Amazing Response to the Ray Rice Scandal

I love the internet. Not only can you watch endless hours of cats running into stuff, binge on 20 seasons of your favorite tv show, and look up useless facts about the history of jean jackets, but you can speak out about current events and social issues in a way that is far more public than scribbling away in your journal. And if you are really creative, you can make videos like this one, leaving strangers all over the world like:

Please enjoy!!

I once heard that the only way to respond to a horrible situation with humor is at the expense of the perpetrator, not the victim. I completely agree and I think that this youtuber totally crushed it.

Be sure to check out some of Megan Mackay’s other satirical videos including “How to Hunt for a Husband” and “Hobby Lobby Makeup Tutorial”

With Sincere Gratitude

Thank you, creepy asshole man, for grabbing me and forcible hugging me on the street tonight.

I’m so happy that you could see past my “fuck off” exterior and understand my desire for you to give me a tight bear hug.

I’m proud that you didn’t give up, even after me saying “no” and “let go” multiple times, even after I pulled away from you and tried to push your arm off of me.

I’m glad you could tell that deep down I wanted your unfamiliar arms wrapped around my shoulders and my neck, even after I was able to wiggle away.

Thanks for giving me the feeling like I needed to constantly be looking over my shoulder, even after driving back to my apartment; my neck really needed the workout.

Thanks for letting me exercise my neglected imagination by going through a million scenarios of what could have happened if I had been wasted instead of sober.

Thanks for teaching me that it might not be safe for me to walk 5 blocks at night by myself.

Thanks for making me question whether or not I want to go out tomorrow night.

Thanks for giving me pause about wearing an attractive outfit for a night on the town.

Thanks for making me kick myself for not using anything I learned in my self defense class, for wiping my mind of the idea that those moves even exist.

Thanks for letting me experience the overwhelming paralysis of fear.

Thanks for changing the memory of tonight from the night I got to see one of my favorite bands to the night that I felt unsafe, angry, and scared.

You’ll never know how much tonight meant to me.

All About Those Beauty Standards

I was out at the bars with my friends this past weekend when this song, “All About That Bass”, caught my attention. I’m usually an Indie/Pop-Punk/Alt Rock type of girl, but when I’m out on the town, my brain switches to “club music mode” so I can enjoy my evening without getting caught up in an oh-my-god-this-music-is-all-terrible mood. This song caught my attention because of it’s bumping groove and the fact that I heard something about not being a barbie doll. Ok! I’m liking the sound of that! Later, I went to look it up in a setting where I’d actually be able to hear the words, I was a little disappointed in what I heard.

The overall message of Meghan Trainor’s song appears to be about loving your body and not caring about what other people think of it “cause every inch of you is perfect, from the bottom to the top.” She also goes on to call out the unrealistic images of women that we see all the time: “I see the magazine workin’ that Photoshop. We know that shit ain’t real. Come on now, make it stop.” In general, I’m a pretty big fan! I mean, especially as a heavier-than-ideal woman, whom society rarely tells is beautiful, it’s refreshing to hear another heavier-than-ideal woman come forward and declare that she loves her body, and so should you.

BUT

I have a few bones to pick.

While I am happy that she says to be proud of your body, I’m really not a fan of the WHY you should be proud of your body. The underlying idea sprinkled in the song isn’t that all bodies are equal and deserve equal respect. It seems to be that the reason you should be okay with your body is because men find it attractive.

Yeah, my mama she told me don’t worry about your size
She says, “Boys like a little more booty to hold at night.”

I can shake it, shake it like I’m supposed to do
‘Cause I got that boom boom that all the boys chase,
And all the right junk in all the right places.

So don’t worry, dear, if people call you fat. You should like that big butt because GUYS like big butts! Isn’t it great? Guys’ interests have switched from the skinny girls to the big girls! We finally have a chance! Nevermind if you like the way you look. That’s irrelevant. We’re just here for the aesthetic pleasure of men!

Ok, maybe that’s a little extreme, but you can see my point. The whole song screams “love your body because guys love your body!” There is nothing that points out how healthy self love is intrinsic and must start from within. Even the mom, the female role model that most young girls look up to, tells her daughter not to worry because boys like the way she looks. The words may have changed from “alter yourself to please men” to “don’t change! you already please men!”, but the message is still the same.

I also have a problem with the way she criticizes skinny women and women without a lot of “bass”.

You know I won’t be no stick figure silicone Barbie doll.

I’m bringing booty back. Go ahead and tell them skinny bitches that.

This seems to be a really big theme within the supposed “Body Positive” movement. They pump up the body types that are typically seen as being not beautiful (good!), but they do it by tearing down the bodies of women who meet the beauty standard (bad!). We see it all the time with those pictures on Tumblr and Facebook praising Marylin Monroe’s curvy body and proclaiming how much sexier she is than very skinny actresses like Keira Knightley and Heidi Montag. And on fitspo blogs that explain how skinny girls are lazy because their bodies come naturally thin.

