Okay this is a very half-formed thought and I’m not sure where I’m going with it yet, but the fact that the teen girls we’re meant to root for in so many Teen Girl Stories are the ones who are bad at or uncomfortable with performing femininity probably isn’t a coincidence.
And it’s mostly not because the people who create media about teen girls want to shatter gender roles; it’s more likely because even though femininity is the prescribed way for female-identified people to behave it’s also seen as something largely unpleasant.Um. I’m going somewhere with this, maybe after I finish my homework. But I want to hang onto this thought.
ex: the proof of Regina George’s redemption is giving up her hyper-femininity in favor of aggressive, masculine-coded sports
ex 2: in High School Musical Gabriella and Taylor have a bonding moment over their nail beds being “history”, contrasting themselves with the more conventionally feminine cheerleaders. Gabriella is hardly butch but her femininity is portrayed in a more soft, natural way to contrast with Sharpay’s louder, more eye-catching and implicitly unpleasant outfits. Sharpay is not the bad guy because she’s girly, but she’s maybe more girly because she’s the bad guy.
Because caring about your appearance is BAD, that’s a character trait that we associate with Bad Characters, and most especially Bad Women Characters. Sharpay and Regina care so much about their looks because they’re shallow, and that means they’ve unpleasant.
All teenage girls are told, one way or another, that they should care about their looks and put effort into being attractive. But in the stories about teen girls, the only ones visibly caring about their looks are the bitches.
If a Nice Girl ™ wants to make an effort to look good she better have an excuse, like prom or a date or finding out she’s a princess.
Princess Diaries makes such a good point about this, actually. Mia is supposed to be attractive, because she’s the protagonist, but she also can’t do it herself, because that will make her look like just another Vapid Teen Girl. So she gets a makeover handed to her. Pretty is something that Just Happens to nice girls, because if you work at it you’re a bitch.
(Not to mention pretty isn’t compatible with frizzy hair or glasses.)
God, fucking Harry Potter isn’t exempt from this. Hermione gets contrasted with Lavender and it’s so obvious that Lavender is Wrong, because she’s goofy and sentimental and clingy and girly girly girly, in sharp contrast with Hermione “I only do my hair for the Yule Ball, I’ve got shit to do” Granger over here. And that’s not shitting on Hermione! It’s just clear that there’s a very particular sort of teenage girl we’re supposed to like in HP and she doesn’t care about Girl Things.
Even Sky High, the greatest teen movie of all time, falls into this. The women on the good guys’ side are Layla – soft femme, a little tomboyish, has strong opinions – and Magenta – vaguely punkish, v snarky – neither of whom do feminity “right”.
On the bad side there’s Penny, who’s a LITERAL evil cheerleader hivemind, and Gwen, who’s both the most popular girl in school and the actual super villain behind everything. These things are not coincidences.
Tag: yes this
Fuck anyone who says I have to forgive everyone, “for my sake.” I worked hard for this anger. I worked hard to love myself enough to hate them.
Shit, yeah, this is a thing that is hard to articulate. Some people don’t feel healed by forgiving the people who hurt them, because that’s what they kept doing over and over and it only led to getting more hurt. Sometimes you feel healed when you’re finally brave enough to say “This person was horrible to me, and I did not deserve that treatment, and I don’t have to be okay with it.”
http://funereal-disease.tumblr.com/post/148840688055/skyvirus-funereal-disease-when-you-refuse
Put it this way: when you say “men’s egos need to kept in check”, consider what that means for a trans man who’s battled dysphoria and finally, finally arrived at comfort in his masculinity.
When you say “all men are potential rapists”, consider what that means for a man who was himself raped and feels gut-punched every time he’s conflated with his abuser.
When you say “men should take up less space in conversation”, consider what that means for a man who’s overcome debilitating social anxiety and is just now starting to speak his mind.
When you say “men’s sexuality is toxic”, consider what that means for a queer man who constantly hears the same from his family and his church.
When you say “kill all men”, consider what that means for a man who’s watched his friends be murdered by police and grown up knowing respectability won’t save him.
Please vent if you need to. I won’t demand linguistic perfection from people who are hurting. If you’re feeling wounded by men in your life such that “fuck all men” is the only thing you can say, that’s okay. You’re not a bad person. But you probably shouldn’t endorse such rhetoric as political praxis, and you don’t get to tell men who are hurt by your imprecision that they are wrong for being hurt. Their needs compete with yours, but they aren’t wrong for having them.
Please remember that men who protest your words are not mere instantiations of maleness. They are whole, complex people with feelings and pasts and real reasons for feeling the way they do. To insist otherwise is to force them back in the “suck it up” cage.
