wildfeministappears

A feminist perspective about the feminist perspective

Turning 27

So, I turned 27 on Monday.  It wasn’t a big event; I enjoyed myself, but it certainly isn’t a major milestone.  But it did make me think about my life.  I started really considering my age.  Not just “Oh, I’m getting older!” but really where I am, and how I’m changing.

I came to the realization that there is no point in your life when you have it all together.  While I have two feet solidly on the ground, my head out of the clouds, my head managed to end up in a fog, where realism meets still not knowing what life is.

My body has crinkles in it that I now know aren’t going away.  My hips are solidly hippy, curved into that womanly form that’s ready to carry the weight of my struggles.  I have to take better care of my skin, and bouncing back from eating 15 pizza rolls just isn’t going to happen. 

My favorite clothes are getting smaller, and I continue glancing over towards the women’s section in stores, dreading leaving my junior section.  The women’s section is adulthood.  The bright colors are gone, the clothes don’t cling, and there’s certainly no pictures.  It’s like leaving the children’s books section as a preteen, where you discover it’s all words.

I know what I want from life but I don’t have the skills to achieve those goals.  There is this gap of experience that I didn’t know I had, or at least I thought I could fake the experience.  But there is no faking!  There is no pretending at this age!  I’m too old now to be clumsy or nervous.  Somehow, I should know better, and I don’t. 

I don’t mean to say that I won’t enjoy this age.  I enjoy having experience in life, having the ability to skip over misunderstandings that just don’t happen with adults.  I enjoy my relationships, my hobbies, my opinions.  I have strong opinions, and they won’t be shaken like they might have when I was younger.  I love myself and accept myself.  I don’t think I’m at a precipice of anything huge anymore; I’m settled.  But I’m settled into the middle of woman and… well… woman.  

It isn’t a question anymore of who I am; it’s a question of how to compromise how adult I can be while still being me.

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I feel something deep in the pit of

I feel something deep in the pit of my soul.  Usually, such anxiety comes from knowing a large storm is coming, but I’m out of the way of the storm, so I know it’s something else.  The earth moving, perhaps.  Such large successes that I fear are going to be followed by larger retaliations.  Opportunities lost, or missed entirely.  I’m not sure.  I just feel certain that something is going to happen.  I sense the cry for blood, and I know there will be destruction. 

Can you sense the stillness, the expectant charge in the air just waiting to crash down?  What’s coming?  Why do I feel darkness hanging heavily over us?

I’m frightened.

Texas State Sen filibusters to block abortion regulation

wildfeministappears:

I’m standing with Wendy! She’s my hero.

Originally posted on Feminist Philosophers:

Texas State Sen filibusters to block abortion regulation

And the link takes you to the live video.  It is interesting to watch Wendy Davis live.  Slow and steady.

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The Vagina Diatribe

I am not ashamed of my vagina.  I am not ashamed of my clitoris, my labia, my breasts, or my nipples.  They are not pornographic, and I will not have them censored, nor will I stand by quietly as women’s body parts are considered “filthy” or “wrong”.  To suggest that using these medically correct terms is subject to censorship is to suggest that we stay immature and ignorant of ourselves, and to be ashamed of what we are.  In order for our society to become stronger, to have the knowledge to understand that women are not sex objects, we must first get over the idea that certain body parts are not to be discussed or spoken about.

Not being able to say medically correct terms is detrimental to our society.  We are censoring pride by saying we should be disgusted with our own body parts.  We are censoring education.  We are censoring shared knowledge and experiences.  We are destroying our worth.  We become more ignorant the more we stay immature about our own bodies.

Acceptance is the first move towards change. 

 

Inspiration for this piece: http://trib.al/fN7G0nD

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“‎Rape culture is a culture in which people who have survived a violent crime are asked to laugh about it because other people think it’s funny.”

Originally posted on Anti-Porn Feminists:

Rape culture is a culture in which people who have survived a violent crime are asked to laugh about it because other people think it’s funny.

Found here

TRIGGER WARNING for the images below the fold, these are examples of the sexism and misogyny men display with impunity, often under their real name and with their picture attached, on social media.

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Dirty Fingers

This is going to sound revolutionary to some people (just the way I like it), so brace yourselves: My breasts are no more sexual than any other part of my body.  While they can be used in sexual ways, they are not always sexual.  My fingers can be sexual, my stomach can be sexual, the back of my knee can be sexual (there’s a spot there, trust me), but they are not always sexual, and we accept that.

