magsdoesthings

[magsdoesthings]

Are Rationalism and Empiricism the Same Thing?

Rationalism and empiricism are often portrayed as philosophical opposites: rationalism claims that knowledge comes from reason and innate ideas, while empiricism insists that it stems from sensory experience. However, this apparent conflict may be overstated. When examined more closely, rationalism and empiricism are not only compatible—they are deeply interconnected, functioning as complementary aspects of the same epistemological process.

At their core, both rationalism and empiricism aim to answer the same essential question: how do we acquire knowledge? Though they differ in emphasis, neither perspective can function fully without the other. Rationalism depends on logical structures and deductive reasoning, but those logical structures often originate from patterns observed in the world. Similarly, empiricism relies on sensory data, but that data must be processed, interpreted, and systematized through reason. Without logic, empirical evidence is raw and meaningless; without experience, rational thought lacks content to analyze.

Take mathematics as an example, frequently cited by rationalists as a realm of pure reason. While it's true that mathematical reasoning can seem detached from the physical world, most people first learn mathematics through practical engagement—counting objects, measuring distances, or identifying patterns. These early empirical experiences give form to the abstract reasoning that follows. In the same vein, the scientific method—often associated with empiricism—relies heavily on rational structures like hypothesis formation, logical deduction, and theoretical modeling. It is impossible to conduct meaningful science without both observation and reasoning.

Historically, many thinkers have implicitly or explicitly blended the two perspectives. Immanuel Kant, for instance, argued that knowledge arises from the interaction between sensory input (empiricism) and the mind’s innate structures (rationalism). Modern cognitive science supports this synthesis: the brain is understood as an information processor that receives input from the senses and organizes it using built-in cognitive frameworks. This suggests that the opposition between rationalism and empiricism may be more about emphasis than actual contradiction.

In this light, rationalism and empiricism are not separate or competing theories, but rather complementary components of a unified understanding of knowledge. Reason gives structure to experience, and experience gives substance to reason. They are not enemies, but partners—different lenses through which we explore and interpret reality.

In conclusion, rationalism and empiricism, while traditionally distinguished by their sources of knowledge, ultimately describe interconnected processes within human understanding. Rather than viewing them as rivals, we can see them as different expressions of the same pursuit: the search for truth.

[magsdoesthings]

Why I Didn’t Know I Had Face Blindness: Discovering Prosopagnosia as a Late-Diagnosed, High-Masking Autistic Person

Introduction

For most of my life, I believed I was simply bad with names and faces. I’d meet someone, have a conversation, and then feel a sinking dread the next time I saw them, realizing I had no idea who they were. I’d fake my way through interactions, hoping for contextual clues—like their voice, their clothes, or the place we met—to trigger some kind of recognition. It wasn’t just awkward; it was anxiety-inducing and exhausting.

It wasn’t until after I began my autism diagnosis -well into my teenage years- that I started to question whether my difficulties with recognizing faces might be something more specific. That questioning eventually led me to discover a condition I had only heard of back in GCSE psychology: prosopagnosia, also known as face blindness. And suddenly, so many moments in my life made sense.

As a high-masking autistic person, I had spent years developing coping mechanisms that helped me blend in socially while hiding my struggles. Those strategies didn’t just hide my autism—they also masked my face blindness. This essay is a reflection on why prosopagnosia often goes unnoticed in people like me: autistic, female, highly masking, and diagnosed later in life. I’ll share my experiences, explore the reasons this condition so often flies under the radar, and discuss what needs to change to support others who may still be undiagnosed.

Masking and Missed Clues

Masking is something I did long before I had a word for it. As a child, I would study cartoon charecters obsessively, rehearsing their facial expressions, and mirroring mannerisms to blend in. Social interaction just didn’t come naturally to me, but I compensated with sheer effort and a constant internal script. I was often praised for being polite, perceptive, and attentive. Nobody saw the anxiety and self-doubt underneath.

This same masking also allowed my face blindness to go unnoticed—even by me. Since I already struggled in social situations, I assumed that forgetting faces was part of that same challenge. I didn’t question why I felt lost when someone waved at me enthusiastically or, on the other hand, why I would constantly recognise people I'd never even met. I simply told myself, “This is just how I am,” and found workarounds: listening for voices, recognizing hairstyles, paying attention to gait or accessories. These strategies worked—well enough that no one suspected anything was wrong. Not even me.