In the music video, there is a traditionally beautiful woman who has been wrapped in plastic wrap, seemingly to represent the “silicone Barbie doll.” I don’t understand why people think it is acceptable to make fun of women who fit the beauty standard when they have about the same control over how their body looks as anyone does. It’s not a naturally skinny girl’s fault if she is born naturally skinny. And even if she did purposely alter her body to fit the mold (by either diet, exercise, or plastic surgery), what business is it of yours? As long as an adult is making consensual decisions that aren’t causing harm to themselves or others, it is no one’s place to judge them.

I understand that it’s an attempt to infiltrate an environment that has been saturated with a fairly narrow beauty ideal with other options, but putting down those bodies that fit is not the way to do it. I imagine a young girl who is maybe on the heavier side hearing this song and feeling inspired, which is great! But I also imagine a young girl who is on the thin side without much curve hearing this song and feeling inadequate, which is horrible. I’m chubby. I’ve spent my whole life growing up hearing that my body isn’t beautiful, never seeing women who looked like me on tv, being told that I should try to lose weight, not out of concern for my health, but in order to look more attractive. It sucks. It sucks being told that how people look is the most important thing, and what you look like isn’t good enough. The fat girls shouldn’t have to hear that anymore. But that doesn’t mean that the skinny girls should.

We should definitely be giving recognition to body types that break the standard of beauty, but why do we have to flip the script and dismiss or put down body types that fit it? Why does it have to be skinny good, fat bad OR fat good, skinny bad? Why does it always have to be one or the other?

You said it, Old El Paso girl. Why don’t we have both? How about we stop tearing each other down to try and make us feel better about ourselves? How about we stop trying to live up to whatever standard of beauty society currently tells us is “in”? How about we stop trying to change the beauty standard? How about instead we say fuck beauty standards and embrace ourselves and everyone else just as we are?

Let’s be all about that bass AND that treble. And everything in between.

The Fifth Year and How I Got Here

Today marks the first day of my last year in college. Last time I’ll spend an extra hour getting ready in the morning in an attempt to make a good first impression. Last time I’ll get to watch nervous freshmen wander into the wrong classroom. Last time I’ll strut to class with a superior demeanor because I know that I have more experience at my campus than 3/4 of the student population. This would be way more exciting if I hadn’t already celebrated my “last first day” a year ago.

I am about to start classes as a fifth year senior. All of my friends have graduated. I’m living with strangers. I’m the oldest person in my classes. I feel like a fish out of water, like the one drunk person who won’t leave the bar even though everyone has cleared out, the lights have come up, and the busboys are sweeping around their feet.

This wasn’t the plan. The plan was four years. Four years is what my parents expected. Four years is how the normal people do it. Only stupid people and slackers need to stay past their expiration date. Believe me when I say that learning I was going to be stuck here, alone for another year felt like being punched in the stomach.

My college education has been less than ideal to say the least. As an A and B+ high school student, my world was totally rocked when I dropped out of calculus first semester freshman year. I had been struggling in the class, something that was completely foreign to me, to the point that I had been brought to tears in the middle of lecture on multiple occasions out of frustration. Try as I might, I couldn’t comprehend the material, and after two months of beating myself up, I finally had to drop the class or take a failing grade. I felt like the stupidest person in the world. Out of my failure, I developed somewhat of an inferiority complex and lost nearly all confidence in my academic ability. When I received my grades at the end of fall semester, I burst into tears when I saw my final GPA.

I chucked my failure up to culture shock and vowed to make a fresh start. Things seemed to improve second semester, and I started my sophomore year by declaring a major in Journalism. I had always loved writing, and journalism seemed like a practical field to translate my interests into a career. It only took about five weeks in two intro classes for me to realize that I hated it. Reporting the daily news and spitting out boring quotes and facts seemed like a nightmare from hell. Not everything related to writing could be boring, though. Right? My love of reading and writing had to go somewhere,right?  And it was in the spring that I stumbled into my first creating writing class. It was exactly what I had been looking for: taking what I loved to do and turning it into something tangible, something that I could watch myself improve at. I figured that if I was going to study something in college, it should to be something that I actually liked; this was the semester I changed my major to English.

This was also the first semester I got sick at school. Up until this point, I hadn’t even had a simple cold. But my immune system was making up for lost time by handing me a nasty throat infection. I was out of class for almost two weeks, just enough time to throw a wrench in my schoolwork. When I came back to my classes, I was completely lost and spent every day playing catchup. It was like freshman year all over again, and I barely made it out of the semester alive.

The next year and a half was complete hell. I felt like I was constantly sick, contracting strep, the stomach flu, mono, and two relapses of mono, all with sporadic throat infections sprinkled in between. See, my fear of failure had become so overwhelming that I developed serious anxiety about my schoolwork. The anxiety lead to constantly being sick, and the constantly being sick lead to struggling in class which lead to more anxiety. It was a horrible cycle that I couldn’t crawl out of. And on top of this we also get to throw in worrying if I was in the right major, pressure from my parents to figure out what I wanted to do with my life (something I have never had a clear plan for), and my grandma passing away, only a year after my grandpa. As I watched my grades sink lower and lower, my self-esteem plummeted, and I fell into a depression. I had no motivation to go to class or do homework. I knew that my grades were important, but I didn’t care. I didn’t see the point. And if I failed because I didn’t try, that seemed like a better option than trying and failing because I wasn’t good enough. I spent the majority of my time in bed, sleeping the days away and feeling sharp pangs of guilt as I watched the clock count down to the start of each of my classes from underneath my covers.

