The library I work in has a texting service so people can text in questions that will be answered by librarians. I staff this service in the mornings and on Sundays, so I receive emails with all new, incoming questions even if I’m not responsible for answering them at that time. As a piece of background information, the More Store is the campus convenience store and Fort Awesome is the name of one of the dorms.
When I came in this morning, this question was sitting in my email:
How does one find his way to Mordor?
Intrigued, I logged into the answer bank to see what I had hoped to be a clever response from one of our librarians. I immediately noticed that an older woman, one whom I don’t really know or work with ever, had claimed the question. I had a brief moment of “oh no” and then read her response:
Do you mean the More Store? That is near Fort Awesome.
This amuses me to no end.
This pattern — women can dress like men, but men don’t dress like women — suggests that there is, in fact, something demeaning, ridiculous, or subordinating about presenting oneself to the male gaze. Most men feel stupid, gross, or vulnerable when they do it. This isn’t just about conformity to different gendered expectations. If it were just about difference women would feel equally weird dressing in men’s clothes. Instead, when women adopt masculine ways of dressing and moving, they often feel empowered.
So, when men do femininity they feel ridiculous and when women do masculinity they feel awesome. This is what gender inequality looks like.” —
can i print this and hang it up everywhere?
yes, this. especially as a genderfluid person, for the longest time even the thought of dressing up in women’s clothing was a no-no for me, but still, there’s a society-put break in my head of not being able to wear said clothing in public, though I sometimes would want to
There is a sadness in me I don’t understand, and I want to be protected but instead I just become more and more of an introverted asshole who wants to run away.
I think one of my mental blocks is that I can’t comprehend being the one for someone. I believe that there is definitely someone in the world that’s compatible with you and that you are meant to spend your life with, but I can’t imagine me possibly being that person for someone else. The thought of me being exactly what someone else wants/needs just blows my mind.
“Hair the color of lemons,” Rudy read. His fingers touched the words. “You told him about me?”
At first, Liesel could not talk. Perhaps it was the sudden bumpiness of love she felt for him. Or had she always loved him? It’s likely. Restricted as she was from speaking, she wanted him to kiss her. She wanted him to drag her hand across and pull her over. It didn’t matter where. Her mouth, her neck, her cheek. Her skin was empty for it, waiting.
Years ago, when they’d raced on a muddy field, Rudy was a hastily assembled set of bones, with a jagged, rocky smile. In the trees this afternoon, he was a giver of bread and teddy bears. He was a triple Hitler Youth athletics champion. He was her best friend. And he was a month from his death.
“Of course I told him about you,” Liesel said.
She was saying goodbye and she didn’t even know it.” —The Book Thief (via afloreanausea)