But the truth is, I never actually recognized faces. I identified people by everything but their faces. My entire life, I thought everyone else was doing the same. Realizing that this wasn’t typical was a profound moment of clarity—but also grief. I had spent years silently blaming myself for something I didn’t know had a name, let alone a neurological explanation.

The Diagnostic Gap: Autism in Women

I'm now 17, and this year, I officially started my autism diagnosis. Like many autistic women, I flew under the radar from childhood; labelled as shy, sensitive, socially anxious—descriptions that were often said with concern, but never curiosity. No one asked why I struggled with social interactions or why I clung so tightly to routines and rules. I learned to function well enough to appear “normal,” but I never felt like I truly belonged.

The diagnostic criteria for autism were created with boys in mind, and that bias persists. A 2020 study by Loomes et al. notes that “there is substantial evidence that autistic girls are under-identified due to their ability to mask symptoms and present differently from boys” (Autism, 2020). Autistic girls and women often internalize their struggles, and they tend to present with less overt behaviors than boys—fewer meltdowns, more mimicry, better surface-level social skills. It took me years of unlearning to realize that what I thought was “just anxiety” or “being too sensitive” was actually autistic burnout caused by masking.

By the time we do get diagnosed, we’ve already developed elaborate coping strategies. These strategies can be so effective that even co-occurring conditions—like prosopagnosia—are hidden from view. When a clinician sees a woman who can maintain eye contact, hold a conversation, and hold down a job, they might not dig deeper. And if that woman doesn’t know that face blindness exists, she won’t bring it up either.

Understanding Prosopagnosia Through an Autistic Lens

Prosopagnosia is a condition where the brain struggles to recognize and remember faces, despite normal vision and intelligence. It can be developmental (present from birth) or acquired (after brain injury), and it exists on a spectrum—from mild difficulty to complete inability to recognize even close family members. Many people with prosopagnosia don’t know they have it, especially if they’ve spent their lives developing ways to compensate.

Studies show a notable overlap between prosopagnosia and autism. A 2014 paper by Brewer et al. found that “autistic individuals show significantly poorer face recognition abilities compared to neurotypical controls,” and that these differences “may contribute to social difficulties” (Frontiers in Human Neuroscience, 2014). When you already struggle to interpret facial expressions or maintain eye contact, it’s easy to miss the specific challenge of face recognition.

In my case, I didn’t know there was a difference between not liking eye contact and not being able to recognize someone’s face. I didn’t realize that using someone’s voice or outfit as an identification tool wasn’t what everyone else was doing. My youger brother was diagnosed with autism young and himself struggles with face blindness, and I was even taught about this mysterious disorder for 2 years during my GCSEs, yet nothing ever clicked. It wasn’t until I stumbled across a TikTok, talking about “prosopagnosia” and saw myself reflected in the descriptions that it clicked.

And yet, even now, it’s still hard to talk about. There’s a fear of being misunderstood or dismissed—especially when you’ve spent your whole life being told you're just awkward or anxious. That fear doesn’t go away overnight.

The Emotional Cost of Late Diagnosis

Discovering both my autism and my prosopagnosia myself as a teenager, rather than my parents spotting it as a child as they did with my bother, has been both liberating and devastating. On the one hand, I finally understand myself in a way I never did before. I have language for my experiences, and I can begin to forgive myself for things I used to see as personal failures. But on the other hand, I mourn the years of my childhood spent confused, anxious, and exhausted—navigating a world that never seemed to make sense, constantly feeling like I was doing something wrong.

Not knowing I had prosopagnosia meant I blamed myself for missing social cues, for seeming distant, for forgetting people’s faces. I felt guilty when I couldn’t remember someone I’d met several times, and I lived in fear of being caught out. I avoided parties and networking events. I over-relied on friends to help me navigate social situations. I felt broken.

Even now, with the knowledge I have, the world still isn’t built to accommodate people like me. And that needs to change.

What Needs to Change: Solutions and Support

If we want to ensure that autistic women with prosopagnosia don’t continue to go undiagnosed and unsupported, several changes are necessary—both within diagnostic systems and in broader society.