Last Christmas after getting my grades for the semester and seeing the classes I had failed, I knew I had to face the reality of my situation, something that I had actively been avoiding. My parents confronted me about what was going on in my schoolwork, and I had a total meltdown as I tried to explain myself. It was like all the feelings that I had been suppressing over the past year and a half came flooding out in a matter of seconds. I had always been the child who excelled in school, who my parents expected so much of, and I felt like I had completely let them down.

After a long, tearful discussion, we resolved that I wouldn’t be graduating that spring. It was like a rock simultaneously being dropped on my head and lifted off my shoulders. Saying out loud that I wouldn’t be graduating college in four years was heartbreaking for me. It was the first time that my projected lifeline had been thrown off course. I felt it shift in a concrete way that I had never experience before. But without the time restriction, there wasn’t as much pressure to be a perfect student. For the first time in over a year, I felt like I could start to relax.

This past semester wasn’t easy, but the fog has been lifted. Or rather, the fog has migrated from swirling around my head/throat area to trailing behind my feet. The main thing that has come out of this spring is the realization that I wanted to change my major. Without an overall negative attitude toward all of my schoolwork, I was able to reflect on where my lack of motivation was coming from, and I concluded that I wasn’t invested in my English classes. In fact, just the thought of having to sign up for another English class was enough to give me anxiety. Shwoops. Time for plans to change again.

So here’s the new plan: 1 more year. 1 new major. 100% effort. In case you haven’t read any of my previous posts, I am very interested in gender issues and sexual politics. Therefore I have decided to change my major to Gender Studies. And let me tell you, the second I entertained this possibility, I got a genuine surge of motivation and excitement for my upcoming education, something that has been missing since the start of my college career. I’m taking that as a good sign.

My parents have been amazingly supportive of my decision and helpful in making my transition. Though my timeline isn’t ideal, they are excited for me and want me to succeed. And I want me to succeed. And I have this beautiful, confident feeling that I will.

After all, fifth time’s the charm!

Why Did They Ever Cancel Freaks and Geeks??!!??!

warning: this post is quite jumbled and rambly and yelly because I am in a state of frazzlement. apologies.

I hate people. People do things. Stupid things like take good TV shows off the air. It’s bologna!!!

no, it’s not just you

I just spent the last 3 days binge watching Freaks and Geeks for the first time on Netflix, and I am irrationally upset that I have no more episodes to watch. I finished the last episode less than 10 minutes ago, and I almost want to cry. I feel like a friend has died. Well, maybe not a friend. Maybe…a fish? Yeah. A goldfish that I just won at a carnival that I was really excited to own that I had named Pickles that died a week later, gasping for water.

me after the last episode finished

UGHHHHHHH! Why do TV stations do this?? Destroy perfectly good – no, great! – shows in their infancy?

It has stimulating topics of conversation:

It has hot guys!:

It has big laughs:

I did this to myself. I knew that people love this show. I knew that it only had 18 episodes. I knew that it contained a plethora of actors that I love and had the high school rebellion/outcast/puberty/awkwardness/young love plot lines that I adore in a nostalgic, idealistic-fantasy-of-what-my-formative-years-could-have-been-like way. I knew that it was cancelled 14 years ago.

OH MY GOD I’M PISSED ABOUT A SHOW GETTING CANCELLED 14 YEARS AGO.

I know. I’m pathetic.

I don’t know if I’ve ever created such a strong emotional attachment to a show this quickly. I mean, I was sucked in within the first 4 minutes of the pilot, the way it used different songs/genres to introduce the different cliques. By the time Mr. Weir’s started spitting off a string of “you will get pregnant and die” snips, I was hooked.

Can we just for a moment talk about how fan-flippin-tastic this show is? It’s one of those shows that I feel is often missing from TV these days: a show about the everyday lives of everyday kids in an everyday town. There are no millionaires. There are no teen pop-stars. There are no supernatural beings. There are no psycho killers. None of those bullshit gimmicks.

Lindsay Weir is so goddamn relatable! She is probably the most normal lead character on a TV show I’ve ever seen, besides maybe Lizzie McGuire. She is my spirit animal, my patronus. She is simultaneously the most insecure and the most I-don’t-give-a-fuck girl. She will defend the boy with special needs from assholes and then go off let her friends talk her into throwing a kegger even though she doesn’t really want to. She wears the same green anorak every single episode, rejecting the unrealistic, ever-growing closets of most TV characters. She is really smart and goes back and forth about whether or not she wants to pursue her intellect. She doesn’t do her hair and makeup every day. She has a crush on the dashing, brooding Daniel and gets over the crush without ever being outright rejected by him or having her heart broken. She adopts an entirely new friend group because she is sick of the way her life is going. Whether or not it’s for the better is debatable, but that’s not the point. She wants to change her life and she does it! THIS IS GREAT STUFF!

