occasionally subtle
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Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
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Jules of Nature
NASA

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Stranger Things
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ellievsbear
DEAR READER
$LAYYYTER

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shark vs the universe
Cosimo Galluzzi
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@nonaswan
Purple Lace Bra
Tate Mcrae
What makes “Purple Lace Bra” so upsetting isn’t the sexuality in the song. It’s the desperation underneath it. The realization that no matter how loudly she speaks, how honestly she explains herself, none of it seems to matter unless it’s wrapped in something desirable.
The song opens in complete emotional exhaustion:
“I been singin’, I been screamin’ / I been goin’ all night ‘til my throat’s bleeding.”
That imagery is violent. Her throat bleeding suggests she has already pushed herself past the point of comfort trying to communicate, trying to express something real. She’s not quiet. She’s not subtle. She’s practically destroying herself trying to be heard.
And yet:
“Yeah, I know that you look, but you don’t see it.”
That distinction between looking and seeing is probably the emotional core of the entire song. He notices her body. He notices her appearance. But he doesn’t actually see her as a person with thoughts, complexity, frustration, depth. There’s a difference between being perceived and being understood, and the song lives inside that gap.
Which makes the next line devastating:
“Did my purple lace bra catch your attention?”
That lyric feels incredibly deliberate because it references a real pattern surrounding Tate McRae herself. Around the release of one of her more provocative music videos, people focused obsessively on the purple lace bra she wore; commenting on her appearance, her body, the sexuality of the visuals, while largely overlooking the actual message, artistry, or emotion behind what she was creating. The sexuality was only one element of the video, but it became the thing people fixated on. So when she asks if the bra caught your attention, it doesn’t feel random or flirtatious. It feels bitter. Like she already knows exactly what people noticed first.
The bra becomes symbolic, not of confidence, but of strategy. She understands what gets attention. She understands the rules of the game, even if she hates them. And the tragedy is that sexuality suddenly succeeds where honesty failed.
The chorus is where the song becomes almost painful in its self-awareness:
“Would you hear me more if I whispered in your ear?”
That line doesn’t sound empowering. It sounds defeated. She’s asking whether she has to make herself smaller, softer, more intimate, more sexually appealing in order to finally be listened to. The whispering is important because whispers demand closeness. Suddenly her thoughts are no longer treated as ideas, but as seduction.
And then she follows it with:
“Made all my inner thoughts sound like, ‘Ah, ah.’”
That line is genuinely heartbreaking because it suggests complete reduction of self. Her inner thoughts, her fears, opinions, emotions, identity, are stripped down until all that remains are sounds associated with pleasure. Language disappears. Meaning disappears. Humanity disappears. It’s like she’s saying: Do you only value me when I turn myself inside out into something consumable? The “ah, ah” isn’t there to sound sexy, it’s there to show how women’s voices can be flattened into performance. Into noise that pleases instead of words that challenge.
And the most uncomfortable part is that she proves herself right in real time.
The production becomes softer, breathier, almost flirtatious during the chorus. Not because the song is trying to become sexy, but because it’s demonstrating how quickly attention arrives when she performs femininity in the “correct” way. She’s essentially experimenting in front of the listener: If I package myself like this, will you finally listen?
And disturbingly, the answer is yes.
That’s why the line:
“Did my dance on your lap pique your interest? / Now I got you like that, let me finish.”
is so important.
There’s frustration buried inside it. She knows exactly what captured their attention, and now that she finally has it, she’s almost demanding to be allowed to speak. Now I got you like that, let me finish. Let me actually say what I came here to say. Let me be heard beyond the surface. It’s like she’s weaponizing the audience’s own gaze just long enough to force them to confront the message underneath it.
Which is also why the public reaction to the song feels almost ironic. A lot of people interpreted it as seductive or sensual, when that reaction is exactly what the song is criticizing. Much like with Just a Girl being turned into a cute TikTok trend stripped of its frustration, “Purple Lace Bra” risks being flattened into the very thing it condemns. People focus on the aesthetic of the song instead of the discomfort inside it.
Which is why the line:
“My body positioning determines if you’re listenin’”
hits so hard.
