From Wikipedia:
« A good hose for men is also made of carefully selected yarns with more reinforcement than women's, as men are, in general, more intensive users than women.»
Well, slap my ass and call me Deuteronomy, but the only way I can concieve of anyone using pantyhose more intensively is by what, dragging their legs over concrete? Do they mean using it more often? Because if that's so, are they actually telling me Pantyhose-Wearing Male A wears pantyhose more than Pantyhose-Wearing Female B? In a world where the wearing of pantyhose is the norm for many women, and for exactly ZERO men?*
No, what I see is a weak-ass attempt by teh Wikis to cover up the fact that women basically get screwed over by the clothing industry a lot. This time it's pantyhose. Amazing how even a garment thats traditionally worn by women exclusively gets instantly improved the second men start to use it. Oh, the huge manatee!
What also boggles the mind is the fact that, deducing from the Wikipedia article, men's pantyhose seems to be of better quality because it's worn for medical reasons; to improve circulation when sitting or standing all day. But the women who stand all day (who generally are expected to wear heels, in order to maximize the legly torture), they get the crappy hose!
I could go on for days about the unfair double standards for clothes. They drive me to buy men's garments, or make my own (since I've already been ostracized as a fugly man-hatin', psychotic dyke, I'm going to be punished for being unfeminine anyway).
But since I'm rather inclined to go watch Death Note at the moment, the need to kill the feminist in me for a few hours, lest I run the risk of my head imploding from a megadose of patriarchy, becomes imperative.
Oh, and please don't ask how I came to be blogging about discriminatory pantyhose. I don't know, ok? I was planning on doing something artsy today. Also, I know there are much worse things in the world than sexist pantyhose, but it's my blog and I can write WUTEVA I WANTZ LUL!!!11!!
Neeeeeeerrrrrr.
*With the exception of female impersonators, perhaps. In which case, I still don't see how they use pantyhose more intensively, so that's a moot point.
Sunday, May 27, 2007
Saturday, May 26, 2007
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
Body image survey
From Christi Nielsen. Who rules.
Name: Composite Creature
Age: 17
Height: 5'0"
Weight: 170
Do you consider yourself attractive? Sometimes
Do others consider you attractive? A few people.
What is your biggest insecurity and why? My arms and chin: I can deal with big legs, hips, butt, breasts (and find them attractive, actually), but I think fat arms look really bad. I also hate double chins. I think it doesn't look like me. I also have issues with my large breasts.
Have you/Would you consider using plastic surgery? Why or why not? I have considered it. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I did it.
What is your relationship with make-up? I love it. Patriarchy be damned, it's fun; but I can and do live without it a lot.
How much money do you/think is reasonable to spend on your appearance? As little as possible.
What is your experience of dieting? I had a terribly warped body image as a child. It never struck me as how warped it was until I saw a picture of myself when I was a kid a few months ago: I remember that day, panicking about my huge stomach and thighs. I remember seeing my fat and being disgusted.
I looked at the picture recently, and nothing matched up. I saw a perfectly healthy nine-year-old. Not even close to fat. Stress eating balooned me up to where I am now, a good 40 or 50 pounds overweight ( a lot of it is muscle-I'm fucking hardcore, I am).
Have you/ anyone you know tried any specific diet programs i.e. Lighter Life? How did that affect your health? your moods? your relationships? I tried a metabolic thingy a while ago. I dropped weight very quickly, but also muscle mass. I was unhappy and stressed out, which led me to break my diet.
Do you have any experiences of eating disorders i.e. either yourself or someone you know? My warped body image. A dear childhood friend was anorexic and vomited a lot.
How did other people react to this; what was the fallout? Most people told her how great she looked. Her mother tried to make her eat, but she worked a lot and couldn't monitor her too closely. When she lived with me, I would try to make sure she ate healthily, but since I've lost touch with her, I hear she's relapsed.
Have you had negative experiences relating to your appearance and people’s reactions to it? Of course. I've had every single fat insult/fat joke thrown my way, from people I don't know to my immediate family, and everyone in between. I've been turned down from jobs where I was the better qualified candidate because they were looking for "stage presence" (singer's code for "you're good, but no one wants to look at you"). Nearly every store I go to will not stock my size in pants or shirts even though it's not even plus size.
What about positive reactions to your body? I have recieved "positive" comments, which are pretty much just people who find different body parts of mine fuck-worthy. Few have been really positive, but yes, several aesthete friends have complimented my body and proportions.