You said it, Lindsay

And it’s not just Lindsay. Most of the main characters are multidimensional. Daniel is hot but a bad boy but good to his friends but a total slacker but genuine with his girlfriend but a manipulative asshole but nice to (some) nerds. Kim is a raging bitch but a loyal friend but a thief but from a fucked up family but occasionally violent but completely insecure. Nick is super sweet but lazy as hell but passionate about drumming but overeager about Lindsay but a total burnout but totally adorkable.

Everyone is just so believable, which was a combination of great writing and great actors. THERE ARE SO MANY PEOPLE ON THIS SHOW! Linda Cardellini, James Franco, Busy Philipps, Jason Segel, Seth Rogan, Chauncey Leopardi (aka Squints), Thomas F. Wilson (aka Biff), Riley Smith, Lizzy Caplan (aka Janice Ian), Ben Foster, baby Shia LaBeouf, and Ben Stiller to name a few. There are very few, if any, instances of overacting, which is especially impressive from the younger members of the cast. I feel like a lot of today’s shows geared toward a younger crowd end up feeling disingenuous. Freaks and Geeks does not have this problem. And besides a couple (what I would consider) missteps, such as Nick being “addicted” to pot and Daniel going punk, the episode conflicts are never over dramatic, never get after-school-specially and never feel forced.

I love that Sam got the chance to be with the pretty popular girl. I love that he got to learn that being pretty and popular doesn’t make you interesting. I love that the geek got to dump the princess. I love that Ken, played by the ever-type-cast Seth Rogan, was dating a girl who was born both male and female. I love that when he talked about it with his friends, she was never treated like a freak and the topic remained serious and curious. I love that Daniel wouldn’t even tell Kim about it. I love that Lindsay saw Daniel’s flaws and got over him painlessly on her own. I love that she calls out her friends for taking advantage of her. I LOVE when she chews out Daniel for asking if she was on her period.

I love that the main guy (Daniel) and main girl (Lindsay) don’t get together or ever even hint at it being a possibility. Daniel’s got Kim who he adores and Lindsay is just plain uninterested.  I love that even though Daniel is the ringleader, Ken and Nick aren’t his flunkies. They give him shit and talk back to him and they are all equal friends. They care about each other like a family.

The show also tries to stay away from cliche story lines and “life lessons”. Lindsay makes the decision to join the “freaks” on her own (ie she wasn’t recruited in by a guy who was interested in her). She throws a party and her parents never find out. The gang all gets fake ids and although they are called out as being high school students, they don’t get arrested or in any trouble.

Blah blah blah. Moving on.

I SHIP LINDSAY AND NICK! I SHIP NICK AND LINDSAY SO HARD! He is such a sweetie and he really cares about her and helps her loosen up while she keeps him grounded in reality while supporting his ambitions. Seeing as Lindsay and I are pretty much the same person (no, seriously), I know why it can’t work; he’s too clingy and overbearing and the lovey dovey stuff makes my stomach churn. And he’s also a pothead who’s stoned all the time, which makes it really difficult to actually get to know someone, especially if you don’t smoke (trust me). But in the finale episode we learn that he has started to sober up! This is HUGE since it was one of Lindsay’s biggest problems with him and it’s possible that it’ll stick since he decided to make the change on his own! HE CLEARLY STILL LIKES HER AND SHE TOTALLY WANTS TO JUMP HIS BONES AND THEY HAVE THE POTENTIAL TO BE A TEENAGED ROSS AND RACHEL AND NOW WE WILL NEVER KNOW!!

OMFG NICK AND LINDSAY 4LYFE

Kim and Daniel are also super adorable together. I mean, they are really aggressive toward each other but it’s so genuine and sweet and how I remember real couples in high school. It’s goofy and fun and comfortable. It’s awesome that even though Daniel is the traditionally attractive guy, Kim isn’t the cookie cutter, super thin, perfect appearance girl. It’s refreshing. They are there for each other during all of their hardships and they know all each other’s shit. And they still love each other like crazy.

gahhhhh so cute!

Ahhhh this show had so much potential and so much space to grow! LIFE IS SO UNFAIR. Now we can only pray that they develop perfect CGI and make 20 more seasons.

Dear God, please bring back F&G

In Your name we pray. Amen.

Ok. Brb, deep breathing and trying not to cry

JK DYING

On Watching My Friends Graduate Without Me

This past May marked the end of my friends and I’s fourth year of college. Four years of studying, partying, and excessive consumption of ramen were coming to an end. Caps and gowns were ordered, hotel reservations for out of town family were made, and final assignments had been turned in. There was a calendar on our fridge that counted down the days until graduation. It seemed that all my friends could talk about was the upcoming step into the “real world”. The only problem was, I wouldn’t be graduating with them.

It’s an odd feeling, I’ll tell you that. When you think about all of your friends standing in their caps and gowns, taking pictures with their parents, crying about leaving the college that had been their home for the past four years, you tend to picture yourself in the mix along side everyone, not sitting in your packed up bedroom watching a live-feed of proud smiles being posted to Facebook.

Why couldn’t I do it in the traditional four years, you ask? Well, it turns out that reoccurring mono, family tragedies, uncertainty about my career path, and lovely bouts of depression aren’t exactly the most conducive combination for academic achievement. Who knew?

I always looked at people who took victory laps and commented on how the system doesn’t work for everyone, how times have change in the past decade or so, how there’s no shame in taking extra time to finish a degree. And yet, coming to the realization that last semester wasn’t going to be my last semester, I couldn’t help but feel defeated. I felt like I had let down my parents and that I hadn’t lived up to my full potential. I just sat on my bed and cried until I gave myself a headache.

I think the hardest part is seeing all of my friends move on without me. It’s like going to an amusement park where you don’t meet any of the height requirements, but your friends decided to drag you along anyway, promising it’s going to be fun, and you end up waiting next to the rollercoasters. alone. with a sunburn. and then someone pukes on you. Or like standing outside of the bar that all of your friends are in because you don’t turn 21 until next month and all of your friends turned 21 two months ago, and they wave at you and give you sad eyebrows and mouth how much they wish you were in there too. and then someone pukes on you. Or like being a 13 year old girl and no matter how many kegals you do, you are still the only one in your group of friends who hasn’t gotten their period yet and you have to fake having cramps and knowing how to use a tampon. and then…I don’t know, you step in puke or something.

As a fairly insecure person, I am quite susceptible to fear of missing out (or FOMO as the kids are calling it). This just seems like a big milestone that I’m missing. And even though I know I’m going to complete my degree soon, it feels like it’s too little too late, like by taking the extra time, it’s not an accomplishment that I should get to be proud of. I did it, but I didn’t do it as well as everyone else.

Sorry this was kind of depressing. I really wanted to write something inspiring about how I was upset about this at first, but then I thought about A and now I feel B and I learned C. Unfortunately, I don’t think I’ve reached that point yet. I don’t know. I’m trying not to let it get to me. I still wonder who I’m going to hang out with on Saturday nights, and I imagine graduation photos of me with my parents but none with any of my friends. I think I just need to focus on finishing and do it for myself. I guess that’s who it’s all for in the long run, anyway, right?

 

Put It On Repeat (6/27/14)

When I get obsessed with a song, I tend to just play it over and over within an inch of its life. These are the ones in the current rotation:

1. Acid Rain by Saintseneca

I love the imperfection in his voice. It sounds like bare feet on hot gravel.

2. She’s Got You High by Mumm-Ra

The opening guitar feels like the dizziness in your shoulders when you have new love. I start smiling the second I hear the first notes =)

3. Stay Young, Go Dancing by Death Cab For Cutie

I’ve thought about this as a potential first dance song. I have to close my eyes when Ben sings “through autumn’s advancing” and let it wash over me. Kinda tricky when driving…proceed with caution.

4. Fall Away by A Cursive Memory

Great don’t-give-a-fuck anthem with rhythm that subconsciously makes you head roll

5. Arise Great Warrior by The Fervor

I couldn’t find anyone who had posted the album recording but their live performance is pretty on point. I’d love a full version of the first 2 minutes; The keyboard/guitar picking combo is trance inducing. The middle build up is soooooo satisfying.

6. Amie by Pure Prairie League

The harmonies in this song are so deliciously soft. When the Neil Young-esque harmony comes in at the end, I quietly melt into a puddle.

7. Hurricane by Panic! at the Disco

This is one of my go-to songs for long drives because it’s so upbeat and dancey. I’m a sucker for solid hand claps.

8. Pompeii by Bastille

Always reminds me of a guy I hung out with last summer. He was in love with this song and wanted me to love it too.

 

 

 

“I’m Not Saying She Deserved It, But…”

I was sitting on the couch watching TV with my friend when she turned to me and asked if I had heard about the man who raped two women he’d met on dating sites. Turns out this guy, Sean Banks, met two women on two different dating sites (ChristianMingle.com and Match.com) using the alias “Rylan” and raped them in their homes back in 2009 and 2012. He’s back in the news because he was just found guilty of five counts and is facing a possible 40 years in prison at his sentencing in September. Horrible person. Terrible acts of violence. And yet, “Don’t get me wrong; it’s not like I’m saying these women deserved it, because they obviously didn’t, but did they invited a stranger they met online back to their houses. You really have to be careful.”

Oh, honey. Just…no.

This isn’t the first time I’ve heard this, and my friend certainly isn’t the only one to have used it. This is a phrase that we hear all too often in reference to sexual assault. When people hear about someone being raped their initial reaction is usually sympathy, disgust, and understanding of how horrible the situation is. But the secondary reaction can turn into reviewing the specific circumstances and pinpointing where the victim went wrong and inadvertently displacing some of the blame onto them.

First of all, I want to lay out the facts. The women met this man on dating sites where the general goal is to met new people and start relationships. They were in communication with each other for weeks, if not months, before meeting in person. He manipulated them into thinking that he was a trustworthy, man of faith. One of the women invited him to her house to watch a movie. The other went out with him on a dinner date. Here is the most important fact: Sean Banks is a rapist.

The fact that this man was technically a stranger doesn’t mean anything. Rapist are more often than not people that the victim knows. The fact that they met online and that he used a fake name doesn’t mean anything. They could just have easily met at a bar or a coffee shop or on the subway, and people can lie just as easily in person as they can on the internet. The fact that one of the victims brought him to her house on the first date doesn’t mean anything. He could have waited until the fourth or fifth date when taking someone home is more socially acceptable. Or gotten her drunk and brought her back to her home to rape her, like he did to the other victim. Or he could have just as easily raped her in a public location.

