Yes, I am chubby. I’ve got big thighs, a big ass, wide hips, and a soft squishable stomach. And my fiance and girlfriend LOVE it. And apparently, so did they misogynistic piece of shit that honked at me because I was wearing shorts. And so do the numerous people who try to fuck me and then throw fits that they don’t get to. I am chubby and I AM SEXY, and I’m sorry that in your narrow world those two things can’t go together and and I am sorry that you are so full of self hatred that you feel the need to try and bring someone else down over how their body looks but you failed today. You will not make me hate my body. You will not make me run and change into something you deem appropriate for my body type. You know what is appropriate for my body type? The goddamned clothes I put on it. You know what ISN’T appropriate for my body? Your jealousy at my confidence and your hatred. I have no interest in it and I have no time for it.
So here is my chubby sexy body. EAT UP, YOU BARNACLE. And then go learn to love yourself so you can stop hating everyone else.
I am REALLY TIRED of this fucking fallacy that you cannot be a strong dedicated feminist AND a submissive at the same time THEY ARE NOT MUTUALLY EXCLUSIVE KIDS the whole point of feminism is equality for people to CHOOSE what they want to do/be in life and submissives are CHOOSING to submit to someone that is the DEFINITION OF FEMINISM. I am not any less of a feminist because I submit to Adam and have rules and punishments and etc etc and if you think that I am then I do not want to be friends with you I am not even joking.
It’s one of the most misogynist things out there.
dictating how a woman chooses to express herself sexually is misogynistic
it’s also misogynistic to assume that all women undertake a sub position
it’s also heterosexist to assume that all bdsm is heterosexual
It’s also vastly misogynistic to tell me that because I CHOOSE to submit to Adam, I cannot be a feminist. So OP,
And you thought Queen B was just a nickname.
countdown till a white feminist writes an article on how BAD FEMINIST Bey is for using her married name to headline her tour in 5, 4, 3……
And at breakneck speed…
What an embarrassment.
These people are really pissing me off. You know what I took it to mean? Beyoncé has made it clear before she has multiple facets of herself, like, remember Sasha Grey? This is another one. The wife and mother. Why is that any less valid than the independent, powerful woman? Or why can’t those coexist? If she wants to name her tour after the newest part of herself then she damn well should AND HOW IS IT NOT FEMINIST THAT SHE’S ACTIVELY CHOOSING WHAT TO BE?!
Also, she was just giving sound advice. If you like someone, you tell them, you make sure they know it (ie. you put a ring on it), otherwise they’ll walk the hell away and you’ll be left stuttering apologies way late in the game. And you have nobody to blame but yourself.
FEMINISM ISN’T EXCLUSIVE TO WHITE PEOPLE AND DAMN IT BEYONCÉ IS A DAMN GREAT EXAMPLE OF IT.
Oh my fucking Gallifrey EVERYONE GET OFF OF HER FUCKING ASS. She is a perfect example of a feminist and if you can’t see that, then YOU aren’t a feminist.
NOW GO AHEAD AND TELL ME HOW I’M A BAD FEMINIST BECAUSE I’M SUBMISSIVE TO A MAN AND PLAN ON TAKING HIS LAST NAME AFTER OUR WEDDING AND DROPPING MY OWN. GO AHEAD, I FUCKING DARE YOU.
It’s taken a while to get to the point that I can’t look at my body and see beauty, but I finally reached that point. (:
Last week, as part of a cultural discovery project for one of my classes, I spent three days wearing ‘girls’ clothes while going about my day. I wanted to explore the general reaction and preconceptions that people in my city have to clothing, especially in regards to gender. To me, the idea that a piece of fabric or accessory can be so intertwined with who are in our conscious is perplexing. I didn’t want to show off, or offend anyone by my act of curiosity. Rather, I wanted to act as a meticulous observer of the times, to see if the community around me was really as open-minded as I wanted to believe that it was. After all, if such things really only had a place in the realm of high-fashion and in Scottish tradition, then something bigger must be at work.