1. Include Face Recognition in Autism Screenings

Autism assessments should routinely ask about face recognition. A few simple screening questions—like “Do you often fail to recognize people you’ve met before?” or “Do you rely on voices or clothing to recognize others?”—could identify people at risk for prosopagnosia and prompt further evaluation. According to Barton and Corrow (2016), face blindness is “commonly underdiagnosed, and often individuals do not realize their experience is atypical” (Current Directions in Psychological Science, 2016).

2. Raise Awareness Within the Autism Community

Many of us don’t realize face blindness is a condition. Including information about common co-occurring conditions like prosopagnosia in post-diagnostic resources can help individuals better understand their own experiences and seek appropriate support.

3. Train Clinicians to Recognize Atypical Presentations

Medical and mental health professionals need better training on how autism and related conditions present differently in women and high-masking individuals. A 2021 review by Hull et al. emphasized that “masking can lead to significant diagnostic delays and misdiagnoses,” and that clinicians need to actively assess for it (Lancet Psychiatry, 2021).

4. Normalize and Accommodate Differences

Simple accommodations—like name tags at events, labeled photos in group settings, or not assuming rudeness when someone doesn’t recognize you—can make a world of difference. Prosopagnosia isn’t rare, and it shouldn’t be treated like an oddity.

5. Create Community and Reduce Shame

Peer support has been life-changing for me. Knowing I’m not the only one dealing with this has helped me unlearn shame and embrace self-compassion. Encouraging open conversation about face blindness, especially among autistic people, can break the silence.

Conclusion

Prosopagnosia went undiagnosed in my life for so long because I didn’t know it existed—and neither did the people around me. I was already used to social difficulty, already accustomed to hiding my confusion, already worn out from masking. When autism finally entered the picture, it helped explain a lot—but not everything. It wasn’t until I discovered face blindness that everything finally fell into place.

As a high-masking autistic person, I’ve become adept at navigating the world without being seen—really seen—for who I am. But now that I understand myself more fully, I want to be seen and supported, not just passed as “normal.” And I want others like me to find that same clarity sooner.

By raising awareness, improving diagnostic practices, and creating a more accepting culture, we can help ensure that conditions like prosopagnosia don’t remain invisible for so long. Recognizing faces shouldn’t be a prerequisite for being recognized as ourselves.

[magsdoesthings]

We're All Tradwives Deep Down: A look into how the media we consume affects the world we live in.

We’ve all seen them: the picture-perfect women with their glossy blonde hair, immaculately dressed children, spotless homes, and husbands straight off the cover of Men’s Weekly. They promote the values of “choice feminism” while embodying the culture of traditional American Mormonism. Their videos dominate my TikTok feed nightly, as I, like so many others, scroll through hours of middle-class women teaching us how to make Sour Patch Kids from scratch. This content feels worlds apart from my daytime feed filled with “girl-math” memes and the “lazy-girl” aesthetic. But is it really? In this essay, I will explore the dichotomy of content we consume, the interplay of irony and escapism, and whether the trend of reclaiming feminism is actually perpetuating values we might prefer to leave behind.

The Shift in Conservative Influence

In beginning my research, I took a closer look at the 2024 U.S. election exit polls, revealing something fascinating: the percentage of Republican voters aged 18–29 decreased by 6% since 2020¹, while conservative votes in the same age group rose by 7%. Among women, 54%—93% of whom identify as white—voted conservative, an increase of 4% from 2020². These numbers are striking, especially considering the demographics most active on social media platforms like TikTok and Instagram are the same ones experiencing this political shift. To understand these changing opinions, we need to examine the spaces they dominate. And what’s more reflective of this demographic than Vogue Magazine?

In a Vogue interview titled “How I Ended My Voyeuristic Relationship With Mormon Momfluencer Culture,” ex-Mormon content creator Sara Peterson states:

“It is not a fluke that many of the most celebrated trad momfluencers are also members of patriarchal religions. You’re much more likely to find a beautiful white momfluencer looking blissed out at her stovetop surrounded by scores of children if she’s Evangelical or Mormon.³”

This is hardly surprising. Both religions emphasize traditional gender roles and are famously conservative. They promote gender essentialism—the idea that men are “naturally” better at leadership or finances and women at childcare or domestic tasks. Given that Evangelicals and Mormons accounted for 10% of conservative voters in 2024⁴, it’s clear these values have political consequences.