The “mistakes” that these two women made are things that millions of women do all the time. Millions of women meet guys on dating sites. Millions of women agree to go on dates with them. Millions of women end those nights without getting raped. The only difference between those women and these two women is that these women happened to have met Sean Banks.

Just for funzies, lets skew the facts and say that they had done everything “wrong”. Lets pretend that they met him on Tinder, a phone app notorious for casual dating and hookups; that they had only contacted each other that day; that they had invited him over to their houses; that they had used winkey faces and the phrase “let’s have fun”; that they wore low-cut shirts with sexy lingerie underneath. Hell, lets even throw in that they initiated some kissing or fooling around. None of this changes the fact that when they failed to give consent, Banks’s actions became rape.

Pointing out factors that the victim had control over and linking them to causation is victim blaming. So no matter how much they might insist that they don’t think it was the victim’s fault, when someone says, “I’m not saying they deserved it, but *insert choice that the victim made*,” what they really mean is, “I’m not saying they deserved it, but here’s why they deserved it.” It’s like when people say “I’m not racist, but…” and then say something completely racist.

People like to list off ways that the victim contributed to their rape: they wore something too sexy, they were drinking, they met someone online, blah blah blah blah blah. And I think I know why a lot of them do it, why my friend did it. It’s out of fear. If you can point out what the victim did wrong, then you can understand what not to do. If you can see why they got raped, then you will understand how to prevent yourself from being raped. It’s not so much about putting the responsibility on the victim but more so about giving you back control. “It couldn’t happen to me because I would never meet someone in person that I met online”. Because if there’s nothing you can do, if that girl didn’t do anything wrong and still got raped, then anyone can be raped. Then you can be raped. And that is terrifying.

The truth is, there is no sure-fire way for a victim to prevent rape. The only person who can prevent rape is the rapist. So while these observations might make you feel better, all you’re doing is absolving the rapist of responsibility and placing it squarely on the victim’s shoulders.

It also adds to an ever-growing DON’T list (mostly aimed at women) that restricts potentially “risky” behavior in the name of personal safety:

• don’t look sexy
• don’t be flirtatious
• don’t go out alone
• don’t walk alone at night
• don’t walk alone in remote locations
• don’t walk around unarmed
• don’t talk to people online
• don’t meet people you met online
• don’t get drunk
• don’t leave your drink unattended
• don’t be antagonistic
• don’t engage with creepy individuals
• don’t engage with strangers
• don’t go home with strangers
• don’t begin to fool around if you don’t intend to go all the way
• don’t get raped

It doesn’t matter that millions of people go out drinking each night and don’t get raped. If you drink and get raped then you’re responsible. It doesn’t matter that millions of people meet their future husbands and wives online. If you meet someone online and they rape you, then it’s your fault for not being careful. I’m not going to lie; if you don’t meet people online, your risk of being raped might be lower. It’ll also be lower if you abstain from meeting any new people. It’ll also be lower if you spend your days locked in your house completely sober in a turtleneck holding a shotgun. But there is still a chance that someone could rape you anyway…and one person will say that you took a stupid risk by not having a guard dog.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying there’s no place for caution in this equation. The world is a dangerous place, and we should all make an effort to look out for ourselves and trust that little voice in our heads if it tells us something doesn’t feel right. But when these safety suggestions trickle down into a modification of my everyday life and restrict the way I want to live, that’s where I draw the line. Rape can happen to anyone in any location around any circumstance. I like to drink, I like to look sexy, I like to chat up guys, and sometimes I just need that walk alone to clear my head, and none of these things I do will ever be the cause of a sexual assault. Bottom line, you can’t control another person’s actions. Bottom line, nobody has the right to touch you without your consent regardless of what you do. Bottom line, the only person responsible for a rape is the rapist. Period.

I don’t plan on living my life in fear. I’m not going to change my everyday behavior in the vain hope that it will keep someone from raping me. And if God forbid there should come a day when I am raped, I hope my friend won’t ask me what I was wearing, where I met the person, or if I had been drinking.

I hope that she will look at me and say, “You didn’t deserve it.” Because nobody does.

Suited Up, Pushed Up, and Fed Up

Ah, summer. The season of cuffed jorts, bonfires, and rollerblading. Honestly, does life get any better than floating in a pool with a margarita?

It’s about this time of year that people go on the hunt for new swimsuits, and this year I’ve started dealing with one of my biggest struggles when it comes to body image: wearing a bikini. Growing up a chubby girl, I’ve been wearing tankinis since I was 12, and while people wear tankinis for many different reasons, I knew that I wore mine because I was embarrassed about my stomach. Finally, last month, I decided to no longer waste any more of my precious fucks on peoples’ opinions of me and my body, and I set out to Target to buy my first bikini in 10 years.