Because suddenly the issue becomes explicit. Her worth is conditional. Attention is conditional. Even empathy is conditional. Whether or not she is heard depends on how attractive she appears while speaking.
That’s horrifying when you really think about it.
And then the bridge completely tears the mask off:
“You only listen when I’m undressed.”
There’s no irony left there. No metaphor softening it. It’s blunt and exhausted and angry. She realizes that vulnerability of mind means nothing compared to vulnerability of body.
But the next line is somehow even sadder:
“Giving you head’s the only time you think I got depth.”
That lyric is brutal because of the word depth. Normally, depth refers to intelligence, emotional complexity, humanity. But here, the only time he perceives her as having “depth” is during a sexual act. It’s a bitter play on words that exposes how completely her personhood has been filtered through desirability.
And from that point onward, the song starts collapsing emotionally:
“I’m losing my mind, I’m losing my head.”
Because eventually, constantly reshaping yourself to be consumable destroys your sense of self. Imagine screaming until your throat bleeds, only to realize people listen more carefully when you moan than when you speak honestly. That realization would make anyone feel insane.
What makes this even more powerful is how Tate McRae performs parts of the song live. During concerts, she doesn’t sing every line softly or seductively, she practically screams some of them, pushing her voice loudly and harshly, almost like she’s forcing the audience to hear her. It makes the frustration visible. The emotion stops being polished and becomes raw. And that connects directly back to the opening lines about screaming until her throat bleeds. She’s embodying the desperation to be heard in real time, right there on stage.
What makes the song so powerful is that it never actually condemns sexuality itself. The issue isn’t sexiness. The issue is being reduced to sexiness. Being trapped in a reality where your intelligence, pain, or voice only matter once they become appealing to somebody else.
And honestly, the reaction to the song almost becomes part of the artwork.
Because every person who hears it and goes “this is such a sexy song” without engaging with the lyrics is unintentionally reenacting the exact dynamic she’s describing.
They hear the aesthetic.
They hear the breathiness.
They hear the surface.
But they don’t hear her.
hilarious that you think taylor swift is in any way a feminist. she's for herself, not other women.
ok :)
It's not feminism that bothers you, but realizing that you're ultimately a sexist.
So mee
Acid attacks
I recently found out about acid attacks, and I can’t stop thinking about it. Not in a distant, abstract way, in a very real, uncomfortable way that makes everything feel heavier than it did before.
An acid attack is a form of violence where a corrosive substance, usually sulphuric acid, nitric acid, or hydrochloric acid, is deliberately thrown or applied onto someone’s body. It sounds simple when written like that, but what it actually means is immediate, ongoing destruction of human tissue. Acid doesn’t just burn once; it keeps damaging skin, muscles, and deeper structures as long as it remains in contact. It can destroy eyelids, lips, ears, and noses in minutes. If it reaches the eyes, it can cause partial or total blindness. In severe cases, it can even damage airways or become life-threatening due to infection or systemic injury.
What makes it even more disturbing is how accessible the substances often are. These acids are used in industrial work, cleaning products, batteries, and agriculture. That means the tool of violence isn’t something rare or heavily restricted in many places it’s something that can be obtained relatively easily, which is part of why this form of attack exists at all.
When you start looking at who is affected, the pattern becomes impossible to ignore. A significant proportion of victims are women, and many documented cases are linked to rejection, jealousy, control, or punishment. It is often not random violence but targeted violence, someone deciding that another person’s autonomy, especially a woman’s autonomy, should have consequences that last for the rest of her life. In some cases, it comes from rejected romantic advances, in others from domestic disputes or attempts to assert ownership and dominance. The intent is often not death, but permanent disfigurement, which makes it its own kind of cruelty.
These attacks are reported across the world, including in South Asia, parts of Africa, Southeast Asia, and also in Western countries, even if the frequency and visibility vary. Bangladesh and India, for example, have been widely studied in relation to acid violence, with legal reforms and restrictions on acid sales introduced in response to past high numbers of cases. But it is not something that belongs only to one region; it is a global issue, shaped by access, culture, and underlying patterns of gender-based violence.
