ff

this week emily yoffe, aka dear prudie, wrote an exceptionally idiotic and irresponsible piece of victim-blaming drivel about girls and drink culture and rape.

i'm not linking to it cause, ew, dude, you don't deserve the traffic. i found it because they had her on to talk about it on double x, the slate so-called feminist podcast. i can't even begin to express my 'ugh' after listening to that bullshit episode.

i'm not surprised that people continue to write stupid ass pieces about rape being, really, kinda sorta, ohi'msorrytohavetosayit, alittlebit THE VICTIM'S FAULT... (but she's not 'victim blaming', she continues to shout at the internets.)

what surprised and sickened me is that double x talked about the piece as if it was: something new. like. OMG has anyone ever noticed that sometimes ALCOHOL is involved in the sexual violence perpetuated against women and girls?! and, WORSE YET, has anyone ever noticed that high school and university experiences often involve IRRESPONSIBLE DRINKING?!

fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck that shit. sorry, but seriously. i'm not a journalist. i don't have research standards to meet. i don't have an editor reviewing my work... and yet i have been able to locate hundreds of hundreds of facts and statistics on rape in the US and canada. i've linked to a whoooole pile of them throughout my time feminist-fridaying. i'm also a baby-feminist. but in these few years of being concerned about the cause, i've managed to get a solid education about rape culture. so if you're going to get paid to write about rape culture, put in some goddamn time, do some fucking research, or shut the hell up and stop spewing your toxic pearl-clutching babble. what do you think you are doing to the girl who was raped when drunk? or the girl who was raped even though she did 'everything right'? what is the value of your 'advice'?

i've never been raped. yay me.
i have been completely and totally irresponsibly intoxicated. maybe even more than once!!! i went to unchaperoned parties in high school and university. i met strangers at parties or bars and i made friends with them or flirted with them or ignored them. one time when i was, like, 16 or 17 i went to a boy's house in the middle of the night with a few friends and we hid in his basement goofing off and flirting and our parents didn't know. i made mistakes and stupid choices and took risks.
but i never got raped.
because i was lucky enough that there was never a rapist around. when i was doing those things.
or when i gave rides home to people. when i lived alone. when i had new friends over for parties. or old friends... or stumbled home drunk and alone at night after a gallery opening in edinburgh. or not drunk and not alone, but still, you know, a women with my oh-so-rapeable bits just being right out there in the world.
i didn't get raped cause i wasn't with rapists.

so fuck you for implying that i somehow did something right that some other girl did wrong. or that i'm *lucky* to have made it through those experiences safely. just. fuck. you.

*just a reminder of a really GREAT campaign talking about rape that i'm so proud came out of my home town... just a reminder that talking to the ones who are making the rapes happen are the ones who we should talk to.

and once more for emphasis, fuck you emily yoffe. and shame on you.

ff

what we talk about when we talk about 'girls'...

have you read preliminary materials for theory of the young-girl? okay, i am not finished it yet. but i like it. so far. sort of off-topic. but. anyway.

this week i got into a little internets-debate with a friend-from-home who shred this post:

* FYI (if you're a teenage girl)

**worth noting that something i took real issue with - the post-accompanying photos of the author's sons goofing off in their swimwear (hear: topless) - has been changed. good. but. just to show the total disconnect. here's what the thumbnail accompanying the post was before:

so. fyi. girls. or: hey girls who are NOT MY CHILDREN stop being slutty sluts in your pictures cause boys will think poorly of you, and oh the shame your families would feel if they only knew, and just generally shame shame shaming blame blame. check out this real gem:

"Did you know that once a male sees you in a state of undress, he can’t quickly un-see it?  You don’t want our boys to only think of you in this sexual way, do you?"

{the charming and insightful mrs. hall}

patronizing and condescending much? also way to not give your boys any credit about their own ability to control their thinking-machines. all the steam coming out my ears.

now. i don't disagree outright that women-and-girls should think carefully about what they share on the internet. i do feel that boys-and-men should be careful, too. like. everyone should. like equality, amiright? we don't talk to boys like that. though. basically ever. when was the last time you read about a boy posting some sexy-stupid photo and it affecting the way girls/theworld thought about him?  was it never? i can't think of one. please do tell me if you can.

i take major issue with someone writing an open letter to ALLGIRLS (sure, her son's female acquaintances, in theory, but their being namelessgirls, the message auto-extends itself to allgirls) about how they're being viewed rather than having a good long talk with the children-you-own/made about the way that society likes to blame-and-shame young-girls and how they could do better to be respectful and thoughtful and discerning in their assumptions about women-and-girls.

there are a ton of great things written all over the internet and elsewhere about the way we view/consume/blame/shame young-girls. and there are REALLIFECONSEQUENCES to this, omg, no duh. i am not the first to talk about this.

i wasn't gonna bother writing about it for feminist friday - i had a nice friendly post with kittens lined up. but today another friend-from-home coincidentally (or-cause-this-stuff-is-constant-everywhere) linked to a timely counterpoint to the shamey piece o' garbage and, yeah, i did want to talk about it after all.

* the six ways we talk about a teenage girl's age

yes. we know (or should know, jeezus) that this dialogue hurts women-and-girls. or, as i've been reading lolita... why don't we just hear a little from humbert humbert on the matter.

"Now I wish to introduce the following idea. Between the age limits of nine and fourteen there occur maidens who, to certain bewitched travelers, twice or many times older than they, reveal their true nature which is not human, but nymphic (that is, demoniac); and these chosen creatures I propose to designate as "nymphets". 

