2011IsNow

Johann Hari | @wnq-psychology

Lost Connections: Uncovering the Real Causes of Depression – and the Unexpected Solutions

This moment in Younger’s episode 4.04 really struck me. As a woman who enjoys both reading and writing romance, it’s frustrating to feel like I have to defend myself whenever I tell people that. You’re often put into one of two boxes: a silly little girl obsessed with love or a horny, repressed housewife. What I love about great romantic fiction (besides that it’s just plain enjoyable) is its exploration of human emotion and vulnerability, because when are you more vulnerable than when you fall in love? That shit takes guts. Romance novels show characters going through the pain and heartache of life and finding love in spite of it all, and we get to share in the experience as it changes them.

What is more universal than our desire for love? Than the way it transforms us? What is more human than the joy and pain that comes with it?

Love requires vulnerability. True vulnerability requires courage, not weakness.

I’m 6 years old, and I’m Luke Skywalker, blowing up the Death Star in his X-Wing and using the Force… until I go outside to play Star Wars with the neighborhood kids, and I’m told I can’t be Luke because I’m a girl. I have to be Leia instead. Nothing wrong with Leia, but she’s the girl. She’s my only option, otherwise, I’m not allowed to play.

I’m 7 years old, and I’m She-Ra, with a pegasus and sword and… and no one wants to play She-Ra, because He-Man is better, stupid girl, duh. No boy wants to play a girl character. Duh. Stupid girl.

I’m 8 years old, and I’m Liono, with the Sword of Omens, telling me the future and defeating my enemies… until I can’t, because I’m a girl. I have to be Cheetara, even though I don’t like to run around really fast. She’s the girl. She’s my only option.

I’m 10 years old, and I’m a Ninja Turtle. I have these cool weapons and know martial arts… until I can’t be, because I’m a girl. I have to be April. She doesn’t get to do much, but she’s the girl. She’s my only option. If the other girl wants to play, she gets to be April, and I’m out, because she’s prettier.

I’m 14 years old, and my father yells at me again to stop being such a girl. Stop being weak. Stop being stupid. Stop being you.

I’m 17 years old, and set foot in a comic shop for the first time, only to be told girls don’t read comics. I must just be trying to impress my boyfriend. I don’t even get to ask if they had that book I read part of, with the beautiful woman who was Death, who saved a teenage boy.

I’m 24, and I’m Jean Grey, the powerful Phoenix, but turned into some weird Scarlet Witch hybrid who must die at the hands of Wolverine, because Logan just needed a little more angst.

I’m 28 and I’m Commander Shepard at the helm of the Normandy, but just having the OPTION of a female player character sends hordes of men into a blind rage, intent on stamping out any joy I might derive from this. I have to mute tons of keywords online and play in friends-only groups if I want to avoid being called a cunt for the sin of logging into multiplayer with a female avatar.

I’m 32 and I get a job running a comic shop. I tell my boss I’d like to have ladies nights. He asks, “But when is men’s night?”

I’m 33 and I’m Rey, facing down Kylo and digging deep to survive, despite being terrified. I’ve been fighting my whole life, though, and I manage to get out of it alive. I spend the next 6 months listening to every other guy who comes into my shop informing me that she’s a Mary Sue and how stupid it was to crowbar her in just for the sake of appeasing the females and pandering to feminazis.

I’m 34 and I get to be a Ghostbuster! My heart sings as I dual-wield proton guns, but when the battle’s over, I have to listen to all these guys trash it and talk about how women just aren’t funny and should stop trying.

I’m 34, and I am NOT MCU Black Widow, who categorizes herself as a monster because she can’t have children, who laughs as her male coworkers make rape jokes at the office party. I am NOT MCU Scarlet Witch, who is a problem for the men to deal with, who has to stay home and cook dinner while they take care of business, because she’s just too emotional.

Russ, J. (1983). How to suppress women’s writing. University of Texas Press. The cover of Russ’s book does an excellent job of summarising its main argument: that women’s writing is deliberately devalued in a range of ways. It’s on the wrong subject matter, it’s the wrong genre, it’s morally objetionable, it’s not proper art. In 1983 Russ wasn’t writing specifically about fan fiction (yet), but fan fiction readers and writers will recognise these tactics employed against them. “She wrote about men banging! And it most definitely isn’t art - it’s derivative and unoriginal!”

One of my favourite moments in the book comes towards the end, when after some self-reflection Russ realises that she and other white women within academia and the feminist movement have been employing exactly the same tactics to devalue Black women’s writing. With recent debates on race in both fandom and Fan Studies, this powerful moment of realisation is worth keeping in mind.

Image description:

The cover of How to suppress women’s writing by Joanna Russ, which consists of the following text:

Your slow-motion montage backed by a Gregorian choir can be done with a few technques that all involve repetition.

First is epizeuxis, the repeating of a word for emphasis.

Example:

Falling. Falling. Falling. There was nothing to keep Marie from plunging into the rolling river below. She could only hope for a miracle now, that she would come out alive somehow despite a twenty-foot drop into five-foot-deep water.

Then there’s anaphora, where you write a number of phrases with the same words at the beginning.

There were still mages out there living in terror of shining steel armor emblazoned with the Sword of Mercy.

There were still mages out there being forced by desperation into the clutches of demons.

There were mages out there being threatened with Tranquility as punishment for their disobedience, and the threats were being made good upon.

Mages who had attempted to flee, but knew nothing of the outside world and were forced to return to their prison out of need for sustenance and shelter.

Mages who only desired to find the families they were torn from.

Mages who only wanted to see the sun.

Posted on August 5, 2016  4:25 p.m [est]

Emily McCombs, THE MYTH OF THE TEENAGE TEMPTRESS: OR WHY A YOUNG GIRL CAN NOT CONSENT TO SEX WITH AN ADULT MAN (via seriouslyamerica)

FREAKIN’ THIS!

I’m seeing Matt Bomer

Matt Bomer plays Helen Mirren’s sadder-but-wiser ex, computer-savvy, gorgeous but still single, fiercely independent (but it’s all an act).

Helen Mirren shows up on his doorstep to ask him for one last hacker job, for old time’s sake. Matt hauls off to slap Helen in the face, but Helen catches his wrist, pulls him close, and kisses him long and hard. Matt struggles at first but finally melts into her embrace.

Lucy Liu strolls past them into Matt’s chic apartment, slapping Matt on the ass as she mutters “Some things never change, do they?”

Late the next night, as Matt and Helen hack into the CIA database, Helen tucks a stray lock of Matt’s hair behind his ear and asks him why there’s no husband or kids in the picture after all this time.

Matt turns his sad, beautiful eyes toward her and confesses that there has only ever been Helen for him, but he couldn’t stand never knowing if she would come back alive when she left on a mission. Helen and Matt nearly have a moment, but the computer beeps with the results of their search.

The next morning, Helen goes into the kitchen to find Matt’s 20-year-old nephew has come to stay for the weekend. Helen and the camera slowly pan up and down his gorgeous, toned, oiled-up and glistening body as he stands, nearly-naked but for his tight, black satin booty-short underwear, and starts making a gourmet vegetarian omelet.

He turns around and smiles at Helen. “You must be a friend of Uncle Matt. I’m Caden. You hungry?”

Here is @kehinki‘s part 1