How has your body image and attitude changed over the years? I can't really stop caring, but I'm close. That's a good thing. I eat healthy and work out when I can, but I refuse to starve myself or sacrifice precious reading/writing/listening/fun time to working out when I have other things to do.
What do you love about your body? That it does what I need it to do, and looks pretty to me sometimes. I like my waist a lot.
What is your opinion on the media portrayal of women’s bodies? This would be too long. Way too long, so: it's fucked.
What would you change about the way you/ your friends/ your family/ general people see their bodies? I'd like them to throw traditional ideas about beauty into the metaphysical trash can, where they belong. Beauty can be big or small. Thick-waisted, wide-footed, hairy, shriveled, anything. Physical "beauty" doesn't mean anything.
What makes you feel beautiful? I'm ashamed to admit this, but when people I know call me beautiful. I can't really get over that.
Do you shave legs/pits/upper lip moustache? Yes, legs and pits. I hate it, but I still bend to that particular beauty standard against my will. Maybe someday I'll be brave enough not to.
Name: Composite Creature
Age: 17
Height: 5'0"
Weight: 170
Do you consider yourself attractive? Sometimes
Do others consider you attractive? A few people.
What is your biggest insecurity and why? My arms and chin: I can deal with big legs, hips, butt, breasts (and find them attractive, actually), but I think fat arms look really bad. I also hate double chins. I think it doesn't look like me. I also have issues with my large breasts.
Have you/Would you consider using plastic surgery? Why or why not? I have considered it. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I did it.
What is your relationship with make-up? I love it. Patriarchy be damned, it's fun; but I can and do live without it a lot.
How much money do you/think is reasonable to spend on your appearance? As little as possible.
What is your experience of dieting? I had a terribly warped body image as a child. It never struck me as how warped it was until I saw a picture of myself when I was a kid a few months ago: I remember that day, panicking about my huge stomach and thighs. I remember seeing my fat and being disgusted.
I looked at the picture recently, and nothing matched up. I saw a perfectly healthy nine-year-old. Not even close to fat. Stress eating balooned me up to where I am now, a good 40 or 50 pounds overweight ( a lot of it is muscle-I'm fucking hardcore, I am).
Have you/ anyone you know tried any specific diet programs i.e. Lighter Life? How did that affect your health? your moods? your relationships? I tried a metabolic thingy a while ago. I dropped weight very quickly, but also muscle mass. I was unhappy and stressed out, which led me to break my diet.
Do you have any experiences of eating disorders i.e. either yourself or someone you know? My warped body image. A dear childhood friend was anorexic and vomited a lot.
How did other people react to this; what was the fallout? Most people told her how great she looked. Her mother tried to make her eat, but she worked a lot and couldn't monitor her too closely. When she lived with me, I would try to make sure she ate healthily, but since I've lost touch with her, I hear she's relapsed.
Have you had negative experiences relating to your appearance and people’s reactions to it? Of course. I've had every single fat insult/fat joke thrown my way, from people I don't know to my immediate family, and everyone in between. I've been turned down from jobs where I was the better qualified candidate because they were looking for "stage presence" (singer's code for "you're good, but no one wants to look at you"). Nearly every store I go to will not stock my size in pants or shirts even though it's not even plus size.
What about positive reactions to your body? I have recieved "positive" comments, which are pretty much just people who find different body parts of mine fuck-worthy. Few have been really positive, but yes, several aesthete friends have complimented my body and proportions.
How has your body image and attitude changed over the years? I can't really stop caring, but I'm close. That's a good thing. I eat healthy and work out when I can, but I refuse to starve myself or sacrifice precious reading/writing/listening/fun time to working out when I have other things to do.
What do you love about your body? That it does what I need it to do, and looks pretty to me sometimes. I like my waist a lot.
What is your opinion on the media portrayal of women’s bodies? This would be too long. Way too long, so: it's fucked.
What would you change about the way you/ your friends/ your family/ general people see their bodies? I'd like them to throw traditional ideas about beauty into the metaphysical trash can, where they belong. Beauty can be big or small. Thick-waisted, wide-footed, hairy, shriveled, anything. Physical "beauty" doesn't mean anything.
What makes you feel beautiful? I'm ashamed to admit this, but when people I know call me beautiful. I can't really get over that.
Do you shave legs/pits/upper lip moustache? Yes, legs and pits. I hate it, but I still bend to that particular beauty standard against my will. Maybe someday I'll be brave enough not to.