I understand its ingrained in us to believe that breasts are sexy, and they can be.  But this is misused all the time.  Women are shamed for showing off their breasts because of this idea.  Seeing someone’s nipple impressions is just scandalous!  Cleavage is a crime that gets you thrown out of events!  Women are raped because the shape of their breasts are apparent, and then they are blamed for it.

But look at these fingers!

funny-fingers10My god, just look at them!  They have no sense of decency!

I know I’m being silly, but here’s the point.

My body is only sexual because of ideals of what sexual is.  Men are allowed to walk outside with their shirts off because they aren’t seen as sexual objects, but women are shamed for wearing many types of clothes, because their curves are seen as salacious.  But it’s ridiculous.  Body parts are just that: parts of our body that we were born with.  And until women can be seen as a whole person rather than parts to be judged, there will continue to be shame and displacement of blame.

Body parts are not dirty, nor are they shameful.

unmentionables

My, what a large frontal cortex you have!

Okay, I hate the “Love your body” campaign.

I understand the original purpose: to show that all women are beautiful no matter how they look.  But much like this:

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It still objectifies the fuck out of women by making it about their bodies, completely ignoring the women as human beings.  We haven’t changed the conversation of objectification, we’ve simply diverted to making it some sort of celebration.

There are a plethora of facebook pages “celebrating” curvy girls while bashing skinny girls, and more often than not it’s just a bunch of body bashing or sexual comments.

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And even in feminist circles it becomes about the body and not the mind.  Women with “non-traditional” bodies are being praised for bravely showing off their bodies in sexual ways.  But we don’t know a damn thing about that woman in her bra and panties.  Except for that she’s brave for being in a bra and panties. 

It isn’t changing the way we think about women.  The conversation is still focused on their bodies and the way they feel about their bodies.  Or the way men feel about their bodies.  Or what kind of laugh we can get from making fun of advertising that’s still happening.

Why isn’t their a better campaign?  The “Don’t objectify yourself or others” campaign, or the “Be yourself” campaign, or even the “My body shape and size isn’t your fucking business” campaign.

I’ll start.  Don’t objectify yourself or others!  You are not your body. 

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The Saturday cat is so privileged that he totally disrespects the Sunday cat’s space

wildfeministappears:

Don’t appropriate your appropriation on me, appropriators! That word just lost all meaning. Good.

Originally posted on Feminist Philosophers:

If you’re anything like me, you get annoyed by the way the phrase “check your privilege” – while it can sometimes be used to make a really important point – is so often employed to shut down disagreement, carve lines of moral superiority, and do all sorts of other similar and similarly conversationally shitty things. But do you know what? You need to check your getting-annoyed-at-blogosphere-trope privilege. And do you know who else needs to check their privilege? These fucking cats.

 

19 Cats Who Need to Check Their Privilege

 

This cat who doesn't realize there are kitties with no paws because he's ableist:

“This cat doesn’t realize there are kitties with no paws, because he is ableist.”

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I’m telling the whole world.  The paperwork went

I’m telling the whole world.  The paperwork went through and I got my second major, so I am officially a graduate with majors in both Cultural Anthropology and Linguistics.  Hellz yeah!

Yeah, this isn’t feminist stuff.  Except for women can rock.  Like I do today.  And I’m not ashamed to brag about it. 

Breaking out music

It’s been awhile since I’ve blogged, so I’m going to start out nice and easy.

Music!

I freaking love music, especially the kind that lets me jump around like a maniac while I’m singing along.  It’s rather disappointing when a song is reserved, keeping to the mainstream.  It doesn’t mean I don’t find it appealing; that’s why its mainstream.  But the songs that really stick with me are the ones that break all the rules.

The “Fuck you, I’m going to get my point across whether you like it or not” music.

The blatantly sexual songs

Or songs that are both

There needs to be songs that break the boundaries of our comfort zones.  It’s imperative for the silence to be shattered about topics so that people can start normalizing themselves to the ideas and embrace more equality.  Topics can only be taboo for so long before they become part of culture.

Like a multi-ethnic kiss in the 80s, or the loving kiss of two gay men in the 2000s

So get out there with your favorite song and break those boundaries!

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