oh.

It’s not ‘polyester’ it’s plastic

It’s not ‘vegan leather’ it’s plastic

Its not ‘faux fur’ it’s plastic

Plastic is a pollutant and causes far more damage to the environment both now and in the future than leather or wool.

• using the hide of a (bred for meat) carcass is less wasteful

People don't sell leather as a byproduct from the good of their hearts. It is extra profit, so by purchasing either meat or leather you are feeding the other industry. There is no scenario where you are just purchasing a leftover. The demand is there, so more and more livestock is bred for leather and meat is a by product.

Working towards better alternatives for everybody is difficult and important work. But don't for a moment kid yourself that modern agriculture for meat and leather is remotely environmentally better.

P.s. Agriculture creates one third of all greenhouse gas emissions. Gonna say it louder for the people in the back.

P.ps. Tbh I don't know much about wool, so good luck on that. All I know is we created the domestic sheep and so it's our fault if they need to be shorn. Not exactly natural (but wool is neat).

P.p.p.s. I'm not saying bin your leather blah blah blah. The three Rs are key: Reduce, Reuse, Recycle. In that order. Reduce what you consume. Reuse what you can, in any way. Recycle as a last resort.

i. when someone leaves this earth forever, the world will come to a halt for you but two years later the waves will break at the shore just the same and you will wonder how the moon can care so little that he’s gone.

ii. the only way home will never leave you is if you find it inside of you. you will learn eventually not to build it out of bricks, you will learn eventually not to build it out of people, either.

iii. you will outgrow the dreams you thought were all you ever wanted. you must understand that this is different from giving up.

iv. i know you always think you are the exception but when your friends move across the country, your hearts will grow apart. that does not mean they have any less of a place in it, but it will hurt.

v. no one is invincible and everyone you put on a pedestal is just skin and heart and bleeds as red as you.

vi. you will not always remember that you were born good enough.

vii. there will come a time - when you are twenty, when you’re thirty, when you are forty-three - where it will hit you at 2 am that the years you have lived are gone. that sixteen-year-old you lives inside of you but her skin is made from paper and photographs. you will scream and rage against time but 2014 will not come back. you will learn to live with that ache like you always do.

viii. you will keep on marking down dreams and wishes and plans as “i want to do that someday”, and one day you’re twenty-five and you realize that “someday” has passed a hundred times in the form of yesterday. you will promise to do better next time, but you will not always keep it.

ix. people will keep telling you that it gets better but they will never say when.

this is pretty and lovely and has many good things

but number 4 is a lie

the idea that distance creates inevitable waning is wrong. distance makes it harder, it asks more. but if you are careful, if you both put in the work, sometimes you can grow closer than ever before

a large number of my dearest and best friends I met age 11-14. my soul mate I met aged 16. sometimes, you meet people when neither of you are ready, still formless and young and you will move far, far apart. you will be 100, 200, 300 miles away. you will meet every 3 months, every 6 months, every year. but your bond will grow, it will tighten you closer together than ever before.

you will meet other friends, you will met wonderful, incredible people. but you will always have your family which is stronger than blood, who you chose and who chose you.

and one day, maybe they will be the ones walking you down the aisle - and the one waiting at the end.

Trad FSSP seminarian doing backflips…. as you do! 😇

captured by Rhoslyn Thomas   

How women prepare for first dates

Bonus: How men prepare for first dates:

Wow. WOW. Look at all these sheltered people and their internalized misogyny.

The point isn’t, “NOT ALL MEN ARE OUT TO GET YOU.”

The point is, “WE HAVE NO WAY OF KNOWING A NICE GUY FROM A SERIAL KILLER.”

It’s not like they fucking wear nametags, okay? Moreover, the most awful people with the worst intentions often put on the nicest face or deliberately make themselves seem harmless and likeable, to lull potential victims into a false sense of security. (Read up on Ted Bundy sometime. It’s horrifying shit. Or read any thread on the “Let’s Not Meet” subreddit.)

In order to protect ourselves, we are forced to assume the worst of every man we meet, because statistically speaking, the biggest danger to women…IS MEN. Saying “not all men are out to get you, you’re just being paranoid” is like saying “not every car you ride in is going to crash, so buckling your seatbealt is stupid.”

When dealing with an unknown situation, in the absence of absolute proof of safety, exercising a little extra caution can be the difference between life and death. Shaming women for being what you may view as overly cautious is every bit as horrid as blaming them if something goes wrong later on.