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
ZOMGZ, WWM got linked!
A deep feeling of warm fuzziness sweeps through me as I contemplate my URL on Global Voices Online.
Rodrigo Peñalba, you beautiful, beautiful creature. May viking penguins saunter delicately through your dreams.
Also, drugs are bad, mmmkay?*
*Fear not, invisible audience; they're not track marks, but the badge of honor of the fearless blood donor. Donate, betches!
Rodrigo Peñalba, you beautiful, beautiful creature. May viking penguins saunter delicately through your dreams.
Also, drugs are bad, mmmkay?*
*
Sunday, May 13, 2007
Why I don't read comics:
Not two minutes after putting up my last post, this picture was brought to my attention:
The oh-so-virile, musclebound hero stands protectively in front of his chattel: a withered, unfuckable crone whose only function is to nourish and serve males; and a nubile, pornalicious young orifice-on-legs (drawn to conform with the geekly fantastical standards to which the female body is subjected in comic books), who functions as a fuckable servant. Forget personality or even free will, they are nothing more than accessories, adornments of our hero's manly heroness.
How do you sleep, Mr. Lee?
The oh-so-virile, musclebound hero stands protectively in front of his chattel: a withered, unfuckable crone whose only function is to nourish and serve males; and a nubile, pornalicious young orifice-on-legs (drawn to conform with the geekly fantastical standards to which the female body is subjected in comic books), who functions as a fuckable servant. Forget personality or even free will, they are nothing more than accessories, adornments of our hero's manly heroness.
How do you sleep, Mr. Lee?
Oh, the huge manatee!
I went to watch my friend Scarface's soccer match the other day. I find most sports boring and have never felt the compulsion to play or watch them, but it was a slow day.
Next to the field, on the courts, were some members of the girl's volleyball team, training.
The boys playing soccer wore knee-length, baggy shorts, and loose, airy shirts with their names or nicknames on the back. I never once saw one of them have to stop playing to adjust their uniform.
The girls playing volleyball wore short, tight shorts; more like swimwear than sportswear. Their shirts were short enough to show off their bellies, and tight enough to show off their breasts. They had to take continuous mini-breaks to tug everything back into place (flattering place, of course).
Before playing, the boys in soccer stood around, talking loudly, excitedly, kicking the ball around amongst themselves, showing off their m4d 5killz.
The girls giggled and made attempts at cheerleading routines. Seriously.
One could argue that the reason for this gap was that the girls were just silly, just vain. That they didn't take their sport seriously; you could even argue about how the cultural preference for soccer in Latin America is what causes other sports not to be taken as seriously, nothing to do with gender (I've heard that one more than you'd think, actually).
But then I remembered NH. She's been part of the girl's soccer team since I can remember. I remembered watching her during breaks in the afternoon classes, seeing her do every little inane warmup, guard the goals like her life depended on it, chase the ball with a vengeance. She plays in the afternoon sun, at temperatures over a hundred degrees when the rest of the team complains about the heat and the dust. She will not roll down the waistband of her shorts or tie her shirt into a knot at her midriff. Her uniform is not several sizes too small. On her, it is a uniform, clothes to compete in, not a fetching little Sporty Spice ensemble.
Like only a very small handful of the teenage girls on any team in school, she is there to play, even causing some of the boys to condescendingly admit to me (because of course, they have the last word in all sports-related matters) that she could give them a run for their money.
Considering that she is this way on and off the field, being brilliant, outspoken and transgressive, it's no surprise that she's deemed unfun, unfuckable, and unfemenine. Escaping categorization in the sex class, even if only within certain contexts has made her the object of taunts by the boys and girls who feel threatened by her.
The patriarchy is insidious, deceptive, and doesn't cease its indoctrination of every human being because of something like age. Many girls join sports teams to be part of a club: they love the idea of being a woman excelling in a man's world*, being tough, special, nonconformist; when in fact, they're just playing along, pandering to the status quo that that defines them as nothing more than slabs of meat.
But she strives to be the best, not limiting herself to "the best of the girls", or "the best I can be without appearing too competitive or masculine". Even if I can't get into sports myself, her one-woman struggle against the behavioral and social standards of "women's sports" impressed me before I even knew her. She runs hard, kicks hard, and doesn't mind looking ugly, dirty, sweaty or sunburnt. She is my hero of the day.
Next to the field, on the courts, were some members of the girl's volleyball team, training.