As a socially anxious trans man with occasional confidence-undermining bouts of depression and possibly some purity culture induced hangups about sexuality (which don’t just apply to queer men, by the way; there are absolutely straight cis men who, due to religious teachings, feel horribly ashamed of their sexual desires): yes, this.
Experimenting with more masculine body language brought constant worries about taking up too much physical space (think manspreading). Atttempting to build confidence and participate in conversations more made my brain scream at me about big egos and arrogance.
(I’m less sure about the “potential rapist” one – I think everybody is a potential rapist, the key word is “potential”? But I see how it can hurt in at least some contexts.)
23 Emotions people feel, but can’t explain
- Sonder: The realization that each passerby has a life as vivid and complex as your own.
- Opia: The ambiguous intensity of Looking someone in the eye, which can feel simultaneously invasive and vulnerable.
- Monachopsis: The subtle but persistent feeling of being out of place.
- Énouement: The bittersweetness of having arrived in the future, seeing how things turn out, but not being able to tell your past self.
- Vellichor: The strange wistfulness of used bookshops.
- Rubatosis: The unsettling awareness of your own heartbeat.
- Kenopsia: The eerie, forlorn atmosphere of a place that is usually bustling with people but is now abandoned and quiet.
- Mauerbauertraurigkeit: The inexplicable urge to push people away, even close friends who you really like.
- Jouska: A hypothetical conversation that you compulsively play out in your head.
- Chrysalism: The amniotic tranquility of being indoors during a thunderstorm.
- Vemödalen: The frustration of photographic something amazing when thousands of identical photos already exist.
- Anecdoche: A conversation in which everyone is talking, but nobody is listening
- Ellipsism: A sadness that you’ll never be able to know how history will turn out.
- Kuebiko: A state of exhaustion inspired by acts of senseless violence.
- Lachesism: The desire to be struck by disaster – to survive a plane crash, or to lose everything in a fire.
- Exulansis: The tendency to give up trying to talk about an experience because people are unable to relate to it.
- Adronitis: Frustration with how long it takes to get to know someone.
- Rückkehrunruhe: The feeling of returning home after an immersive trip only to find it fading rapidly from your awareness.
- Nodus Tollens: The realization that the plot of your life doesn’t make sense to you anymore.
- Onism: The frustration of being stuck in just one body, that inhabits only one place at a time.
- Liberosis: The desire to care less about things.
- Altschmerz: Weariness with the same old issues that you’ve always had – the same boring flaws and anxieties that you’ve been gnawing on for years.
- Occhiolism: The awareness of the smallness of your perspective.
I always struggle with the conflict between wanting absolutely universal ethical principles, and needing at some point to distinguish between good things and bad things.
“It’s wrong to ban hate groups from participation in public events! If we allow the government to decide who’s allowed to assemble and demonstrate, they might use that power to censor their own critics, or weird but harmless fringe groups.”
“So you don’t see any difference between hate groups and any other group of people? They’re just another political group and no one can objectively describe any distinction between the Westboro Baptist Church and the Audobon Society?”
“But sometimes the government really is wrong about which groups are evil. Look at the history of the civil rights movement, or the Red Scare, or the Stonewall riots.”
“That just proves we need to get better at telling the difference between good and evil groups, not give up and stop trying.”
“Will we ever have a government we truly trust to do that?”
“I don’t know, but do you think we should legalize arson until we can truly trust that the government has godlike perfection in their judgment about whether it’s really wrong to set a house on fire?”
“Um. Go away.”
“I can’t go away. I’m you.”
So I was rereading Harry Potter, when I came across this and thought- what if instead of Cedric Diggory, Cassius Warrington had been chosen to compete in the Triwizard Tournament?
Imagine Dumbledore calling out the name of the Hogwarts champion and it isn’t a Gryffindor, or a Ravenclaw, or even a Hufflepuff, but it’s a Slytherin. A student from a House most people hate.
Imagine Cassius Warrington getting up, and three out of four Houses are booing at him and shouting things like “NO!” or, “We can’t have a Slytherin champion!” or demanding a retry. But he’s a Slytherin- he’s been dealing with this shit since he got sorted, so he keeps his head high and joins the other champions.
Imagine Harry trying to catch Warrington alone because he doesn’t really want to associate with Slytherins (plus Malfoy has this tendency of being around the guy ALL THE TIME since he got chosen), but at the same time he’s also fair enough not to want him to walk into the first task unprepared.
Imagine Warrington walking over to Harry a few months later, and Ron and Hermione both jump into a protective stance, wands out, but instead of attacking Harry he just tells him to stick the egg underwater. (Because Slytherins don’t forget those who helped them out).
Imagine Warrington and Harry helping each other out in the labyrinth.
