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Ten Women I Have Been Warned Against Becoming:

1. The Girl Who Takes Up Too Much Space, always, her shoulders too wide in stairwells, her hips too big in doorways, her voice too loud in classes. This woman does not understand the art of crumbling, of curling herself tight like the spiral of a fern, soft, delicate, unwilling to reach out the ivy of her fingers to grasp onto what should rightfully be hers. This is a beast, an elephant, a moving mountain and she is capable of flattening you, she is capable of ruining you, she is capable of making you feel as small and insignificant in her life as she is supposed to be. You are this woman’s footnote to history, you are her side note in song lyrics, you are constantly interrupted by her with a witty joke you wish you thought of. I asked what the problem was with being a steamroller instead of a sunflower and I was laughed down.

2. The Beautiful One, the long hair or the slim waist or the pretty eyes or the lips like bowstrings. This woman looks good in everything because she’s confident in whatever you put her in. She’ll cut her hair short on you no matter how you like it, she’ll wear high heels and step on your opinions, she’ll look hot as hell no matter what size she is. See, the reason you can’t trust her is because women like this don’t need your permission, they’ll do as they please and get away with it. They’ll say no to you, over and over. Teach your daughters that beautiful means dangerous, teach them to distrust women who love themselves. Equate beautiful with vapid, equate pretty with stupid, take their power from them. Say they’re vain for their makeup, refuse to see them without it. These women are snakes, they are serpents. I said maybe the problem lies with you being unable to control yourself and was told to get off my pedestal.

3. A Bitch. Women are supposed to be ladies in the street but will tear skin under sheets. I’m told: Never raise your voice. Speak gently. Submit. Hold your opinion against your lips and when you admit to it, make sure it comes out as a butterfly wing suggestion. Don’t disagree. Don’t undermine someone else’s authority, regardless of whether or not they deserve your respect. Someone touches you, just move away from them. Don’t hit. Don’t talk back. Be like the ruins of Rome, only beautiful if you can’t hear your quiet death.

4. The Needy One. I have heard how others spit when they talk about how she gave you everything and you shoved it back down her throat until she choked on it, until she came back crawling and asked you what she did, until her palms and knees were scraped for want of just a little affection - never be this woman, I’m told, because she’s a joke and the joke is that she dared to have more emotion than you did. The truth is, I’m told, the one who cares less in a partnership is the one who wins. I didn’t know this was a competition.

5. The Cock Tease, certified stripper, how dare that girl look like that and not want me to sleep with her. Lust is always personified as a lady in red with a dress slit up her thigh. Lust is sinful because it’s power, it’s not asking for attention - it’s demanding it. I’m told she is the worst kind of woman, that looking good is supposed to be some kind of shame on her kin. I’m told not to leave the house in such a short skirt, not with a shirt so low, not with a lace back, not with high heels, not dressed like that. My lipstick can’t be too red, my hair can’t be too mussed, I can’t just “turn someone on like that and then leave them wanting.” I mentioned that instant gratification actually ruins our psyche and was told that being led on was “exhausting.” I said that there was a difference between purposefully tricking someone into liking you and just being attractive or friendly. I was told there’s also a difference between coffee and tea but both result in caffeine. I said, “I’ve been turned on in class by the girls I talk to but I didn’t expect anything from them,” and they said, “It’s different, you’re not a man,” but couldn’t explain where that difference was.

6. A Slut, obviously ruined by another person’s touch. It doesn’t matter how many people she’s actually been with, it’s all about the rumors she carries with her. Easy. Harlot. You’ll still try to get with her, you’ll still take her into your bed and kiss her and say things you don’t mean - but you’ll defame her name when you talk to your buddies. My father used to say “A slut is fine for the night, but the virgin is who you take home and marry.” Maybe he didn’t know he was teaching his daughter to hate her sexuality. Maybe he didn’t know that every time she’d be kissed, her whole system would shake until she felt ready to combust, shame and self-hatred shivering against her spine. Maybe he didn’t know she’d disconnect emotions and sex because he always told her, “Boys are different, they won’t care about you.” Nobody said to her that it was okay to experiment. See, the funny thing is, I’m a dancer so I know exactly where my center of gravity is. I know how hard I’ll fall in each direction. Yet out of fear of getting hurt, I won’t let a single person inside of my bed.

7. The Soulmate. Never love romance more than you love being cynical. Never show weakness, never like pink, never think maybe you might find someone nice and settle down with them. Someone will find you, I was told, And if you’re lucky, he’ll put up with you when you start getting old. Never be the woman who believes in happily ever after, never be dumb enough to think maybe someone could love you after all of your mistakes. It has nothing to do with whether or not a family is important to you and you’re in a good place where a relationship would make your life better - you’re not a princess. You don’t get married, you settle.

8. The Girl With Strength, who can outrun everyone and who is stronger than her boyfriend. “See the thing about boys,” says my daddy, “Is that you have to let them win.” I sat at home and read stories about Artemis and wanted to become the huntress, too. I wanted to howl at the moon, I wanted to slay the beasts that bested me, I wanted to rule my kingdom with bloody fists. But girls are never athletes, never supposed to be “built,” regardless of the fact civilizations were constructed on our spines and we made homes in war by the steel of our ribs. Never be strong. We are supposed to wilt.