The boys playing soccer wore knee-length, baggy shorts, and loose, airy shirts with their names or nicknames on the back. I never once saw one of them have to stop playing to adjust their uniform.
The girls playing volleyball wore short, tight shorts; more like swimwear than sportswear. Their shirts were short enough to show off their bellies, and tight enough to show off their breasts. They had to take continuous mini-breaks to tug everything back into place (flattering place, of course).
Before playing, the boys in soccer stood around, talking loudly, excitedly, kicking the ball around amongst themselves, showing off their m4d 5killz.
The girls giggled and made attempts at cheerleading routines. Seriously.
One could argue that the reason for this gap was that the girls were just silly, just vain. That they didn't take their sport seriously; you could even argue about how the cultural preference for soccer in Latin America is what causes other sports not to be taken as seriously, nothing to do with gender (I've heard that one more than you'd think, actually).
But then I remembered NH. She's been part of the girl's soccer team since I can remember. I remembered watching her during breaks in the afternoon classes, seeing her do every little inane warmup, guard the goals like her life depended on it, chase the ball with a vengeance. She plays in the afternoon sun, at temperatures over a hundred degrees when the rest of the team complains about the heat and the dust. She will not roll down the waistband of her shorts or tie her shirt into a knot at her midriff. Her uniform is not several sizes too small. On her, it is a uniform, clothes to compete in, not a fetching little Sporty Spice ensemble.
Like only a very small handful of the teenage girls on any team in school, she is there to play, even causing some of the boys to condescendingly admit to me (because of course, they have the last word in all sports-related matters) that she could give them a run for their money.
Considering that she is this way on and off the field, being brilliant, outspoken and transgressive, it's no surprise that she's deemed unfun, unfuckable, and unfemenine. Escaping categorization in the sex class, even if only within certain contexts has made her the object of taunts by the boys and girls who feel threatened by her.
The patriarchy is insidious, deceptive, and doesn't cease its indoctrination of every human being because of something like age. Many girls join sports teams to be part of a club: they love the idea of being a woman excelling in a man's world*, being tough, special, nonconformist; when in fact, they're just playing along, pandering to the status quo that that defines them as nothing more than slabs of meat.
But she strives to be the best, not limiting herself to "the best of the girls", or "the best I can be without appearing too competitive or masculine". Even if I can't get into sports myself, her one-woman struggle against the behavioral and social standards of "women's sports" impressed me before I even knew her. She runs hard, kicks hard, and doesn't mind looking ugly, dirty, sweaty or sunburnt. She is my hero of the day.
Saturday, May 12, 2007
Mini
On repeat: Lover, You Should Have Come Over, by Jeff Buckley.
On my desk: Velcro hair roller, nail clippers, cannabis incense, a picture of my dad when he was in the Navy, a guitar pick that formerly belonged to my best friend (and before that belonged to the guitarist from Mago de Oz).
On IM's: A conversation about how Disney and Lifetime are warping the minds of mothers everywhere.
On my screen: The same picture I've been staring at all day; tabs.
On my face: Nothing but moisturizer and sunblock, for the first time in a long time.
On my bed: A Tamuga shirt that doesn't belong to me, but that I want to keep.
On my mind: How my mind is so jumbled up at the moment. I can't think of anything long enough to write about it.
Maybe tomorrow.
On my desk: Velcro hair roller, nail clippers, cannabis incense, a picture of my dad when he was in the Navy, a guitar pick that formerly belonged to my best friend (and before that belonged to the guitarist from Mago de Oz).
On IM's: A conversation about how Disney and Lifetime are warping the minds of mothers everywhere.
On my screen: The same picture I've been staring at all day; tabs.
On my face: Nothing but moisturizer and sunblock, for the first time in a long time.
On my bed: A Tamuga shirt that doesn't belong to me, but that I want to keep.
On my mind: How my mind is so jumbled up at the moment. I can't think of anything long enough to write about it.
Maybe tomorrow.
Thursday, May 10, 2007
Mexico decides women are human, Catholics complain
So, recently, the Mexican government passed a motion that would allow women to have an induced, non-therapeutic abortion in the first trimester, and reduce sentences for women who have abortions after the first trimester. In a predominantly Catholic country, to have the goverment recognizing women as human beings and forced pregnancy an affront to human dignity is pretty effing huge. I mean, here in Nicaragua, women have died after being denied therapeutic abortion. Not to mention all the pregnant pre-pubescent victims of child abuse who don't even get the comfort of knowing that they won't have to carry around their rapist's DNA.