Imagine Harry being devastated when Peter kills Warrington- because Voldemort doesn’t care what house they’re form, a spare is a spare.
Imagine the uproar that causes among the Slytherins, because some of their parents really are Death Eaters and they know what really happened.
Imagine Slytherins fighting in the Battle of Hogwarts and shouting “This is for Cassius!”
Imagine Harry returning with Warrington’s body, and the crowd realizes what’s happened, but Warrington’s parents don’t show up. There’s no one to mourn him, to cradle him in their arms and cry for their son. The Slytherins know why. His parents were Death Eaters, too.
Imagine Slytherins reaching out, asking for help from classmates from other houses. They’re terrified, truly terrified because the being their parents claimed would never hurt them because they’re pureblood, they realize that he does not care.
Imagine Slytherins in the 5th book sneaking off to join Dumbledore’s Army, to learn more about who Voldemort is without their parents acting as a filter.
Imagine the shock when they’re told what he’s really done.
Imagine that a few talented Slytherins went with Harry and the others into the Ministry of Magic. The others are a bit wary but they prove themselves as friends.
Imagine them being confronted by Lucius Malfoy in the the Hall of Prophecy, and when the Death Eaters descend, they know that any one of them could be their parents.
Imagine the shocked gasp of a Death Eater as they realize their own child, a pureblood, is standing defiantly with Harry Potter. They choke back a cry. They can’t let their child know that they were about to duel to the death.
Imagine a DA Slytherin facing off against their own Death Eater parent. That they make the decision to let their child defeat them, because in that moment, they realize that they love their child more than they fear Voldemort. They go down, mask unveiled, and the Slytherin kid has to be dragged from the fight before he gets killed.
Imagine Book 6 Slytherins getting more friendly and cooperative with the other houses. Two years of Voldemort terrorizing the muggle and Wizarding world, two years where their parents just up and leave some days, cringing from the pain in their arm, two years after the death of the first Slytherin pureblood, Cassius Warrington, killed by Voldemort’s right-hand man, and they’re slowly hitting the breaking point.
Imagine Slytherin kids keeping tabs on their parents, sending the information to Harry, who shares it with the Order of the Phoenix, and hoping that their parents won’t be killed.
Imagine Book 7 Slytherins low-key rebelling against the new oppressive Hogwarts staff.
Imagine the final siege on Hogwarts, where Slytherins stand proudly by their fellow houses, knowing full-well they could be fighting their own parents. Some Slytherins know their parents were in the fighting. They hope to find them first and sneak them away. Their fellow students understand. Professor McGonagall allows 7th Year Slytherin, Pansy Parkinson, to duel a death eater in her stead; her father is under that veil. She knows it.
Imagine the aftermath of the battle; every house suffered loses. Slytherin students crying over the deaths of friends they made in every house.
Imagine
a Cassius Warrington statue made in his honor, the first Slytherin to fight and die nobly with Harry Potter, the boy who lived, in the face of ultimate evil. He was a true Slytherin, and it’s in his name that Slytherin children and their families have cut all ties with the Death Eaters, denounced Voldemort, and are finally living in peace.
#i do enjoy cedric #but this would have been immensely wonderful in many ways (via batty4u)
Imagine a story in which Harry wasn’t in love with his fellow champion’s girlfriend, but after her boyfriend’s death just hugs her so long, so hard, and says “he wanted to win for you. You should know–you should know he won, he did it for you” and gives her the best hug and shoulder he knows how to be because her parents aren’t there either and she must know why.
Imagine Harry staring over her head at everyone else until Hermione steps up–it doesn’t take long, but it takes long enough that when she does all eyes are on her as a source of motion–and says “we’re never going to forget this. They’re not going to get away with it” and the girlfriend just latches onto Hermione and everyone is in wands-out stance convinced she’s about to attack the shit out of Hermione, and then the girlfriend stares into her eyes and says “do you promise me” and Hermione just gives her this super-firm nod and says “I promise” and the girlfriend just collapses on her, sobbing.
Imagine Dumbledore trying to give some flowery speech about inter-wizard solidarity while glossing over why, because Slytherins have always been a touchy subject, and Ron gets to his feet and says “Professor, I need to say something important” and Dumbledore is so surprised he just cedes the floor, and Ron–after that awkward moment when he realizes everyone is staring at him–says he didn’t know Warrington particularly, but he knows how Warrington and Harry played. That each was always cheering on the other. Both wanted to win, but neither was willing to undercut the other by underhanded means. He finishes up saying “I think–I think it’s important everyone should know he died being what a champion should be. Because he could have abandoned Harry and instead he stood up with him to play the game the honest way, and he died for it. And–and Slytherin House should be proud, and we should all be proud, because Warrington was a good bloke.” He sits back down all flustered because he didn’t actually stand up meaning to make a speech. And then Pansy Parkinson stands up before Dumbledore can take back control of the room and says “I want to tell Weasley thank you.” And all of Slytherin House raises a glass–to Warrington, to Weasley, to Potter–and the other houses follow suit. Many years later, Wizarding scholars will say that was the moment Voldemort truly lost.
