playground, friend.
stay a while.
Photo reblogged from penny lane is in my ears and in my eyes.
- Helen Mirren, beautiful in every way it’s possible for a human to be beautiful.
Source: discopeanut
Quote reblogged from {UnWinona}
As a society, we encourage girls and women to be emotionally accessible, and in touch with their feelings; we say that it’s an innately feminine trait. We say it, that is, until they have feelings that make us uncomfortable, at which point we recast them as melodramatic harpies, shrieking banshees, and basket cases.
Source: imanassspankme
Photoset reblogged from Xx--Ade--xXx--1337--xX
I think it’s time to kill for our women
Time to heal our women, be real to our women
And if we don’t we’ll have a race of babies
That will hate the ladies, that make the babies
And since a man can’t make one
He has no right to tell a woman when and where to create one“Rap is just noise”
Source: hiphop-rnb-gifs
Link
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I am participating in a fundraiser to help low-income individuals in need of abortion care. If you share my passion and would like to help change lives, please donate and reblog! Thanks!
Quote reblogged from penny lane is in my ears and in my eyes.
Those of us who stand outside the circle of this society’s definition of acceptable women; those of us who have been forged in the crucibles of difference – those of us who are poor, who are lesbians, who are Black, who are older – know that survival is not an academic skill. It is learning how to stand alone, unpopular and sometimes reviled, and how to make common cause with those others identified as outside the structures in order to define and seek a world in which we can all flourish. It is learning how to take our differences and make them strengths.
Photo reblogged from Fuck yeah, feminists!
Women in Film
I have been waiting for these stats for many moons. (Holy SHIT 8% directors)
that last image just made my life.
Anyone have sources for these numbers?
Source: dividedconsciousness
Photoset reblogged from {UnWinona}
Christopher Eccleston on the relationship between the Doctor and his companions
I love you.
Source: dancingdaleks
Post
For a moment, I just have to talk about how happy I am I cut off all of my hair, and how much I recommend it to every woman I know.
From when we are little girls, we’re taught that ribbons and curls and ponytails make us feminine, that our beauty is in the color and texture of the dead cells on our heads. This can be especially troubling for women of color. If our hair is too much, too thick, too unruly, too different from the models in the magazines, it makes us feel that much less beautiful and feminine during adolescence. I know this was the case for me. My hair was always a big, voluminous mess. And I can’t count the number of times a pretty blonde girl came up to me saying how she wished she could have the body in her hair that I had. But I hated it, and I hated her for being jealous of it. “You don’t understand,” I would think. I would look in the mirror and I would cry. I would spend hours straightening and dying and treating my hair until it lay flat and lifeless on my head. I wore it up for years because I had given up at making it look decent. And this isn’t the only part of my female identity I struggled with, but I remember the day I cut all my hair off for the first time like it was just yesterday. It was like I had never seen myself before. I looked in the mirror and for the first time, I saw a woman. I saw my eyes and my cheekbones and my lips. I saw the angle of my jaw and my large forehead and I didn’t hate them. I wasn’t distracted by my black wavy mess of hair. I was seeing me, everything I had been distracted away from seeing for so long.
It was terrifying, but it was so empowering! It forces you to step outside of the “woman” box, if only for a moment, and see what makes you you apart from the hair on your head. I went years and years with chin-length bobs and a-lines until finally, about a year ago, I decided to go even shorter. And then towards the end of last year I buzzed all my hair off completely. Now I have a super short, blonde pixie cut and I have never felt more sexy and feminine in my life.
Be whatever woman you want to be, and don’t be afraid to search for that woman in ways that might have previously seemed scary or threatening to your female identity. There is nothing more sexy than being you, than being unafraid to be judged for not fitting into the boxes society has built and placed you in. It doesn’t make you any less of a woman to wear boots or trenchcoats or to shave off all your hair.
Video reblogged from Project Unbreakable
I found this video on YouTube and wanted to share it with you - “Project Unspoken”, created by a group from Emory University in Atlanta, GA. So powerful. (trigger warning: rape/sexual assault)
“You’re still a whole being, and because of what happened to you, you are a much stronger individual.”
Link reblogged from i like everything!
Girls Don’t Count →
I used to think I was getting away with something.
“Girls don’t count,” I’d say, running my fingers up her arm at the bar. “Don’t you know that?”
We both had boyfriends. Long-term boyfriends. Mine had introduced me to the concept.
“I wouldn’t feel threatened,” he’d say. “I know they could never compete.”
He meant that a woman, no matter how attached I got, could never “steal” me away from him. He meant that he’d only care about male penetration, about “sex” in the most typical terms. I was young and I didn’t value myself and I hadn’t been taught a lot about feminism or how relationships should work. I said nothing, because I wanted it to be true.
_____
We went on a date, she and I. We saw a movie and then she came over and we drank wine and watched TV and hooked up on the couch and fell asleep. We were drunk and we laughed. I held her.
The next morning, he was angry.
“I thought girls didn’t count,” I said.
“Yeah, but you like, went on a date,” he said.
“We saw a movie,” I replied. “She has a boyfriend.”
“It was a date,” he said. He was irritated.
_____
“How many people have you been with?,” they all ask, adding: “Girls don’t count.”
_____
These girls. I remember them. They happened. They were there with me. They had red hair and bright red lipstick and they wore Boston Red Sox hoodies and they loved Russian literature and they had big, wily pet dogs and they spent the night.
I talked to them at parties or met them in the dorms freshman year or they were friends of friends who stroked my hair and said, “I just think everyone’s a little bit bisexual, don’t you?”
I loved them. They were real and they shared themselves with me and we spent time together at thrift shops and in classes and at bars and at friends’ dinner parties. We held hands while other couples passed around a joint. We buried our faces in each other’s soft necks under the covers. These were relationships. These were people I was with.
“I want us to be monogamous,” men say. “But you know, obviously girls don’t count.”
_____
When did you first have sex?
It depends on what you mean. There was a girl in high school.
No, I mean your virginity. When did you lose it?
Oh.
_____
He is masturbating. I ask, “What do you want?” He says, “Tell me about when you were with your ex-girlfriend.”
Later, I say my ex-boyfriend’s name when telling a story about last year and he tells me, “You know, I could stand to hear less about him.”
_____
“I just think you’ll end up with a man in the end,” he says when we’re walking to a bar.
“That’s presumptuous,” I reply.
“I just feel like you will.”
“Because you’re threatened?”
“What?”
“Because it threatens you to know that I could one day not need a dick. That, god forbid, a woman who could end up with either actually chooses to disregard your precious penis.”
“Hey, take it easy. I was just giving you relationship advice.”
“Yeah, thanks.”
At the bar, our friends wonder why we aren’t speaking. Even he is confused by what happened. He doesn’t know what he did wrong.
_____
For a long time, I said nothing. Because if they thought it wasn’t cheating, who was I to argue? I had freedom. I was getting one over on them. I was winning.
They were real. They were real and they counted. They’re not shadows among the men I saw. But I wanted them to be. I wanted to avoid the consequences, to avoid thinking, to avoid wondering what it meant. These men, they told me what it meant: it meant nothing.
And I told other women this fallacy. I moved in to kiss their necks and ears and said, “Girls don’t count, don’t you know?”
And later, they counted. And later, I knew.
Feels. Goosebumps. Feels.
Source: nananapua
Photoset reblogged from things i can't say
Oxford University students on why we need feminism
Source: oxford.tab.co.uk
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