And refusing to go to a secluded location with a complete stranger without letting someone know where you’re going, who you’re with, and how to find you is just common street sense, whether you’re on a date or just going out for business or social purposes.

If your life has been so sheltered (or your coping skills so incredible) that you see no need to distrust strangers or worry about the potential for violence, you should thank your lucky stars.

And you should also be aware that just because it hasn’t happened to you or anyone you know does not mean that it doesn’t happen.

Lemme say that louder for the people in the back.

Also, it’s story time! I’m pretty certain I saved my mom’s fucking LIFE by convincing her do this on a date with a fucking COP (which she thought was safer than going out with other men, but let me tell you, cops are the WORST partner abusers around, so pls be safe!!!!). 

She had only talked with him online and they were gonna go for a drive somewhere remote for some reason and she wasn’t going to take any precautions at all. I, being a well seasoned internet dater, was terrified by this prospect and warned her about how cops are actually much more dangerous than civilians and that getting in his car and going somewhere remote was even more dangerous. SO, I told her the best thing to do is to take a pic of him, his plates, then send it to me, and make sure you do it all right in front of him SO HE SEES IT. I warned her too that as a cop he should KNOW how dangerous this date would be for her, so if he kicks up a fuss about it AT ALL I told her to run like the fucking wind. 

So when she gets there, he is already in his fucking truck, doesn’t get out to greet her, so she takes the pics of his car, plates, and him and sends it to me and I thank her profusely. Then apparently she gets in his car, sees there’s a fucking BAT in the back, and doesn’t this fucker just kick up a damn fuss about her doing this. AND MY MOM DOESN’T GET OUT OF THE CAR!!!!!! OMFGWLJELWNLWEJFANMDS

So he starts the car and they drive away and she can already tell he’s a fucking creeper. At one point, he even tells her a truly sad story of his life and she reacts sadly and doesn’t this dickhead say “why aren’t you smiling?” as if that’s what women are FOR. She responds “You had just told me a very sad, personal story, smiling didn’t seem appropriate”, as if she’s just there for smile back at him and look pretty!!!! 

She texts me throughout all of this, telling me she’s increasingly getting uncomfortable and scared. He’s becoming increasingly hostile and unpleasant. She eventually texts me to ask me to call her and pretend to be my younger sister that lives with her saying that I’m sick (my mom’s a nurse). But my younger sis is 26, has a baby, is a personal support worker with some medical knowledge; and that didn’t seem like something strong enough to me that would make this dangerous fucker give up my mom. 

So what do I do?

I called her and pretended I was my little sister crying and freaking out because her baby is super sick and she needs her nurse mom at her side bc this is WAY beyond her knowledge or comfort level. Thankfully that worked and he turned around. But he wasn’t happy and that bat was still in the back, staring mom in the goddamn face. 

Later she called me and thanked me profusely and she STILL talks about it and how scary it was and how she is CERTAIN the real reason he turned around was bc I had insisted she send me those pictures.

so. i think there’s a good chance this was a joke. i lost my mind laughing when i first got it. but also? this is exactly how men talk, so i’m gonna break it down seriously. 

i made that post after dinner with my friend’s family. his dad, let’s call him john, was belittling his wife so she wasn’t talking much and he’d made a few jabs about his son’s painted nails so his son was kind of wilting. john’s a nice guy, smart guy, really likes me & thinks i’m smart. i was pretty much carrying all the emotional labor at that dinner–trying to make my friend and his mom feel comfortable while also engaging with john. we were making conversation about lots of things, it wasn’t a particularly controversial or heated discussion at really any point in time. again, john’s a cool guy–he’s liberal and progressive and knows that i’m a lesbian and all sorts of nice things. he works for a bigggg banking company–i don’t wanna say which one, but you’d know the name. we were talking about #metoo and he starts talking about how sexual harassment isn’t really an issue where he works. 

three hours before he said this, a man in times square had grabbed my boob. at a restaurant i worked at, a rapist who worked there got my number off the scheduling app and would text me vile things while we were both working to make me uncomfortable. he’d also touch my ass every shift but always managed to pretend like it was an accident. it wasn’t. my best friend, who was also at dinner with us, worked at her moms law firm when she was 17, and the man across from her had a countdown on his whiteboard to the day she turned 18 and every day he would look at her as he changed the number. i’ve been sexually assaulted multiple times outside of these instances, and so has she. 

but other men don’t see these things. 

and this man looks at me, and tells me sexual harassment doesn’t happen, because he doesn’t see it. and here’s the thing: that’s not why i’m mad. i’m not mad because he didn’t know. 

i’m mad because i know this man. he is my friend’s father, he is my father, he is my uncles, he is my professors, he is my cousins, and my bosses, and my colleagues. i know how you have to talk to these men. it’s a game. and you have to play along whether you want to or not, because they won’t hear a word you say if you don’t. 

here’s how the game works: john talks about everything like he’s the authority on the matter, because he can’t get it through his brain that someone, especially someone who is not a man, could possibly know something he doesn’t. so john starts talking about things very confidently. and because nobody knows everything, he gets a lot of things wrong. things that i refuse to let him be wrong about. so if i want to change john’s mind, if i want him to hear my point of view, i have to speak to him in the only way he will listen. i have to be, above all, pleasant. john has been taught for years to laugh at a woman’s anger, so if any hint of indignation sneaks into my voice, he won’t take me seriously any more and i’ll lose him entirely.  i have to smile and laugh a little and be charming. but i also have to be articulate. i have to make sure i sound intelligent or else he’ll dismiss me as a stupid teenage girl who doesn’t know what she’s talking about. but i also can’t sound too intelligent because if he starts feeling threatened by my intelligence he’ll get defensive. (sidenote! he has a tiny dick.) so it’s quite a complicated game but i’m good at it. in fact, i’m one of the best. so here i am, carefully navigating the best way to hold this man’s hand and babysit him as i give him a kindergarten level course on sexual assault in the workplace, while also not letting him realize that i’m having to condescend to him because his brain is as tiny as his dick, and can only handful little bits of new information spoonfed to him like applesauce. i have to make it sound like i think he is not only smart, but smarter than me. i have to scatter in little phrases like, “in my experience” or “i could be wrong” and constantly undermine myself, even when speaking on a topic i am incredibly well-versed in, because i have to suggest that i think he is smarter than me or else he won’t deem me worthy of his attention. 

i’m good at it. i play the little fucking game and before i know it, i’ve got john here nodding along and acting like he agreed with what i’m saying all along, acting like he came up with it, acting like he DIDN’T totally contradict what i just told him minutes before. but since he didn’t come up with it, he’ll likely interrupt me before i even get to the end of my point and say something totally misinformed and now i’m trying to educate him on both of the things he got wrong but before i can even do that he’s interrupting me again and now there’s THREE things i’ve gotta teach this guy without him catching on to the fact that i’m teaching him. 

now. here’s the best part about the game. it’s soul-shatteringly dehumanizing. to disregard your own trauma, your own emotion, your own incredibly valid anger that you have fought and fought and fought to believe you have a right to feel, to tone down your beliefs in order to make them more palatable to someone who is this deeply ignorant, to force yourself to giggle and be charming as you discuss the thing that has ripped you into shreds, to ignore how triggering it is to even breach this topic in conversation, to be complicit in making yourself small in order to get your point across, to look into the eyes of a man who has, unwittingly, because of his ignorance, enabled other men to engage in this same behavior–it turns a dinner conversation into a thing that is traumatizing in it’s own right. 

and i feel obligated to put myself through this because of my privilege, because as an attractive, white twenty year old, i can hold this man’s attention better than a massive portion of the population, who he likely wouldn’t give the time of  day to. i refuse to let him live his life unchallenged, so i do what i have to do to make myself heard. 

and i feel the repercussions of this so strongly i dissociate more viciously than i have in weeks and lose all memory of a solid 3 hours of my life after this conversation. 

and i come on here, and post: men are useless and exhausting. because i am angry at what men have done to me. at what they continue to do to me. at what i must do to myself in order to force them to wake up and realize what other men are doing to me and to please, for the love of god, MAKE IT STOP. 

and i get this message from you, a dumbass who’s got his head shoved so far up his own asshole that it’s about to come back up through his esophagus, assuming you know what i’m talking about. assuming you know more than me about men and about my experiences with them, about why i made this post. assuming that because you’re not the scum of the fucking earth and because you do three good things, it somehow balances out the treatment i have received for years from men, and makes my anger towards them, and my hatred of them: unjust. and my post wasn’t even me being angry! it was me being exhausted!!!!! if i’m tired of men, why the fuck would you, “a male” deem it at all appropriate to come near me, to send me a message, to engage with me at all? leave me alone! you know nothing!