Mormonism and the Allure of Tradwife Content

For the uninitiated, Mormonism (officially, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints) could be described as Christianity’s eccentric cousin. Mormons believe Jesus lived in America, view God as a physical being, and follow The Book of Mormon alongside the Bible. With an estimated net worth of $265 billion (2023⁵), it is the richest religion in the world—an influence that undoubtedly plays a role in the proliferation of Mormon-affiliated content on platforms like TikTok. (Conspiracy theories about the church funding social media algorithms abound, but that’s a discussion for another time.)

So, why are we so drawn to tradwife content? Some sociologists suggest it offers an escape for neoliberal women who feel disillusioned by the myth of “having it all.” With the cost-of-living crisis worsening and traditional career paths failing to provide financial stability, tradwife content offers an idyllic fantasy: a world where fulfillment comes not from professional success but from domesticity.

Yet, I believe the appeal runs deeper. Gen Z is famous from our humor and worldview that is steeped in irony, absurdism, and nihilism. We’ve even developed a new form of humor that only we seem to grasp—“meta-irony”—where truth and sarcasm blur⁶. When we watch creators like Nara Smith sensually make Cheez-Its from scratch in an ASMR-worthy video, it feels ironic, yet it’s unclear if she’s sincere. The internet’s response—comments mocking her with questions like “How far is the shop?” or exaggerated parodies hypersexualizing her—feeds into this ambiguity.

The Madonna-Whore Dichotomy and Its Modern Iteration

This brings us to the Madonna-Whore Dichotomy, a Freudian concept that categorizes women as either virtuous and pure or sinful and impure⁷. In Mormon momfluencer culture, women are held to impossibly high standards of “saintliness.” Even a minor misstep can ruin their image. Like so many others in 2024, I was glued to my screen at the release of Hulu's latest reality show: The Secret Lives of Mormon Wives, and as much as this show did not steer clear of heavy topics such as misogyny and homophobia, I think my main takeaway was the portrayal of Mormon women as either “Saints” (obedient, rule-following) or “Sinners” (those who break religious norms): an alogory that perfectly depicts this complex dichotomy.

Similarly, content creators like Nara Smith are subject to this division. Viewers caricature her as either a wholesome domestic goddess or a hypersexualized figure, refusing to accept her as a complex individual. This reflects broader societal pressures on women to be “perfect” and reinforces conservative values about purity and morality—values that quietly underpin even seemingly ironic or escapist trends. Does any of this sound familiar yet?

The Consumerism of Girl Culture

Social media is currently seeing a revival of self-care trends like the “clean-girl aesthetic.” At first glance, slicked-back hair, Stanley cup hauls, and polished skincare routines seem harmless. However, even a glance below surface level shows they neseciate womens need for constant self improvement and regulate overconsumption withing gender roles by shaping decision making off capitalist logic, usually through internet micro-trends. Watching “Get Ready With Me” videos may seem like innocent entertainment, but always leads to an increase in veiwers buying the products creators promote, thus perpetuating the idea that beauty is a commodity and large corporations should profit from the insecurities of these women.

This cycle of consumerism is intertwined with the resurgence of “girl culture,” which originated in the 1990s during the Riot Grrrl movement. Originally a feminist push to reclaim femininity, girl culture has since been commodified into trends like “girl math” and “I’m just a girl.” These trends very obviously seek to infantilize women and mock their supposed incompetence—ironically or not—by portraying them as financially reckless or emotionally unstable, so why are we so addicted? Could it be this so-called "meta-irony" making a return? In sociologist Rosalind Gill’s article, ‘Postfeminist Media Culture: Elements of a Sensibility (2018),’ she makes the point that, "The use of irony in postfeminist media culture is a way of ‘having it both ways:’ of expressing sexist statements that are subsequently excused through their ironic framing as both harmless and humorous,⁸" which- to an extent- I agree with, however it is obvious to see there is another layer to this complex.