Imagine later that summer. Harry gets several owls on his birthday, all unsigned. The birds are plump and pretentious and well-cared-for. He will never know which Slytherins sent him their treasures: parchments with hexes developed by the Death Eaters; a strange locket that will only open if he whispers a special spell but that always shows him the picture he most needs to see; a page torn from a potions book that, brewed properly, will allow him extra time to summon a Patronus by giving him a few crucial seconds not just of happiness but of bliss. It doesn’t matter. Harry knows these gifts not as birthday gifts but for what they really are, and he treasures the locket and copies out the potion to send to Hermione and Mrs. Weasley, and when first summoned by the Order of the Phoenix he marches straight up to Dumbledore with the hexes and says “I can’t tell you where I got these, Professor. But they’re in use by the Death Eaters and I think you should have them.” Months later, Sirius will recognize the spell Bellatrix shoots at him, and will dive out of the way just in the nick of time.
The final battle. Everyone is there. Sirius somehow ends up herding a group of Slytherins. They all stare at him and he at them, across a centuries-old divide Voldemort has only succeeded in deepening. Then he remembers the hexes. Harry’s locket, now tucked under Sirius’ shirt because Harry’s friends are with him in this battle but most of Sirius’ are dead. The moment that happiness potion saved Remus’ life, his very soul. Snape’s final words to Harry, finally seen not as mockery but real true advice. What Harry said Voldemort said–his first words in his new form. They are kids, and they are sharing the same kind of hurt he once wouldn’t admit to, watching his mother burn his name off the family tree. “When we go in there, it’s going to be hell,” he tells the Slytherins. “Some of you are probably going to die. I might go down too, and if I do I want your best curser in the front. But I want you all to remember one thing. There are no spares.” Later retellings of the battle never fail to mention the moment a group of angry, screaming teens burst into the Great Hall, wearing their green and silver as the badge of honor it should be, shouting NO SPARES, NO SPARES at the tops of their voices in between hexes and curses and the occasional physical punch. When Hermione is present, she always interrupts the storyteller to be sure everyone knows about the moment Blaise Zabini shoved her to the floor, dropped on top of her, fired off three curses in rapid succession and said “stay alive, Granger, we need you” before jumping back to his feet and vanishing into the melee–how, for all anyone knows, those may have been his last words, and she will not let his sacrifice go unnoted.
The aftermath. Malfoy holds out a hand to Sirius, badly injured on the floor. Sirius asks how Malfoy is willing to trust him. Malfoy nods at his chest. “You’ve got my godfather’s locket,” he says, and when Sirius and Harry finally speak after the battle Harry gives his full agreement to the very first thing out of Sirius’ mouth. They give the locket to Malfoy. Sirius grits his teeth and closes his eyes and opens them and says “He probably saved my life, giving Harry that.” He doesn’t say thank you. Malfoy hears it anyway.
The school reopens under a single banner: the four Houses united. The House rivalry is reduced to just that–a competition in fun–with those deep divides slowly healing to scars, and eventually away to nothing at all.
Imagine it.
When we stand, we stand united as one
And then there would be no hope for any uprising of evil, no users of the dark arts would dare to attack. There would be no neglected Slytherins turning to a darker cause. The unity Cassius Warrington’s death caused would come to save the world, time and time again, as would-be-Voldemorts find no followers. No children will ever have to fight their parents, or family. There would always be peace.
oh christ somebody added to it and now i’m a soggy emotional wreck
Progress was made quickly after the team committed to an adult discussion.
‘Ultimately,’ Rogers remarked, ‘I don’t agree. But I get why Tony’s concerned.’
‘Thanks Cap. You raise compelling points yourself.’
‘Sure is complicated,’ sighed Rhodes.
‘A proposal,’ said the Vision, having been quiet. ‘If the accords fail to address the full complexity of our context, might we reply with an alternative?’
Wilson looked up. ‘You’re saying negotiate?’
‘Could work,’ said Stark. Rogers nodded.
‘Well,’ replied Romanov. ‘Thank God that didn’t escalate.’
The accords were always a disaster in the making
I can’t stop chewing over this huge plot hole and I think until I write this down, I won’t stop, so even though I know no one is going to read this, I have to put it down in words. