dyke, a lesbian, a man-hater. i thought of the men who had hurt me, who had spoken over my head, who had given me their full opinion even though i never asked for it. i was hated by basically everyone. i was sad and lonely so often that i often thought i’d never feel happy again.
at nineteen, in college, i had friends who were boys again, because college boys are supposed to be old enough to see you as a person. they all called me Steve, short for Steven. at first i thought it was some kind of inside joke, that it was cute, that it meant they loved me the way i loved them all. one day while we were both drunk, i asked one of them why they wouldn’t just say my name. he laughed. he said, “god, you’re going to hate me when i explain.” he said that they’d all formed an agreement behind my back that none of them would fuck me, that if i was going to be one of the bros, i couldn’t be a girl to them. i could only be seen as a boy if i wanted to be their friend. he said this all while staring at a point over my head, and tried to kiss me at the end. when i pushed him away, he said, “sorry, steve,” took a breath, “but if i start seeing you as a girl, i’m gonna try to kiss you again.”
i said, “i don’t want to be a boy, though,” and he laughed again.
he said, “i know, sweetie.”
at twenty-two, i am sick of boys who are “nice,” who are “not like other boys,” who are offended when i don’t immediately trust their intentions. i have been hurt over and over and over again. i only talk to about three of my boy friends and the rest i lost because i dared not to fuck them.
at the same time, i kept most of my girl friends. i have had crushes on most of them. it never impacted our relationships. even girls who are gay like i am know that being friends doesn’t mean i owe them. they hold my eyes when i talk to them.
i’m sorry, i’m sorry, i’m sorry. i love so many people, and many boys are wonderful and charming and excellent. i’m sorry i flinch away from a friendship. i’m sorry i will be cold and unaffectionate and scared of getting too close
it’s just that, since i was five, i was told i break hearts.
—girls don’t owe you shit, dude: a polite reply to a post which inadvertently blames girls for distrusting the affections of a guy friend (via my-nipples-sound-like-nobody)
(Source: inkskinned, via roryink)
TW for sexual assault, rape culture
IF YOU READ ONE THING TODAY, READ THIS COMIC! THEN SHARE IT.
IT IS AN INCREDIBLY WELL DONE EXPLANATION OF AN OFTEN MISUNDERSTOOD TOPIC.
The Impossible Demands of Dating Under the Pressures of Rape Culture
“When you’re dating, you may get lots of advice on keeping yourself safe. At the same time, you can get pressure to be carefree. And if something bad happens, you’re blamed for not properly calculating the risks! So what gives?
You shouldn’t have to carry the demand to be both available and super capable of preventing your own assault. This comic says it all.”
Challenge #01079-B347: Epic Levels of Pettiness
@knitnan - best revenge is petty revenge
Sorceress? Just a better class of witch. Enchantress? Just a witch with good legs. The fantasy world, in fact, is overdue for a visit from the Equal Opportunities people because, in the fantasy world, magic done by women is usually of poor quality, third-rate, negative stuff, while the wizards are usually cerebral, clever, powerful and wise.
Strangely enough, that’s also the case in this world. You don’t have to believe in magic to believe that.
Wizards get to do a better class of magic, while witches give you warts.
—“Why Gandalf Never Married” (1985), Terry Pratchett.
(via the-library-and-step-on-it)
I’ve watched too many women be threatened, humiliated and made to feel powerless by ex boyfriends or other scorned men who stole or refused to delete nudes that were sent in confidence during a relationship. I decided to start this project in response to those abusers and in an attempt to help and protect my sisters in a time where abuse of this kind seems to be at an all time high. Leakedleakers is a new and in-progress database of names, faces, handles, etc. of abusers who steal and publicize women’s nude photos sent to them in confidence in order to humiliate and threaten them. The intent is to give women who were wronged in this way an avenue to speak out anonymously and feel some closure, and to create a searchable database for other women to use to avoid these men. Please reblog and signal boost if you think this would be a useful and powerful tool for women. Thank you!
(via salamander-shaming)