9. The Lady CEO: because if you choose work over family, are you really a girl? How dare you fight your way to the top through every pair of eyes that bore through your blouse, through every meeting where you were hushed by the sound of someone else talking, through every time someone called you “sweetie,” how dare you yearn for something. Is your husband the stay-at-home one? I can’t imagine how that is going. He’s not a real man, after all. I don’t give it long before the divorce. How dare you decide you’re happy being single. Don’t you know you’re supposed to bear children. Where is your honor? Where is your wisdom? Who cares if you are the leader, the best suited for your position, the quickest-thinking, the one who makes the hardest clients come back again. Don’t you see? Across history, women have been terrible at success. They always lose their man in the end. (When I said, “I would rather be a famous author than a mediocre mother,” I was told, “No, don’t worry, you’ll be a fine mommy.”)

10. THE GIRL I AM: FIRECRACKER AND DON’T YOU FUCKING FORGET IT I’LL RIP YOU TO SHREDS AND I WON’T FUCKING REGRET IT I’M NOT YOUR PRETTY GIRL I’M NOT YOUR ANYTHING I’M PERFECT, MOTHERFUCKER, AND I’M NOT GOING TO GIVE UP WHAT I’M DOING. I DON’T WANT TO BE “LADYLIKE” THAT LITERALLY MEANS NOTHING I’M NOT GOING TO STOP STANDING UP AND DEMANDING WHAT’S COMING TO ME. I’M GONNA BE SOMEBODY. I’M GONNA MAKE THEM REMEMBER ME. I REFUSE TO BE OVERSHADOWED IN HISTORY. I DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU WERE TRYING TO CREATE BUT YOU MADE ME A DRAGON YOU PUT ME IN THE FIRE AND WHEN I STOPPED BURNING I LEARNED HOW TO GLOW DON’T THINK YOU CAN STOP ME YOU CAN’T TAME A TORNADO.

In respectful response to a poem tilted, “Ten men women have warned me against becoming." /// r.i.d (via inkskinned)

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findchaos:

I wish this was exaggeration, I really do.

IS IT SO MUCH TO ASK 

TO JUST BUY A TOP THAT I CAN WEAR

THAT PEOPLE CAN’T SEE MY BRA THROUGH?

True story. Until I get the company shirt, my work uniform is a white polo. So I had to buy a white polo. Not a problem, right? Polos are just heavy jersey. Shouldn’t be an issue, even if it is white.

I went through four stores because every single white lady’s polo was see-through. See-through to the point where an onlooker could pinpoint the exact location of the bleach stain on my bra. 

So, in a quiet rage, I finally went to the men’s section. Wonder of wonders, the men’s polos were not see-through.

WHY? WHY IS MY PROFESSIONAL CLOTHING NOT HELD TO THE SAME STANDARDS OF OPAQUE-NESS AS MEN’S PROFESSIONAL CLOTHING?

fafghdfghdfghsdfhdfghdfghdf

I get most of my overshirts/jackets from the men’s section. For one, they have awesome jackets, and two— I have rather large breasts. I do not want something in cutsy glittery girly shit plastered across my chest, thank you. I get enough people that can’t look me in the eye. 

my kingdom for a leather jacket with a decent curved waist

Bless this post. 

Every fucking time I go out to look for a simple t-shirt, all I find are shirts that are super tight and uncomfortable for the sake of showing off your bust, have stupid sayings on them like “Lean, mean, sexy machine” (I have seriously seen shirts with those exact words), and have tiny fucking sleeves that don’t even cover your armpits (because we all have those days when we really don’t feel like shaving). Unfortunately for me, my mother thinks these shirts are cute and gets them for me constantly. :/

I will always buy my sweaters in the men’s section. Not only are they bigger and more comfortable, they’re actually made with better material. Apparently, you have to be male to merit fabric thick enough to actually keep you warm. Ever wonder why girls complain about being cold more often than guys? It’s not them. It’s their clothes.

Women’s clothing is designed to be rubbish so that they can buy more all the time.

Men’s clothes actually makes SENSE.

I have so many feelings on this topic, I need to stop now before I break something.

And don’t forget actual, functioning pockets.

I could probably write a fucking dissertation around the bullshit of women’s clothing and how it’s pretty much useless and overpriced, and even then you can only something that’s an approximation of “a fucking simple t-shirt” where the male equivalent is functional, easily accessible, and a price quote that won’t bankrupt you.

It will have 3 appendixes devoted to, in order, “Stupid cuts for jeans and how they are impossible to figure out store to store, let alone style to style,” “Why do people think all jeans need to adhere to your body like skin tight spandex, for gods sake sometimes I just want to wear pants that I can actually move in,” and “Girls Have Stuff Too: A look at why shallow pockets are a joke and “fake” are the stupidest fashion choice ever made.”

Fake. Fucking. Pockets.

another question is why do they make clothes for women that they then shame us for wearing?

My 3 year old brother has pockets that can fit my phone in them. I don’t even have pants that fit my phone in them.

I hate my upper arms and would spend hours in women’s clothes sections looking for t-shirts but all have short sleeves and are really short on the torso so when I bend down my back was shown so I went to the men’s section and their tees have cartoon or geeky references on them not “babe” across the boob area. And men’s shirts are longer on sleeves and torso.

You know what’s total bull? The reason women’s pants don’t have pockets are because they want you to purchase handbags. Seriously, that’s just unfair.

Men’s jumpers are seriously comfortable. Someone is yet to explain to me why something that has more fabric in it (I brought a larger men’s jumpers because why the hell not) is half the price of a woman’s jumper.

Not to mention if I’m at uni late I can wear that jumper and not get easily harassed because I don’t have copious amounts of glitter or am dressed in a loud tacky thing that screams “female” (because seriously, an ass isn’t going to attack person if they look like a guy)

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