lemme tell you something: I wear tons of fucking make up. I wear short dresses. I walk around with a face that looks about as fake as it can get outside of a fucking barbie doll. and I like it that way. and, despite what you seem to think, no, it’s not because i think i’m ugly. i just fucking like makeup (and trust, i’ve spent years examining my own motivations and how they’re tied to internalized self-hated, fatphobia and misogyny so don’t EVEN cause you don’t know what you’re talking about).
I also read ravenously; engage in discourse regarding philosphy, art, economics, politics, race, gender, sexuality; make subversive art; and love comics and film and music. I’M A FUCKING PERSON IS WHAT I’M SAYING.
like how fucking deep is this goddamn image when the spine of the book JUST SAYS THE WORD ‘BOOK’.
this kind of bullshit narrative, other than furthering a misogynistic dichotomy that pits women against each other, is also a complete fucking fallacy. A huge majority of average women DON’T DO THIS. you aren’t the lone plain jane in an army of cake-faced, bottle blonde barbies—if you look around, you’ll see that most women just throw on jeans and tops and very little makeup.
I get that this kind of shit is an attempt to fight back against media-made images of what womanhood is supposed to be. I get it. (thought isn’t it interesting that the “weirdo” in the picture is still thin and conventionally attractive??)
but attacking other women who you perceive as being stupid or carbon copies because of their fucking appearance doesn’t fight back against shit. it actually does EXACTLY what the patriarchy wants us to do—engenders more hatred and competition between women.
but you know, whatever, continue to think you’re so goddamn special. i’ll be over here reading AND wearing hot pink lipstick and having a hell of a time doing it.
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