Escapism vs. Reality

Romanticizing girlhood and domesticity is nothing new. It can even be therapeutic for those who feel they missed out on these experiences, such as transgender individuals or women sexualized from a young age. However, when combined with consumerist culture, this romanticization often leads to an unhealthy resistance to adulthood. Trends like “girl math” and “girl dinner” offer a fairytale escape from the harsh realities of adult life, such as finances or mental health. Similarly, tradwife content lets us fantasize about a world free of financial stress, where life revolves around a happy home and loving family. But escapism only lasts so long before reality sets in.

Conclusion

While escapist content can provide temporary relief, it ultimately perpetuates cycles of overconsumption and reinforces outdated values. Breaking free requires separating ourselves from the aesthetic-driven culture of social media. Recently I think that artists like Charli XCX and Lola Young are truly working wonders online: starting to challenge these norms by celebrating the messiness of girlhood and amplifying diverse, non-white, and queer experiences. These voices provide a refreshing counterpoint to the polished, consumerist narratives dominating platforms today.

I didn't really plan an ending to this essay and it's now 10:30pm and I would like to go to bed. Thank you for taking the time to read as this essay took me a while to research <3

[magsdoesthings]

Ancient Egypt and Social Hierarchy: Lessons for Modern Society from a Queer Perspective

Growing up as a queer individual, in a position where I was privileged enough to have a faith, I’ve always struggled to find my place in the rigid hierarchies that define so much of our world. From the pulpit to society at large, there seemed to be no room for someone like me—someone whose identity and way of being didn’t fit the mould. These experiences have shaped how I think about social hierarchies, especially when I learned about ancient Egypt. While its system wasn’t perfect, it was more inclusive in certain respects, particularly in its treatment of women, same-sex relationships, and diverse identities. Comparing their approach to today’s often exclusionary systems reveals lessons for creating a more equitable and inclusive society.

The Structure of Social Hierarchy in Ancient Egypt

Ancient Egypt’s hierarchy was like a pyramid; with the pharaoh at the top, followed by priests, scribes, artisans, farmers, and labourers. What makes this structure stand out is its relative fluidity: individuals could rise through education, skill, or public service. For example, a talented scribe could achieve significant influence, moving up the ranks despite humble beginnings.

In contrast, modern societies often promise social mobility but fail to deliver, especially for marginalized groups. Systemic barriers like economic inequality, racial bias, and gender discrimination trap many people in cycles of poverty or disadvantage. This rings especially true for the individuals who face this systemic oppression, such as neurodivergent folk or people of colour, who encounter compounded challenges in accessing opportunities. Governments in capitalist democracies often focus on maintaining the status quo rather than addressing these inequities. Ancient Egypt’s principle of ma’at—a commitment to balance and harmony—provided a framework that emphasized fairness and interdependence. This allowed for a more inclusive system, even within a rigid hierarchy.

Women in Ancient Egypt

Ancient Egypt’s treatment of women was revolutionary for its time—and, in many ways, surpasses the opportunities available to women today. Women could own property, inherit wealth, initiate divorce, and engage in commerce. Remarkably, women like Hatshepsut and Cleopatra ruled as pharaohs, wielding political and religious authority equal to their male counterparts.

I grew up in a relatively modern church, in terms of its views on women. However, I often heard and was influenced by what I saw in the worldwide Christian community outside of my church where women were often sidelined, their roles confined to caregiving or support. Leadership was almost exclusively male, and even when women achieved something significant, it was often framed as exceptional rather than natural. In modern societies, gender inequality persists. Women still face barriers in leadership, with only 30% of global parliamentary seats held by women, and disparities in pay and parental leave remain widespread.

Ancient Egypt’s approach showed that female leadership and societal stability are not only compatible but mutually reinforcing. By granting women legal and economic autonomy, Egypt allowed for a more balanced system, one that didn’t rely on the suppression of half its population. Yet it’s also worth noting that this autonomy was more accessible to elite women, while lower-class women had fewer opportunities—something that mirrors the gaps in modern feminist movements, which sometimes overlook the struggles of marginalized women.

