if taylor swift wasn’t famous she’d be a heartbroken summer blogger with autoplay
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ah, summer. time for a new me. a new haircut. a new style of clothing. a new perfume. maybe burn all of my identification and flee the country
tumblr drags in 2012: this blogger is sexist and you probably shouldnt follow them
tumblr drags in 20XX: this blogger is literally casting spells in your backyard, if youre not a level 42 mage do not approach
me: *googles how to mash potatoes*
some food blogger: My childhood home was full of wind and light. On a brisk Autumn evening, it often felt as if the outside was in. My younger sister, my mother, our favourite cousin, our dog, our other dog, our dog’s sister, and I would sit on the floor in the living room for hours, lit only by the moon and candlelight
me: *scrolls for several minutes*
some food blogger: It was at that moment, with my tiny hands clasped tightly around a mason jar filled with fireflies, that I realised the true value of family. My dog and my dog’s sister came and sat quietly at my feet. We stared up at the sky together, and I felt truly connected to both the Earth at my feet and the ancestors who shared the blood that ran through them, for the first time realising that
me: *scrolls for several minutes*
some food blogger: and when we finally made it home, our cheeks flushed with laughter and cold, there were warm mashed potatoes waiting for us. I will always remember their fluffiness, perfectly mirroring the light feeling I carried with me for the entire next week. This is my favourite cousin’s recipe from that very day, modified slightly to not be fucking awful. Boil an potato and smush it up with fork and botter. NOT A RAW, Salt, pepepr. In it
- last day of school: OMGGG summer cant wait for long nights and goin to the beach and campouts and GETTIN FOKIN SMASHED EVERY WEEKEND FUCK YEA ITS GONNA BE AWESOME
- day 1 of summer: tumblr
- day 2 of summer: tumblr
- day 39 of summer: tumblr
- last day of summer: tumblr
- fall: ugh I can't wait for summer
- winter: ugh I can't wait for summer
- spring: ugh I can't wait for summer
- summer: wtf is this
I asked myself what style we women could have adopted that would have been unmarked, like the men’s. The answer was none. There is no unmarked woman.
There is no woman’s hair style that can be called standard, that says nothing about her. The range of women’s hair styles is staggering, but a woman whose hair has no particular style is perceived as not caring about how she looks, which can disqualify her for many positions, and will subtly diminish her as a person in the eyes of some.
Women must choose between attractive shoes and comfortable shoes. When our group made an unexpected trek, the woman who wore flat, laced shoes arrived first. Last to arrive was the woman in spike heels, shoes in hand and a handful of men around her.
If a woman’s clothing is tight or revealing (in other words, sexy), it sends a message — an intended one of wanting to be attractive, but also a possibly unintended one of availability. If her clothes are not sexy, that too sends a message, lent meaning by the knowledge that they could have been. There are thousands of cosmetic products from which women can choose and myriad ways of applying them. Yet no makeup at all is anything but unmarked. Some men see it as a hostile refusal to please them.
Women can’t even fill out a form without telling stories about themselves. Most forms give four titles to choose from. “Mr.” carries no meaning other than that the respondent is male. But a woman who checks “Mrs.” or “Miss” communicates not only whether she has been married but also whether she has conservative tastes in forms of address — and probably other conservative values as well. Checking “Ms.” declines to let on about marriage (checking “Mr.” declines nothing since nothing was asked), but it also marks her as either liberated or rebellious, depending on the observer’s attitudes and assumptions.
I sometimes try to duck these variously marked choices by giving my title as “Dr.” — and in so doing risk marking myself as either uppity (hence sarcastic responses like “Excuse me!”) or an overachiever (hence reactions of congratulatory surprise like “Good for you!”).
All married women’s surnames are marked. If a woman takes her husband’s name, she announces to the world that she is married and has traditional values. To some it will indicate that she is less herself, more identified by her husband’s identity. If she does not take her husband’s name, this too is marked, seen as worthy of comment: she has done something; she has “kept her own name.” A man is never said to have “kept his own name” because it never occurs to anyone that he might have given it up. For him using his own name is unmarked.
A married woman who wants to have her cake and eat it too may use her surname plus his, with or without a hyphen. But this too announces her marital status and often results in a tongue-tying string. In a list (Harvey O’Donovan, Jonathan Feldman, Stephanie Woodbury McGillicutty), the woman’s multiple name stands out. It is marked.
two things i want:
- a chopped-style cooking show where the judges have no cooking experience
- a chopped-style cooking show where the competitors have no cooking experience
“i open the basket and i see tomatoes, and i’m immediately thinking ‘oh fuck i dont even like tomatoes god shittign damn”
A chopped-style cooking where where neither the judges nor the competitors have any cooking experience, but both groups are told that the other group does, and they try to convince each other that they do too with nonsense words and unnecessarily complicated dishes.