And then there is what it does after the moment of attack. The physical consequences are often permanent. Survivors may undergo multiple reconstructive surgeries, skin grafts, and long-term hospital treatment. But even with medical care, full recovery is rare. The damage to facial structure, vision, and skin can be irreversible. Beyond the physical injuries, there is the psychological impact: trauma, anxiety, depression, and PTSD are common. Many survivors also face social stigma, isolation, and changes in how they are treated by their communities, as if the violence they endured somehow defines their worth or identity.
What unsettled me most when I learned about all of this is not only that it exists, but how it fits into a broader pattern of control and punishment that women face in different forms. Acid attacks are an extreme expression of something that already exists in smaller, more “normalised” ways, the idea that rejection, independence, or autonomy can be met with entitlement or anger. It’s just that in this case, the consequences are permanent and visible in a way that cannot be ignored or softened. Like if their point is "If I can't have her no one can".
And I keep thinking about how easy it is for the world to distance itself from this kind of violence because it feels too extreme to fully process. But it is real. It is documented. It happens to actual people who have to continue living after it.
That’s what makes it impossible to unsee once you know. Not just the violence itself, but the logic behind it, and how often it is tied to control over women’s bodies and choices.
And I don’t think I’m supposed to be okay with that knowledge. I don’t think I can be.
“Not all men” and yet
“Not all men.”
You hear it every single time. Like a reflex. Like the point of the conversation is to protect feelings instead of addressing what’s actually being said.
And sure, not every single man.
But if I handed you a box of chocolates and told you some of them were poisoned, you wouldn’t just grab one without thinking. You’d hesitate. You’d check. You’d be careful.
Not because all of them are dangerous. But because some of them are, and you have no way of knowing which ones.
That’s the reality.
Women don’t move through the world assuming every man is a threat because they want to. It’s not paranoia, it’s pattern recognition. It’s experience. It’s being taught, over and over again, to be careful, because the cost of being wrong is too high.
And instead of listening to that, the response is “not all men,” as if that fixes anything.
It doesn’t.
It just shifts the focus away from the actual issue and onto reassuring the people who were never the ones at risk in the first place.
Because the truth is, this was never about all men.
It’s about the fact that it only takes one.
Just a Girl
No Doubt
(Another) Essay analysis
There’s something almost frustrating about how this song exists today versus what it actually is. Because “Just a Girl” isn’t soft, it isn’t delicate, and it definitely isn’t meant to be cute. It’s sharp, sarcastic, and openly angry. And yet, somewhere along the way, part of it got stripped down, repackaged, and turned into something harmless.
The opening line already tells you everything you need to know: “Take this pink ribbon off my eyes.” It’s not a gentle image, it’s restrictive. The ribbon isn’t decorative, it’s blinding. Pink, a color so often associated with femininity, becomes a symbol of limitation. From the very first second, she’s rejecting that framing. She’s not asking to be seen as “pretty” or “girly”, she’s asking to see. To not be softened, filtered, or reduced.
Right after that, she says, “I’m exposed, and it’s no big surprise.” That line adds a really interesting layer. Being “exposed” could mean vulnerability, being seen without protection, but the fact that it’s “no big surprise” suggests this isn’t new. It’s almost expected. There’s a sense that being put in a position where she’s seen, judged, or left unprotected is just part of existing as a girl in this world. It normalizes something that shouldn’t feel normal.
And then: “This world is forcing me to hold your hand.” On the surface, holding hands sounds soft, even romantic. But here, it’s anything but. The word forcing changes everything. It implies dependence that isn’t chosen, guidance that isn’t wanted. It suggests that she’s being made to rely on someone else, likely a man, not out of love, but because the world is structured in a way that denies her independence. It’s control disguised as care.
And then the song builds into that iconic line: “I’m just a girl.” On its own, it sounds small, almost self-deprecating. And that’s exactly why it’s been so easily taken out of context. On platforms like TikTok, that phrase has been turned into a trend, “I’m just a girl 🎀”, something light, playful, almost aesthetic. It gets paired with pink ribbons, soft visuals, and this idea of being harmlessly feminine.
