If you are female, expressing hatred for your own body is not just acceptable, it’s practically de rigeur. Failure to indulge in the requisite amount of self-flagellation – my thighs! my skin! my face! – isn’t just negligent, it’s unfeminine. Self-hatred is fundamental to how femininity is constructed, more fundamental than any of the more obvious external symbols (dress, make-up, shoes). What matters is not that you are beautiful, but you know your place in the beauty hierarchy (and since every woman ages, every woman’s place will eventually be somewhere at the bottom).
Young women are encouraged to bond over their dislike of excess body hair, surplus flesh and “uneven” skin. They are meant to do so in a jovial way, egged on by perky adverts informing them what “real women” do: worry about having underarms beautiful enough for a sleeveless top, celebrate curves with apologetic booty shakes and cackle ruefully over miserable Sex-and-the-City-style lunches of Ryvita and Dulcolax. It’s a gendered ritual; men get football and booze, women get control pants and detoxes. We are supposed, of course, to be grateful. Hey, you don’t have to be perfect! Just know you’re not perfect and act accordingly, with the appropriate levels of guilt and shame!
Fairy tale after fairy tale tells us that what matters is being beautiful “on the inside” but what does that really mean? It means submission, obedience and the suppression of one’s own desires. Don’t be haughty and proud. Clean the hearth. Kiss the frog. Love the beast. Suck it up when you’re replaced by a younger model. Sure, you may look fine, but you mustn’t feel fine. You mustn’t be vain. You mustn’t be angry. All fury and pain must be turned back on itself. That way you’ll be a real princess: silent, fragile and never threatening to challenge the status quo.
single and ready for someone to fall in love with me already like damn
i just want us to talk again
i have this crazy urge to txt you cause i miss you so much but then i remember you probably don’t miss me at all.
Today I had a teacher tell me that a family member of theirs attempted suicide with pills.
I asked why he didn’t seem more concerned, and he replied with “people who attempt overdose are just attention seeking.”
Tell that to my grandma while she had to shower me for a month because I couldn’t stand after my overdose.
Tell that to my younger cousin who didn’t understand why I slept for three days straight.
Tell that to my bestfriend who saw me cry in every moment I was awake for two weeks after I swallowed those little pieces of hell.
Tell that to my brother who watched me vomit up everything I ate because my stomach was on fire.
Tell that to my teachers who watched me fail my exams because I was so dizzy and out of it I couldn’t stand, let alone concentrate.
Tell that to my mum, who watched me violently shake, sweat, convulse and cry in her arms because I didn’t want to be alive.
Go on, tell them it’s attention seeking. I dare you.
1. Your skin may never be perfect, and that’s okay.
2. Life is too short not to have the underwear, the coffee, and the haircut you want.
3. Everyone (including your family, your coworkers, and your best friend) will talk about you behind your back, and you’ll talk about them too. It doesn’t mean you don’t love each other.
4. It’s okay to spend money on things that make you happy.
5. Sometimes without fault or reason, relationships deteriorate. It will happen when you’re six, it will happen when you’re sixty. That’s life.