Now, seeing as how I’m super picky when it comes to my clothing (and that the variety of cute tankinis in stores is always very limited), I typically just avoid the swimwear section, and I’d been wearing the same suit for at least 3 summers. Safe to say, I’ve been out of the bathing suit buying game for a while. But I was happy to find that while the horribly unsupportive triangle bikinis are still living it up, bra-like tops with underwire have come back into fashion.

Hallelujah! Busty girls of the world rejoice! Our savior has come to tame our wild ta-tas!

Except…it hasn’t.

Imagine my surprise when I grabbed the powder blue top I’d been eyeing only to find 2 inches of thick padding on the inside. It was more of a throw pillow than swimsuit. “Well that’s an awful lot of padding,” I thought to myself. “I guess some girls just want a little bit of lift.” Imagine my bigger surprise when I slowly realized that every single underwire bikini had this padding. Every. Single. One.

Facing the looming threat of being stuck with my old suit for yet another summer, I took a couple of the bikinis with the least amount of padding I could find and headed to the fitting room. I mean, really. How bad could it be? It was laughable. Like, I actually laughed (and snorted) out loud. My chest sat about three inches higher than it normally did and my cleavage almost reached my collar bone, creating a smushed crevice that would give a claustrophobe chills. I leaned forward to test the containment capabilities, and, as I suspected, the reflection I saw would have made Janet Jackson blush. I tried one more of the four remaining tops I had chosen before concluding that there was no way any of these options would give me ample coverage while trying to sunbath, let alone doing a cannonball. I changed, snorted again, and left good ole Tarjay.

After spending another hour at the mall, searching high and low from Forever 21 to Victoria Secret and finding nothing but stuffing, I headed home, boobs below my chin, empty handed.

I don’t understand this. I have a large chest. I need support for that chest. Therefore I need underwire. I have a large chest. I don’t need any help making that chest look large. Therefore I don’t need extra padding. Why, then, are the only options that have the support I need stuffed to the brim with padding that pushes my boobs up to my eyeballs?

Maybe my problem is that these suits are marketed towards pre-teen and teenaged girls, and I, as a fully developed 22-year old spinster, don’t fit that demographic. But even if that were true, that begs the question: why are these stores selling bathing suits designed to increase your bust size by two cups to teenaged and pre-teen girls?

Ugggghhhhh.

Gotta love watching the old “being beautiful means having big boobs” ideology being forced down the throat of the next generation of girls.

Ok. Here’s the deal: If a woman wants to wear five layers of padding in her suit to make her boobs look bigger, she should go for it. If a woman wants to completely cover up with a t-shirt, she should go for it. A woman can wear whatever it is that she wants to wear.

However, when the only options out there are the ones to make a woman look “sexy”, it starts becoming less of a choice and more of a default.

I don’t personally go for the sexy look, at least when it comes to bathing suits. I already have a decent sized chest so whenever I wear any suit that tries to “enhance” cup size, I feel overly exposed, like I’m on display. It’s just not something that I’m comfortable with in a beach/pool environment. I also don’t find it conducive for swimming, which is, I do recall, one of the main purposes of a bathing suit. (Wait, women actually like to go swimming instead of just sunbathing???) So when I can’t find a swimsuit that doesn’t squish my boobs together, I either have to settle for a suit that I don’t particularly like, or I don’t get one at all. It’s very frustrating. And that’s just the busty girls’ problems. If I had a “small” chest, I think I’d been even more pissed. Most of the smalls have so much padding that there isn’t even a pocket for your boobs to go!

This is bullshit.

I’m so sick of being smacked in the face with society’s standard of beauty. We get it: “Women should be attractive. Boobs = attractive. Don’t have boobs? Fix it! Already have boobs? Make them even bigger!” It’s objectifying and dehumanizing, and I could spend a good hour chatting about how harmful these messages are to adolescent girls and women in general. But right now, I’m just gonna be selfish and focus on my shopping problems.

After years of seeing this standard plastered on every billboard, magazine, television channel, and feature film, I’ve pretty much got my exasperated sigh and eye-roll combo down pat. While I would be lying if I said that I am unaffected by these messages, I can identify them and make a conscious effort to, once again, save my fucks and throw up a finger. But when the only bathing suits in stores are designed to alter my chest, when modest versions are not nearly as readily accessible, when the way I want to dress my body isn’t even a tangible possibility, that’s when my fucks start flying.

Note to American retail stores catering to 14-26 year olds: Not every woman wants to look like she has big boobs. Not every woman wants to put her boobs on display. Not every woman prioritizes sexiness in a suit.

Sell those double-stuffed bathing suits. Give me, and other women, the option to flaunt our amazing sexuality. Just give us the option not to, as well. It won’t hurt, I promise. In fact, it’ll probably be easier, given that you can skip the extra materials and the time it takes to add them.

Think about it and get back to me.

 

 

 

 

 

For Those Who Still Believe Gender Inequality Doesn’t Exist

So, last night I did something stupid. Something that modern day parents warn their children about. Something I know I should never do. I got into a debate in the comment section of Youtube. In the midst of reading some responses to a video by one of my favorite Youtubers, I decided to reply to a man who was attempting to counter argue every single reason that the speaker gave, line by line, as to why she supported feminism. Needless to say, it spiraled into an argument about gender (in)equality, the term “feminism”, and how feminists want to kill all men and rule the world. Tempers flared, caps locks were activated, and it ended with him threatening me with violence. I know, I know, don’t feed the trolls. I never learn. I read ignorant crap on the internet, and I’m convinced that once I calmly explain why this person is dead wrong, they will have a dramatic epiphany, and I will console them as they ashamedly apologize for their misinformed ramblings.  Ha, right.