Homosexuality in Ancient Egypt

One of the most fascinating aspects of ancient Egypt is its apparent acceptance—or at least indifference—toward same-sex relationships. The tomb of Niankhkhnum and Khnumhotep, two male officials depicted in intimate poses typically reserved for married couples, suggests a society where such relationships weren’t stigmatized. While we can’t know how widespread or accepted queer relationships were, the lack of condemnation in their texts and art stands out.

For me, this feels like a stark contrast to my experiences in the church, where queerness was highly stigmatized and often framed as sinful or unnatural. Even today, modern societies remain divided on LGBTQ+ rights. In many countries, homosexuality is still criminalized, and even in nations with legal protections, queer individuals face discrimination, violence, and political attacks. For example, the U.S. has seen a rise in anti-LGBTQ+ legislation targeting trans youth and queer education.

Ancient Egypt’s approach—focusing on individuals’ roles and contributions rather than their personal relationships—offers an important lesson. By refusing to weaponize morality against queer people, they avoided the rigid categorizations that fuel modern discrimination.

Gender Fluidity and Religious Harmony

What truly sets ancient Egypt apart is its understanding of gender and identity. Egyptian religion featured gods like Atum, who encompassed both masculine and feminine aspects, and Hapi, the androgynous god of the Nile. Gender in Egypt wasn’t a binary but a spectrum tied to balance and cosmic order. This fluidity extended into social roles: women could rule as pharaohs, and men could take on caregiving positions, reflecting a more adaptable hierarchy.

As someone whose queerness and gender identity challenges traditional gender roles, this resonates deeply. In the church, strict gender binaries were non-negotiable, and deviation was met with judgment. But Egypt’s recognition of fluid identities suggests that societies can thrive when they embrace diversity rather than fear it.

Modern politics often weaponize religion to enforce rigid norms. From anti-LGBTQ+ laws in Uganda to debates over trans rights in the US, religious rhetoric is frequently used to justify exclusion. Ancient Egypt’s emphasis on ma’at—harmony, balance, and interdependence—offers an alternative vision of faith, one that uplifts rather than oppresses.

The Flaws of Ancient Egypt’s Hierarchy

While ancient Egypt had progressive elements, its social hierarchy was far from perfect. Most of the population—farmers, laborers, and slaves—had little chance of upward mobility. Their hard work sustained the elite, but they rarely shared in its benefits. This exploitation mirrors modern systems where marginalized groups are disproportionately tasked with undervalued labor.

Additionally, Egypt’s hierarchy relied on the idea that the pharaoh was divine, making the system seem immutable. This religious justification for inequality echoes modern institutions where power structures are defended as “natural” or “ordained.” Even Egypt’s treatment of women and queer individuals, while progressive for the time, wasn’t universal—lower-class women and queer individuals outside the elite likely faced more restrictions.

Bridging Ancient and Modern Hierarchies

Ancient Egypt’s successes and failures offer valuable lessons for today’s world:

1. Empowering Women in Leadership: Ancient Egypt demonstrated that societal stability is strengthened, not threatened, by female leadership. Modern societies must address systemic barriers like unequal pay and political underrepresentation.

2. Decriminalizing and Embracing LGBTQ+ Identities: Egypt’s tolerance of same-sex relationships highlights the importance of inclusivity. Modern nations must dismantle discriminatory laws and create policies that affirm queer rights.

3. Promoting Social Mobility: Egypt’s avenues for education and skill development allowed individuals to rise. Modern governments should prioritize accessible education, fair wages, and robust social safety nets.

4. Reimagining Religious Narratives: Ancient Egyptian theology embraced diversity and fluidity, while many modern religions enforce exclusionary norms. Faith communities can foster acceptance by focusing on love, harmony, and justice.

Conclusion

Growing up in the environment that I did, I’ve often felt excluded by the hierarchies around me. Ancient Egypt’s social system wasn’t perfect, but its inclusivity in areas like gender, sexuality, and mobility offers hope. By applying the principles of ma’at—balance, harmony, and mutual respect—modern societies can create systems that uplift everyone, valuing diversity and human potential rather than enforcing conformity. Ancient Egypt reminds us that hierarchies don’t have to be rigid or oppressive—they can be tools for justice, inclusion, and shared prosperity.

[magsdoesthings]

Sup motherfuckers