[...] the number of true nymphets is strikingly inferior to that of provisionally plain, or just nice, or "cute," or even "sweet" and "attractive," ordinary girls, plumpish, formless, cold-skinned, essentially human little girls, with tummies and pigtails, who may or may not turn into adults of great beauty (look at the ugly dumplings in black stockings and white hats that are metamorphosed into stunning scars of the screen). A normal man given a group photograph of school girls or Girl Scouts and asked to point out the comeliest one will not necessarily choose the nymphet among them. You have to be an artist and a madman, a creature of infinite melancholy, with a bubble of hot poison in your loins and a super-voluptuous flame permanently aglow in your subtle spine [...], in order to discern at once, by ineffable signs—the slightly feline outline of a cheekbone, the slenderness of a downy limb, and other indices which despair and shame and tears of tenderness forbid me to tabulate—the little deadly demon among the wholesome children; she stands unrecognized by them and unconscious herself of her fantastic power."

{Nabokov, Lolita p. 16-17}

and holy cow, this was long before the days of facebook and instagram and the sexy-selfie started destroying girls' reputations left right and centre! imagine!?

(OH! and i haven't had a feminist-of-the-week in AGES, but definitely this week goes to nicole aka friend-from-home who shared that second/good post, and who is a great and grand feminist-friend on the facebook machine and who used to (still does?) draw awesome cat-themed drawings. woooo! yay for nicole!)

happy friday, all you sexy-kittens.

ff (fw)

seeing as i skipped over last week's feminist friday, i'm going to throw this out there today. because i am having strong feelings about it and don't feel like waiting till friday rolls 'round again. in the wake of the string of sexual assaults around toronto. thanks to john for passing along this piece.

* communal fear

i have tried one hundred thousand times to get to the heart of what it feels like to be afraid. to just be afraid. often. everywhere. anytime. after dark. early in the morning. when alone. when somewhere new. when somewhere familiar suddenly seems so unsafe... women have vigilance and fear dug into them very very early. or at least i and so many people i know have had. (and if we haven't, well, aren't we naive and foolish and putting ourselves in danger? say the voices.)

{stacey may fowles}

last night i went to a book launch party in toronto's east side. super hip and happenin'. i had some drinks and danced and tweeted. then i went home alone on the streetcar and subway a little after midnight, and held my breath as i held my head up hoping that tonight was not the night that i stupidly assumed i was safe in my city. knowing that if it was in fact that night, people would wonder about my sky-high clog heels, my short dress, my few drinks. the female friend i was with at the party asked that i text when i got home, which i appreciated. i am always the one who worries about my girlfriends going home alone. i always feel like a broken record. telling them to be careful as if it gives them any power. telling myself i am prepared and aware and vigilant as if it will help me if i ever am one of the unlucky ones. it is constant. it makes a girl very tired. 

     {stacey may fowles again. exactly.}

ff (fs)

uuuuggggggghhhhh guys. sorry. i put off writing this week's feminist friday post cause ugh. right? remember last week's rape-culture-fatigue link?

well this week i was gonna write about men explaining things. (after friends who i love dearly refused to learn from conversations we'd had to either a) NOT TALK ABOUT IT with me or b) adjust their attitudes on rape culture...)

and i was gonna write about the series of sexual assaults in one of my fav toronto neighbourhoods. and the heavy-sighs-for-reals? response from our shitty mayor's niece (and the very-awesome response of one of the victims).

i was gonna write about one of my very favourite humans getting chased right to her front door off the bus by two douchebags in my sweet scary hometown. and the fact that some people felt that 'not taking the bus' anymore was the solution to avoiding such situations. thanks, yo. practical shit.

but yeah. pooped. i've been dancing lots of ballet this week and i just don't feel like getting into and getting angry this week. see back to that fatigue piece.

SO INSTEAD!

i want you to take a look at the man i've decided is theeeee sexiest man. this week. his style is so unconventional and anti-heteronormative! (and daaaaamn them tattoos.) and even though he is gay i am in love with him and hoping maybe he will marry me. after he is done winning project runway... ladies and gentleman. fabio costa. love of my life!

{all photos of sweet beautiful fabio from the project runway site} 

happy long weekend.

ff

CANCEL ALL OF THE THINGS!

i had another post lined up. but this is TOOO FUNNY to pass up.

trigger warning for feminists having a sense of humor about themselves...

* is this feminist?!

well?! IS IT?! PROBABLY NOT! PROBABLY PROBLEMATIC!

HAHAHAHAHA! i love this tumblr. i love it unto forever.

and then on a more serious, but lovely note that i couldn't pass-up posting:

* dear daughter

for the record this made me cry. (...a lot of things make me cry. y'all know it. whateves.) it's a really wonderful yet sad letter to a young woman (girl). and i, being maybe more of a less-young woman (girl), needed to hear it too. the bits about determination and not giving a damn. because somewhere along the way that little girl in me got lost and a damn was given and i got smaller and beat down. maybe not a ton. but enough. to feel it. to wonder how i was ever so brave and so fierce and to want that back so badly. and i am coming back. i'm working on it all the time. and i've been lucky and loved and supported and all that. but it is still a forever process. and it is nice to be reminded. fuck 'em. 

have a good weekend, yo!

 {kickassedness borrowed from here}

(oh hey, ps. next friday, the 25th of may, is slutwalk toronto. nathan phillips square. consider taking part! because victim-blaming and slut-shaming is not cool beans.)