meggygrace:

exgynocraticgrrl:

[pre-gifs] “…So, she [Paris Hilton] was a very wealthy woman, [initially] not that well known and then she gets to mega-stardom. How? The sex tape. Which was made by her boyfriend at the time, who was married, and thirteen years her senior. She sued to try and stop it [the tape’s circulation] and she couldn’t and it became the best selling sex tape for two years on the porn market.”

Dr. Gail Dines addressing porn culture and rape culture’s intersecting roles in patriarchy

^
Yes.

The things you can’t really talk about

I’m writing about my stupid curry, because what I can’t really write about is my tiny, tiny, exhausted friend, who picked the pieces of onion and tomato out of my curry, and ate them, to avoid eating any cous cous or any chickpeas or any haloumi. 

There are just so many things I should be writing. 

Cooking

I can’t really cook, but I like to collect recipes - I store them on my computer, I steal them from people. Tonight I cooked an immense haloumi curry for my boyfriend and two of our friends, then ruined it, because I served spinach and cheese fondue for starters and we filled all our gaps with cheese. I’d like to always fill my gaps with cheese.

I wore a t-shirt covered in eyes and mouths and drank vodka made with milk on my tiny warm balcony. I like have flatmates, but the evenings when they are all away are also important. Banoffee pie crumbs on the ground; dishes drying on the bench, no slamming doors, no need to go out into the dark with the trash, not quite yet anyway. 

That smile. 

(Source: pinksvoice)

On Eyebrows

There’s always a new beauty trend to follow. Fringes are in; fringes are out. Freckles are the devil and you should have poreless, flawless skin, like a sheet of A4 paper blowing in the wind; freckles are cute and charming and relatable and if you don’t naturally have them then you better damn well draw them on with a pencil otherwise everyone will think you care too much.

We do care too much. We care about the length and colour of our hair as much as the length and colour of our legs and a good bit more than the length and colour of the timeline of our lives (bit of a stretch, that one).

As a fashion lover and a trend follower and a worshiper at the altar of Marissa Cooper, I like to keep up. I’ve done the matte lip thing and the pink eye shadow thing, even if it made me look like a rabbit that I had when I was 15 (that rabbit died). I’ve ironed my hair flat and curled it and grown my fringe so long that I had to keep my nose in the air in order to be able to see enough to avoid tripping over the wedge sneakers that were supposed to be easy to walk in, and weren’t.

There’s a trend that I hate though; and it’s a trend that forces that fringe upon me – a trend that’s not really a trend because it’s really just a facial feature that everybody has: eyebrows.

I’ve always hated my eyebrows – both thin and thick at the same time, smudged across the tops of my eyes in a haphazard and lazy single stroke, sparsely populated with hairs. When I was 9 years old I remember sitting on the floor of the gym in my sparkly leotard, and a girl coming up to me and asking what had happened to them. Nothing had happened to them – they just grew that way, a bit lackluster.

At the age of fifteen I started plucking my unibrow, which was definitely an improvement, and then I just forgot about them. I had so many other things to think about when it came to my face, like whether I’d need braces (I didn’t) and how to put on eyeliner (thick, in a dark and dubious ring that made my family do a double take at an upcoming reunion).

But then a few years ago the focus came back on them. Brow powders and brow highlighters and dangerous babes with dangerous brows, like daggers, came into fashion. People coloured them and shaped them and I read article after article about how they could change your whole face as I clutched the strands of my fringe to my forehead because, you see, in the meantime, somewhere between 15 and 25, I’d developed the nervous habit of plucking them with my fingernails, and they were nearly entirely gone.

I’ve only recently put a name to what I do – trichotillomania, and a mild case of it at that – but I do remember the event that turned a silly habit into a compulsion, because it was the same event that made me go out and buy 300 quid boots, and I still have them, and I think about it every time I wear them. Something that I started out doing only when I was VERY worried or DESPERATELY sad became something that I did when I was thinking, or waiting for a bus, and there were only so many hairs in my eyebrows to begin with.

I’ll read an article by someone who doesn’t trust people who don’t have good eyebrows, and I’ll sigh. And then I’ll remember that as a middle-class, middle-income, middle-everything white woman, I have very little to sigh about, and I’ll put things back into perspective for myself.

Maybe one day I’ll sort it – people stop biting their fingernails, after all. I’ll grow out my fringe, or clip it back, and I’ll paint my scanty brows thick and dangerous and Instagram the hell out of them. But for now I’ll admire those that do as I hide behind my homegrown curtain, and thank the universe for my GHD hair straightners, and for hats. And cut my fingernails a little shorter, again, in an effort to stop myself, one last time. 

Japanese food in London

Four squishy wheels of okonomiyaki, 10 irregular gyoza, four tall bottles of Sappporo and reminiscing about walls of snow and freezing temperatures and nights out in Sapporo. The salty tang of fish flakes writhing on the hot cabbage, that Japanese mayo that tastes like no other mayo. My London, my Japan. 

dreadpiratekhan:

A Swedish woman hitting a neo-Nazi protester with her handbag. The woman was reportedly a concentration camp survivor. [1985]

Volunteers learn how to fight fires at Pearl Harbor [c. 1941 - 1945]

A 106-year old Armenian woman protecting her home with an AK-47. [1990]

Komako Kimura, a prominent Japanese suffragist at a march in New York. [October 23, 1917]

Erika, a 15-year-old Hungarian fighter who fought for freedom against the Soviet Union. [October 1956]

Sarla Thakral, 21 years old, the first Indian woman to earn a pilot license. [1936]

Voting activist Annie Lumpkins at the Little Rock city jail. [1961]  
(freakin’ immaculate)
Source with more wonderful photos

dreadpiratekhan:

A Swedish woman hitting a neo-Nazi protester with her handbag. The woman was reportedly a concentration camp survivor. [1985]

Volunteers learn how to fight fires at Pearl Harbor [c. 1941 - 1945]

A 106-year old Armenian woman protecting her home with an AK-47. [1990]

Komako Kimura, a prominent Japanese suffragist at a march in New York. [October 23, 1917]

Erika, a 15-year-old Hungarian fighter who fought for freedom against the Soviet Union. [October 1956]

Sarla Thakral, 21 years old, the first Indian woman to earn a pilot license. [1936]

Voting activist Annie Lumpkins at the Little Rock city jail. [1961]  

(freakin’ immaculate)

Source with more wonderful photos

piratewildewood:

andyouknowit:

myhappyfat:

claudewomen:

“‘Fat is a powerful little word, full of baggage and judgement. This undaunted production delves into real-life experiences and stories to challenge aesthetic norms and reclaim a performative space for people with large bodies.” 

Force Majeure presents NOTHING TO LOSE: http://forcemajeure.com.au/our-work/current-projects/nothing-to-lose/

Holy crap this is beautiful!

Some of these are my really amazing friend Ally! Look! So beautiful!

I’m so blessed to know these fierce, talented babes. Can’t wait to see it!