On the first day, I wore a long-sleeve pink top cropped at the collarbone. I received many compliments, a few glares and even a free Venti gingerbread latte. On the second, I rocked a pink blouse with a high-waisted belt. Again, the same amount of well-wishes, questions and passing eye-rolls. These things were to be expected, as it isn’t necessarily the norm to see someone like me wearing things like these. I felt collected and confident in these modest outfits, seemingly convinced that the world around me could care less about the clothes someone wore. Most affirming was the response to my nails, which were almost always met with a cheerful grin, a high-five and a few words of encouragement.
What happened on the third day changed my perspective on humanity forever. I dressed myself as I normally would; band t-shirt, cardigan, plain Vans, etc. However, instead of black jeans, I complimented the outfit with a plain black skirt and matching set of tights. For me, this was a huge step in self-image. Years ago, I was barely confident enough to leave the house for school. These days, the opposite couldn’t be more true. As I set off about my day, the absolute worst in people came out in a full-force flurry of expletives and discomfort. I was ridiculed in whispers. I was mocked in glances. I was obnoxiously and filthily cat-called by a construction crew who, from behind, couldn’t tell that I was a man. Stopping by a bathroom before a lecture, a frat-bro went out of his way to shove me into the adjacent wall after eyeing me up and down on his way out. Expletives and names that might induce me to vomit were I to repeat them, were casually thrown in my direction with almost zero passing thought. By day’s end, I feared a full-on breakdown, unable to stand up for myself or what I believed in to maintain the integrity of the observer’s perspective. In a way, I had no right to feel that way, mostly because of the realization that this is the way that many have to live their lives. I fought back tears as every stare and ill-formed word engrained themselves in my sub-conscious.
Though I may not know you, I think that it’s important that we all come to understand why these things happen. In my book, cat-calling, shaming and harassment are among the worst actions we can engage in. As a heterosexual male, I will never truly know the fear that women may experience while walking home from work, going see a friend for lunch, or being sized-up in public based on their clothing. I will never truly know the gut-rot that a transgendered individual may feel while being eyed up and down at the store or in class, strangers seeming to think as if the clothing they see before them begs a legal invitation of ridicule. I will never truly know the plights of these people, but as an ally and a human being invested in true equality, it is now my obligation to stand up for them as if I did.
What scares me the most is not the glances, mixed emotions, or 10-page paper that will inevitably come as a by-product of this project. No, what scares me is that this is the world we live in. We exist in a place where individuals living their truths can be subjected, directly or otherwise, to fear simply for living those truths. We live in an age where feeling ‘normal’ in your own clothing can create unfathomable contention with strangers, despite them having zero investment in their lives. We live in a world where the material, the fabric, the pieces that adorn you are somehow allowed to say more about who you are than the convictions in your heart and the sincerity in your deeds.
I don’t know about you, but I refuse that world. I refuse to let these things overcome the passion and genuine honesty that I’ve been so fortunate to bear witness to in my time. I refuse to let backwards, unprogressive mindsets stifle the glow and drive of those who are undeservingly robbed of it. Don’t say it can’t happen to you. If it happened to me, under the most average of circumstances on the streets in a progressive-leaning city, it could happen to anyone, and that is something I truly do not understand.
After all, it’s just a skirt.
What is it about a piece of inanimate, plain fabric that scares you so much?
This is what an educated ally looks like, this person actually has a grasp on what we trans women face for simply trying to live our truths.
"Feminism in nonnegotiable"
After seeing this post of mine someone said it was stupid so I asked them why which caused them to have a conniption fit that I have broken down and numbered to make it easier to reply to.
Because you and all of the halfwit “feminists” such as yourself seem to love accusing me of supporting…
All I read this entire post was BLAH BLAH I’M A RAPE APOLOGIST BLAH BLAH!