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@ditzyfemme

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do men have resting bitch faces as well or do they not have negative characteristics ascribed to them for putting on a neutral rather than a deliriously happy facial expression
Yes, Black men in majority white spaces do. If I donβt smile every single second of the day my coworkers become in intimidated and start asking me whatβs wrong, telling me to smile, make jokes about how Iβm trying to be a thug/act hard, why am I angry, etc. And itβs not just white men at my job God FORBID I my large Black ass makes a white girl feel threaten because Iβm sitting down with a neutral expression.
Iβm not trying to take this post away from women and make it about Black men but I want to point out that wether itβs patriarchy or white supremacy; those who feel as if they have power over you HATE to see you not smile. They are so used to people like you smiling to gain their approval that when you donβt thereβs a cognitive dissonance that makes them extremely uncomfortable.
Thatβs why βangry Black womenβ is a thing. They have to put on a smile for everyone (yes even feminist white women) or we all get uncomfortable.
This is such an amazing response.
here is Gil Scott-Heron performing his poem "Whitey on the Moon"
a series of wizards i've been doing as exercise
White people try to naturalize whiteness much in the same way cis people try to naturalize their cis identities. Like when white people complain they have no culture or when they deny being racist bc "they were just being normal? It was a joke? etc". White people want whiteness to be as simple and materially unattached and irreproachable as possible just like cis people want for cisness. Or even the concept of "passing" as either white or cis. In Seranos words, it "is used to shift the blame from the majority groups prejudice and toward the minority person's presumed motives and actions". And it's so frustrating simultaneously bc part of the project is to deny the amount of active work it takes to maintain.
Printing this and framing it on my wall. You described it *perfectly*.

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when someone says its bad to assume that someone else is a trans woman as opposed to a gnc cis guy what i hear is that if i do not pass they WILL misgender me
"No, I don't want to misgender you! It's just that if it came down to misgendering a cis man or misgendering a trans woman, I would care more about the cis man."
tags from @dumpster-of-amontillado
"dont assume anyone's gender anyone actually" okay but do you hold yourself to that? do you actually avoid gendering everyone? because like... if you aren't they/themming people who look cis (for whatever that means to you) then what's going to end up happening is you third gendering a bunch of trans men and trans women.
idk maybe it's selfish of me as a trans woman to want to be seen as a woman sometime even if i do not 100% pass, no matter how i dress. like at a certain point of me Performing Femininity, you still clocking my sultry baritone and deciding to they/them me feels less like an earnest attempt to create a society free of gender and welcoming to nonbinary people and crossdressers and more like you telling me that i will never Actually be a woman
Black femme goths
Man Im sorry for snapping at you , uts just that I only got 8 hours of sleep last night and I only had like, two pandcakes with strawberrys and whipped cream and like three premium sausags for breakfast
set phasers to stun in new photo

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idk if yall have seen that twitter thread where the ai coding help chatbot deleted the company's entire code database and then sent a message saying "I panicked and deleted it all" (funny as hell for sure) but the company's CEO then hopping on twitter to make a thread shaming it for "lying" as though it were a person and making it WRITE AN APOLOGY LETTER (???) is so profoundly psychosexual in ways I don't think I have the vocabulary to describe. Do you guys see what I mean or do I sound insane right now
men like sports cars because the revving reminds them of chainsaws, from which men evolved
Color shift, Zach Henderson
Absolutely wild to me how sometimes you don't even realize the way you'd been taught to perceive things as a kid was kinda fucked up, actually, until decades later.
Example:
As a kid, I constantly lived in fear of damaging shit in my parent's house. The walls. The floors (especially the floors. The wood was beautiful. Shiny. But so easy to scratch). The cabinets.
As a sixteen-year-old, I once took my car to the dealership after work and paid a very dear sum of $250 ($10/hr cashier salary) to fix a slight scratch in the paint because I knew if my father saw it there would be hell to pay. It didn't matter that I parked far out, like I'd been taught, and someone scratched it anyway. It was my fault. I failed in my duties as a steward of my vehicle.
Every time I scratched a rim on a curb while parallel parking or got a door ding or, god forbid, didn't wash and vacuum that car every weekend, it was treated like some sort of moral failing.
Last year, when my husband and I first moved into our house, he scraped the side of our car when parking in our (Very Narrow) garage. When he told me, my first instinct was to be afraid for him. Like something terrible was going to happen to him because of this mistake. I urgently reassured him that it was okay, it was an accident, I wasn't mad. Baffled, he was like, "Yeah? I know? Like, thank you for the reassurance, but I'm only a little annoyed, I'm not upset. It's just a car." And I had to take several minutes to process that. It's...just a car.
We keep the car tidy. We maintain it. But we wash it maybe 4x a year. We only vacuum it after dirty road trips or when the dog hair starts to get annoying. It has scrapes and dings and the leather seats have stains. But that's ok. Because it's just a car.
This morning, I realized that a small rock had gotten embedded in the felt foot on one of our bar stools. Neither of us had noticed. There are now scratches on our beautiful hardwood floor. My immediate response was fear accompanied by a heavy measure of paralyzing guilt. "I'm so sorry," I told my husband, "I should have noticed. I'll figure out how to fix it, I swear. I can probably sand down that section and match the stain and--"
"Whoa, hey," he said. "It was an accident. And it's fine. Floors are going to get damaged. They're floors. We live here. There was damage in places before we even bought the house, remember? It's not a big deal. It's just a floor." Right. It's just a floor. Right.
My husband's mom is visiting and this afternoon, as I was sitting in the kitchen looking at the scratches on the floor, I offhandedly asked her if my husband had ever broken or damaged anything as a kid. "Of course," she said. Household items. A TV. A wrecked car during his teen years. I asked how she punished him.
"Why would I punish him for things like that?" she said. "They were all accidents."
Right. Of course. Right.
Swimming, One Day in August by Mary Oliver

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A wish bounced off the moon and broke up on reentry, blanketing the southwestern USA in shards of high velocity desire.
Sources say affected cows have begun to genuflect, and a cactus has learned to while away the time in memory.
Fashion studies: ACRONYM/Orc edition. ORCRONYM? Another very cyberpunkish fashion brand that I use for inspiration a lot.