Last time on Feminist Mythbusting, we busted myths such as feminists’ hatred of men, their lack of a sense of humour, and their “whining”. Of course, there are many more myths to bust, so let’s get to it! Continue reading “feminist mythbusting, part II”
My personal experience with Fifty Shades of Grey went something like this:
Because I don’t live under a rock, I’d heard whispers about it. I was mildly intrigued, as most people would be upon hearing that word porn had somehow managed to become a socially acceptable bestseller (as an aside, once I overheard a classmate telling our elderly male prof that she had read it on her tablet in bed…like, he knows what it is! It’s not a secret!). I had the distinctly awkward experience of noticing that my mother owned all three books, and the distinctly awkward-er experience of witnessing my mother lending the books to my grandmother. One day, when I was alone in my mom’s bathroom, I noticed it on the bathtub ledge. Curiosity got the best of me, and I flipped open the first page. Continue reading “fifty shades of absolutely not”
So, I have a confession. This might come as a surprise, but…I am a feminist. A big, huge, raging Crazy Feminazi™. Actually, that really shouldn’t be a surprise. If you’ve read more than one of my posts and haven’t figured that one out for yourself, I don’t really know what to tell you.
As you’ve probably noticed, feminism has kind of been having its day in the light for the past couple years or so. Some might even call it “trendy”. Nowadays, it seems that every time a female celebrity gets interviewed, she gets asked the question, “Are you a feminist?” And, I mean, I guess that’s better than asking mundane questions about their diets for their latest movies or where they get their hair done or whatever, but many of their answers have revealed something about the public’s view on this controversial topic:
People really, really don’t know what feminism even is.
Of course, I’m far from the first one to try to correct these misconceptions, but I thought I might as well add my voice to the crowd, because I really like hearing myself talk (reading myself write, whatever, same/diff). So, without further ado, here are a few of the most common “myths” about feminism that I encounter in my trollings around the Web and in my daily life: Continue reading “feminist mythbusting, part I”
Dear my dental hygienist (sorry, I don’t have anything better to call you),
I’m not going to lie; as it stands, I already really hate coming to the dentist. Well, I doubt anyone really enjoys the dentist, but for me, it’s like a torture chamber. I have this thing about metal against my teeth, like a nails-on-chalkboard cringe-y feeling (I avoid biting my forks and spoons for this very reason), so I’m sure you can understand my distaste. Also, I apparently have really weak enamel (I’m a very diligent brusher, promise!), because every time I come to the dentist, y’all are like, “You have 300,000 cavities! Guess you might as well move in here for the next few weeks while we freeze your mouth and drill your teeth out of your head!”
Anyway. I should get to the point of this letter, which has little to do with my predisposed dislike for those in the dental profession. Continue reading “an open letter to my dental hygienist”
Ladies and gentlemen! I have an announcement, for which I know you have all been waiting with bated breath:
My leather pants, the pants that started it all, officially fit my body once again.
I don’t have to suck in to do them up, I can breathe, and there will be no lacerations should I decide to sit down. I will now be able to resume my dream of appearing to be a dominatrix biker-chick. Can you hear the Hallelujah chorus? Continue reading “adventures with leather pants, part III: the pants today”
Dear dude on the subway three Thursday nights ago,
It was 10 o’clock on the night before Halloween, and the first night of Halloweekend. Halloween is one of my favourite times of the year; you get to be whoever and whatever you want, be as sexy or silly or weird as you want, and nobody will say anything about it.
Or so I thought. Continue reading “an open letter to the dude on the subway”
Dear girl who sat behind me in 18th Century Literature and Culture,
I don’t know you, and you don’t know me. Well, it’s possible you at least know who I am, and think I am an annoying keener, because I tend to participate in class discussion frequently, unlike you and your band of sniggering gossip girls. I don’t usually sit in that spot, but when some dude who never comes to class decided to take my usual seat, I was forced to choose somewhere else. That is how I came to be in front of you. Continue reading “an open letter to the girl who sat behind me in lecture last week”