But the actual lyric doesn’t end there. It continues: “I’m just a girl in the world… that’s all that you’ll let me be.”
And that changes everything.
Because suddenly, it’s not self-description, it’s accusation. She’s not saying “I’m just a girl” as a personality trait. She’s saying it as a limitation imposed on her. It’s not identity, it’s confinement. And the fact that people isolate the first half of the line and ignore the second almost unintentionally proves the song’s entire point. The reduction. The simplification. The way something complex and critical gets turned into something small and digestible.
The irony is almost too perfect. A song that begins by rejecting the “pink ribbon” ends up being rewrapped in one.
Throughout the verses, that frustration keeps building. Lines like “Don’t let me have any rights” and “They won’t let me drive late at night” aren’t exaggerated, they’re grounded in real, everyday restrictions. Some are subtle, some are overt, but all of them point to the same thing: a lack of autonomy. Even the smallest freedoms become conditional.
There’s also this constant sense of being watched. “They all sit and stare with their eyes.” She’s not just limited, she’s observed, judged, categorized. Turned into a “prototype,” something predefined. It’s dehumanizing in a quiet, normalized way.
And the chorus repetition: “I’ve had it up to here”, feels less like a dramatic outburst and more like a breaking point that’s been a long time coming. It’s exhaustion, not just anger. The kind that builds slowly from being underestimated, controlled, and dismissed over and over again.
When she says, “I’d rather not be,” it’s one of the most striking lines in the song. Not because she literally doesn’t want to exist, but because she doesn’t want to exist within these constraints. It’s not girlhood she’s rejecting, it’s what’s been done to it.
The later verse pushes this even further: “I’m just a girl, living in captivity.” That word: captivity, is strong, and very intentional. It reframes everything we’ve heard before. This isn’t about mild inconvenience or overprotection; it’s about control. About being confined within expectations that feel impossible to escape.
And again, the repetition of “I’m just a girl” becomes heavier each time. At first, it might sound ironic. Then defensive. Then tired. By the end, it feels almost numb, like something that’s been said so many times it’s lost all meaning except the weight it carries.
Which is why the current reinterpretation of the song hits such a nerve. Turning “I’m just a girl 🎀” into something cute, something unserious, something aesthetic, it doesn’t just miss the point. It mirrors the exact thing the song is criticizing. It takes frustration and repackages it into something palatable. It smooths out the anger, removes the context, and leaves behind something easier to consume.
And maybe that’s the most telling part of all.
Because even when the message is loud, clear, and unapologetic, it still gets softened.
Still gets decorated.
Still gets turned into a pink ribbon.
You are not "just a girl", you're a glowing soul capable of everything you put your mind to, you're a woman of many skills and talents, deserving of pure love and peace and ecstatic experiences, you have the capability of creating life.
This is another essay I had to do for my writing classes. I really love analysing songs and commenting them. If you have a song you like i would love to analyse it, just tell me. 🩷
My feminist icons
Kat Stratford — 10 Things I Hate About You Doesn’t perform for anyone. Sharp, loud when she needs to be, and refuses to be “likable” just for the sake of it.
Elle Woods — Legally Blonde Turns every stereotype about femininity into something powerful. She’s proof that being girly and being intelligent are not opposites.
Jo March — Little Women Angry, ambitious, and unapologetic about wanting more than what was expected of her.
Vivian Carter — Moxie Starts off quiet, then refuses to stay quiet once she sees how normalised sexism is at her school.
Barbie (Stereotypical Barbie) — Barbie Forced to confront how the world reduces women to expectations, appearance, and performance.
Hermione Granger — Harry Potter Constantly underestimated, constantly proving that intelligence and determination matter more than approval.
Buffy Summers — Buffy the Vampire Slayer Literally chosen to fight monsters, while still dealing with being dismissed in a “normal” world.
Merida — Brave Refuses the idea that her future should be decided for her. Literally breaks the “perfect princess” script.
Princess Leia — Star Wars Takes control in rooms full of men who underestimate her constantly — and still leads.
They’re all different. But they have one thing in common: they don’t exist to be easy to control, quiet, or convenient.