I find it hilarious that the religious right get so worked up about how wrong it is to 'end an innocent life' (to the point where Ratzinger compared abortion to terrorism), but see nothing wrong with making death threats directed at the children of the legislators who approved the decriminalization:
For those who can't read Spanish, the fellow in the fetching skull mask (personification of death, Mexican day of the Dead, yada yada yada) is holding up a sign reading 'Pro abortists [sic]: The future of your children'.
Nice.
In addition, these 'pro-lifers' showed so little regard for the lives of the people around them, that four hundred members of D.F.'s riot squad had to be called in to control the hordes of violent fundamentalists.
Although the hypocrisy of organized religion is already well known to the experienced patriarchy-blamer, this manifestation was so blatant, that I felt it deserved its own post. Suck it. Or if you like, suck on the sugar fetuses (fetii?) so lovingly prepared by the Mexican fundies. Apparently they felt this was a good way to be taken seriously.
I find it hilarious that the religious right get so worked up about how wrong it is to 'end an innocent life' (to the point where Ratzinger compared abortion to terrorism), but see nothing wrong with making death threats directed at the children of the legislators who approved the decriminalization:
For those who can't read Spanish, the fellow in the fetching skull mask (personification of death, Mexican day of the Dead, yada yada yada) is holding up a sign reading 'Pro abortists [sic]: The future of your children'.
Nice.
In addition, these 'pro-lifers' showed so little regard for the lives of the people around them, that four hundred members of D.F.'s riot squad had to be called in to control the hordes of violent fundamentalists.
Although the hypocrisy of organized religion is already well known to the experienced patriarchy-blamer, this manifestation was so blatant, that I felt it deserved its own post. Suck it. Or if you like, suck on the sugar fetuses (fetii?) so lovingly prepared by the Mexican fundies. Apparently they felt this was a good way to be taken seriously.
Wednesday, May 9, 2007
Wednesday afternoon musings
On spending an hour having painful, poke-y things done to your ear with the anaesthetic worn off after the first four minutes, also known as keloid excision:
OH MY FREEKING JESUS H. CHRIST ON A POGO STICK CRASHING INTO A GLASS-STUDDED WALL! WHY?! WHY?! WHYYYYYYYYYYY SWEET MOTHER OF EVERY THING GOOD AND HOLY?!? WHY ME?! IT HURTS SO MUCH I'M SPONTANEOUSLY REVERTING TO MAKING CATHOLIC REFERENCES! I'M USING MULTIPLE EXCLAMATION MARKS!!! O!! OMGWTFBBQROFLCOPTER!1! IT BURNS LIKE CIGARRETTES AND MENTHOL!! WHY ARE THERE NEEDLES BEING POKED INTO MY TRAGUS?! THERE WEREN'T SUPPOSED TO BE NEEDLES!! IS IT THE PATRIARCHY?! IT HURTS SO MUCH THE PATRIARCHY MUST BE BEHIND THIS!!! GAAAAREERIJKKKKLOOOORF!!!!
Hans, the friendly neighborhood body piercer:
"Does this hurt?"
Composite Creature:
"Um. A little, I guess."
*blinks*
Bye-bye, tragus-helix industrial bondage bar, hello sucky little PTFE barbells for the next six months.
OH MY FREEKING JESUS H. CHRIST ON A POGO STICK CRASHING INTO A GLASS-STUDDED WALL! WHY?! WHY?! WHYYYYYYYYYYY SWEET MOTHER OF EVERY THING GOOD AND HOLY?!? WHY ME?! IT HURTS SO MUCH I'M SPONTANEOUSLY REVERTING TO MAKING CATHOLIC REFERENCES! I'M USING MULTIPLE EXCLAMATION MARKS!!! O!! OMGWTFBBQROFLCOPTER!1! IT BURNS LIKE CIGARRETTES AND MENTHOL!! WHY ARE THERE NEEDLES BEING POKED INTO MY TRAGUS?! THERE WEREN'T SUPPOSED TO BE NEEDLES!! IS IT THE PATRIARCHY?! IT HURTS SO MUCH THE PATRIARCHY MUST BE BEHIND THIS!!! GAAAAREERIJKKKKLOOOORF!!!!
Hans, the friendly neighborhood body piercer:
"Does this hurt?"
Composite Creature:
"Um. A little, I guess."
*blinks*
Bye-bye, tragus-helix industrial bondage bar, hello sucky little PTFE barbells for the next six months.
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