In light of the Elliot Rodgers shooting, I’ve noticed a dramatic increase in conversations about gender inequality on social media: friends (mostly women, but some men) linking articles about misogyny, writing statuses about personal experiences with sexism, sharing videos that highlight discrepancies between men and women in both everyday life and in society as a whole. I believe that if there is one positive (if that is even the right word) thing that came out of this horrifying act of misogyny, it is that it has opened the flow of communication about our culture and how we treat and view women in our society, not just on feminist blogs and forums, but via Twitter, Facebook and dinner-time discussions.

However, the conversation, like most, is not one sided. (I mean, if every single person in the world thought that gender inequality was a serious issue in our society…well, we’d be living in a society without gender inequality, so that’s kind of a paradox). When you start calling attention to negative behaviors of a specific group of people, individuals who are a part of that group are going to feel personally attacked, so all this talk of male entitlement and female oppression has put many men on the defense, prompting popular responses such as “not all men do that”, “you’re being over dramatic”, and, my favorite, “whoa, what about all of the ways that men are marginalized and oppressed in our society?”

The majority of these guys aren’t rapists. They’ve never hit a woman. They’ve had female bosses whom they respected. They don’t mind lending a hand with dinner or pitching in cleaning the house. They support their wives who have chosen to have a career and raise a family. And they’ve certainly never shot anybody because they couldn’t get laid and felt rejected by all women.

But even though the data has shown us time and time again that we do indeed still live in a patriarchal society, there are still those who refuse to see it, and they are the most dangerous. They are far more dangerous than the misogynists who purposefully act in ways to keep women down, who truly and bluntly believe that men are dominate and that women should be meek and submissive. Most men when asked if they believe that men and women should be treated equally will answer yes. It’s easy to point out the crazy man who wants to keep women on leashes, but when it comes down to it, many men don’t notice the subtle micro-agressions that women face on a daily basis.

And that makes them part of the problem. If your initial response to a woman discussing her experience with catcalling is to point out the obvious fact that no, not every guy does this, then you are part of the problem. If you view feminists as a threat, as power hungry bitches who are trying to dominate all men, then you are part of the problem. If you think that all statistics about sexual assault or workplace discrimination have been skewed and blown out of proportion, then you are part of the problem.

You have to realize something. Regardless of which cavemen originally declared that men were the superior sex, we still live a world that perpetuates this idea: a world where women only make up about 20% of the world’s elected officials; where women continue to make less money than men within the same occupation; where basic human characteristics like being caring, dependent, and emotional are attributed to females, and any man who demonstrates these attributes is seen as weak because he is acting like a woman; where the worst insults you can call someone (ie pussy, bitch, douche, cunt) compare the person to a woman; where websites like Return of Kings write articles titled “Women Should Not Be Allowed to Vote” and “Women Are Wimps and That’s Not a Bad Thing”; where young girls are given Barbies and baby dolls and play kitchens that help develop domesticity while young boys are given Legos and G.I. Joes and kiddy power tools that help develop creativity and constructiveness; where women’s bodies are used as advertising space for anything from food, to cars, to clothing, to political ideology; where the female form has become so sexualized that schools feel the need to keep the shoulders and thighs of junior high and high school girls covered up; where a man can have sex with as many women as he likes and be considered a stud, whereas a woman who has many sexual partners is considered a slut; where a male pop star can be convicted of violently assaulting his girlfriend, be sentenced to 5 years probation, and go on to have a top 10 single within two years of the incident; where female journalists and bloggers are subject to threats of rape and violence from men who disagree with their position; where 1 in 5 American women will be the victim of rape or attempted rape in her lifetime; where male victims of rape rarely report the incident because it is viewed as something that happens to women; where a man who killed six people because he was angry at both women for not sleeping with him and men for hogging the women he felt entitled to is met with understanding and empathy.

This is the world we live in.

This is gender inequality.

Look, guys, I get it. Nobody wants to be labeled as the bad guy. Nobody wants to be held accountable for the actions of others. Nobody wants to be blamed for an injustice that has been an integral part of society since thousands of years before your great great great great great grandfather was even conceived; an injustice that you were simply raised to believe was the norm. Nobody wants to talk about the things they, and others of their gender, do in everyday life that contribute to the suffering of women.

But we have to talk about this. We have to acknowledge these inequalities. We have to point out the big things and the little things and the things that are uncomfortable and the things that no one wants to hear about. Because being quiet and avoiding the issues will not make them go away. Ignoring the sexism that is ingrained in our culture and refusing to acknowledge its existence creates an environment for gender inequality to thrive. An environment that locks women and men into structured gender roles. An environment that allows jerks in the comment section to threaten violence against a woman simply because she is a woman. An environment that breeds men like Elliot Rodger.

And we all deserve so much better than that.