I need a better titles one of these days. @scurci - Tumblr Blog

No IDs, but these tags got me in a huff:

So ok look. The point is not the flared leg by itself. These cannot be yoga pants. These are, and you have to understand this if you are too young to have worn them, BLUE JEANS. And this was the last years before all jeans were 70% spandex.

They were denim, and they weren't bell bottoms. They hung loose from the knee in a way that would make a wizard envious. We all walked around like we were wearing hakama. And they dragged on the ground. That was important. Ragged cuffs. If your jeans weren't so long that they had ratty cuffs, they were embarrassingly short.

And the thing about denim is that it's a twill weave and it's cotton. So not only does it hold a lot of water, it wicks. Walking around in these suckers on a wet day could get you wet to the knees even if you never stepped in a puddle.

Then you'd go inside and take off your shoes and try to avoid letting your freezing, wet, filthy pant legs touch your skin.

Yoga pants. Hmf.

elodieunderglass

people in cold climates would have a tide line of white marks around their knees (if they were normal height) in the winter.

From wicking up road salt.

taibhsearachd

The visceral memory of that time is something that never leaves you. Everyone's jeans were many inches higher in the back than the front because you kept stepping on the hem and ripping it off. Your lower legs were so very cold. Every new pair of jeans literally enveloped your entire foot, they were so so long re: leg-to-waist ratio. Walking on a rainy day was a legitimate workout. You have no idea.

deathcomes4u

I was there gandalf etcetc but on a different tangent...

Ima need the young people to look up the proper names for their pant cuts, because I don't think they MAKE yoga pants with bell bottom cuts.

However big you think bell bottoms are, you are wrong. These were all Bootcut or Flares. I know this because I wore them, and I look for bootcut/flare ALWAYS because they flatter my figure the best. As they are not very in fashion right now, this is difficult.

I also still have to roll up the ends of said pants because I am not tall enough for the size jeans I have to get, and as most medium to short but quite fat peop know, for some reason the clothing companies decide if the waist is bigger, the leg needs to be taller, and scale them as such. So we all have jeans this fucking long all the time.

However they are made with elastic materials now, so no, they do not wick the same way (thankfully).

Anyway have a quick guide:

This shit is Bootleg and Flare. Difference is subtle. Bootlegs are usually the most conservative, closest to the leg, Flares will hug to the knee and then... well... flare. And the flare can get really big and wavey, but it's still a flare if it cinches at the knee.

first 2 count as Bootcut (yeah even the one with the little split), third is Flare, fourth is a more conservative Flare but could probably get labelled Bootcut.

AND THIS

IS BELLBOTTOMS.

This isn't a vintage pair, but it's true to authentic 70's sizes. These were based off Sailor's pants, they typically hug at the hips and sometimes tops of the thighs, and then they just keep widening out from there. And if they are not in a stiff enough fabric to create that bell shape, they are not generally called Bellbottoms. They will fall differently and have a different name.

bruzum

thegaymertrainer

I love otter

gryffon

fatartappreciation

Beach (2014) by Russian digital artist Andrey Surnov

glorioustragedykid

Really like doing this one

nevver

Fuco Ueda

captainsblogsupplemental

obi-waankenobi

#i like to think data took him all the way to the brig tossed him in and left#and then came back 60 seconds later and was like ‘i believe i have successfully played a ‘practical joke’ on you :)’#riker loses it & claps him on the back like ‘wow. good job u rly had me going. dont ever fucking do that again’ Perfect.

ingridverse

Actually it’s 73 seconds. Data, knowing something of how human minds work, estimates that Riker will give him 60 seconds to come back (because humans prefer “round numbers”, however arbitrary the units). After 60 seconds it will take 4 seconds for Riker to fully process the conclusion that Data is, in fact, not coming back after all, and an additional 9 seconds to build to the optimum level of anxiety.

After all, comedy is timing.

sniperct

trekheritageposts

star trek heritage post (July 19th, 2019)

Kill the perfectionist in your mind

loish

Hot take: Pigeons are majestic. Who agrees with me??

garlic-slut

I think one of the most dangerous things we can do is justify why we should treat marginalized people well. “Gay people aren’t just interested in sex” “people who use welfare often work multiple jobs” “some people are fat because of a health issue” I actually don’t care about any of these things. We shouldn’t be treating people inhumanly regardless, and that’s what we’re fighting for.

organicclownfarm

mark my words

redbubble / trans flag version

punishedsaints

you already outlived Charlie Kirk :)

elfchewtoy

in a world where a prominent branch of anti-trans activism focuses on fearmongering about "parents' rights," trans rights and youth rights become inextricable.

trans kids deserve to be called the right pronouns and the right name by schools and doctor's offices, regardless of "parental consent." trans kids deserve to undergo the right puberty at the same time as their cis peers, regardless of "parental consent."

the very concept of "parents' rights" is a smokescreen that enables the abuse and dehumanization of children by adults. this is bad for cis kids, too.

floodpool

I am very much trans, but I was also a sickly child. I won’t get into all the details but for example I have moderate severity asthma. At this point in my life I need to take medication twice every day for my asthma in order to breathe as well as someone who doesn’t have asthma. If I do not do this my blood oxygen level is around 90%-92% depending on the season and the air quality. This is comparable to someone who has COPD and might be at least part time on oxygen.

I was never treated for my asthma until I was almost an adult. The inciting event is that I was seventeen I got sick. Like. I caught a cold and then the flu and then another cold and so on. I was sick for something like four consecutive months. Just coughing, sneezing, achy, fatigued, and my throat was so sore I could barely talk. For four months. And then one day I had an asthma attack. It was bad. I couldn’t stand without almost blacking out. Even sitting down I couldn’t breathe and talk at the same time. Between breaks where I was gasping for breath, I explained to my mom what was happening to me. That I needed to go to the hospital. I needed to see someone NOW. It wasn’t something she could put off anymore, it was urgent. I was seventeen and suffocating in my own body, legitimately afraid I would die and too oxygen deprived to help myself. She said no. I threatened to call the ambulance myself. She grabbed my cellphone out of my hand. She told me I was making it up and that the doctor wouldn’t help. I would still have to drive myself to school and I needed to stop complaining.

It took me telling her that I had already informed multiple friends and they were threatening to both call an ambulance and report her to CPS for her to cave, and the entire time she was disparaging and criticizing me. I saw the doctor, I was diagnosed with asthma, I was prescribed an inhaler. Then, still gasping for breath, I had to fight to be allowed to go pick up that inhaler. It cost less than $20 with the insurance I was on, and I paid for it myself. It wasn’t about money. It had never been about money. I used that inhaler and took my first clear breath in months. I got better. I wasn’t sick anymore. She never apologized.

That was one of many medical neglect induced near-death experiences I have had, and every time I hear about “parents rights” I remember how many people I had who wanted to help me and couldn’t. Teachers, friends, trusted adults in extra curriculars, and parents of friends all had to sit and watch for months as I got sicker and sicker. Had to sit with the fact that every time I disappeared from school I may not come back because they knew that even on my deathbed I would never see the inside of a hospital. All because my mother’s right to choose for her child was more important than my right to live without suffering. So I’m a bit leery of parents rights over children’s rights.