dismissives

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R aping someone is WAY worse than being a terf btw. since some of you seem to be having some trouble understanding that.

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I love seeing women peak, it gives me hope for this world.

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it’s kind of horrific how so many takes on here surrounding female beauty standards just helpfully forget that misogyny itself exists… this could have been a sophisticated point about how ramifications for nonconformity to beauty rituals or femininity can vary based on race and community, but instead it entirely denies that women are impacted by these standards on account of being female alone and even mocks them for resisting it. whilst women turn against each other and play a game of ‘who actually has it kinda good under patriarchy?’ male supremacy gets stronger and female class consciousness hits an all-time low lol

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I remember how I felt when I was a little girl and I saw women with long untidy hair streaked with gray, who had unshaven legs and uncontained breasts that sat low and comfortable in their loose shirts, women who wore no makeup and had crinkles around their eyes when they laughed and whose sunspots and freckles and scars hinted as the places they’d been and things they’d done. Women who belly-laughed loud, whose wide, unselfconscious grins showed off teeth yellowed by years of drinking tea & coffee every morning, women who wore dirty sandals that showed their chipped toenails and callused heels from the hikes they’d taken and the rocky lakebeds they’d stood upon, women whose bodies were full of life, women whose bodies collected souvenirs and told stories and showed me there are possibilities for being a woman who chooses not to be a living decoration but who lives to find beauty in the world, who lives for her friends, who lives for herself.

When I am afraid of looking unkempt or unprofessional or unladylike, I think of those women, how I admired them, how I was in awe of them, how they seemed like fairies and goddesses to me. and I think that I want to be that kind of woman for little girls who are desperate to see someone who can give them permission to be themselves. I remember that little girls are always watching the women around them to see what is OK and what is possible. I want to show them that our bodies are not like trophies that we must polish and shine and keep behind glass shelves to look at; our bodies are for living and growing and eating and traveling and loving, and for collecting wrinkles and scars and marks and freckles and sunspots and calluses like souvenirs of a free and unrestrained life, fully lived.

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This is why we need data to be properly disaggregated by sex, not by gender.