It was all my insecurities manifested as some sort of Dali-esque nightmare…the makings of a surrealist film that Women’s Studies majors would go to town with.
This book doesn’t hate men, but it knows they’re flawed—it knows that our world, and its system of privileges, is wholly warped…that it continues to need fixing
Society has built up a problematic narrative where the ideal woman acts in a very particular way: she doesn’t care about superficial things (make-up, fashion), yet always manages to look and feel perfect despite that. Call it Jennifer Lawrence syndrome, if you will.
We all have individual hierarchies of beauty and hygiene importance, which often read as superficial. But leaving it at that is shortsighted–for my writerly ass, at least. If we really consider what it is that we privilege over the myriad other options, out choices tend to spell something out about our larger values or interests.
I’m forcing myself to start off the summer with some serious simplifying and lifestyle-reevaluating. So, I’m going to begin with the basics (wardrobe, books, etc.), to get the ball rolling on a broader overhaul.
These lists are fashion content at its worst: regurgitated “guidance” with roots that should be more at home sometime around 1950.
Because not all mother figures are blood-related, vagina wielding Betty Crockers, okay?
“Write normcore on a post it note and have someone shit on it. Call it art.” Sorry if you’ve been holding your breath, but my self-directed-real-talk is BACK, and it’s pretty extensive to make up for lost time.
A bad date gets me thinking about the inner-war between the outfits we truly like to wear versus the outfits we sometimes feel we should wear.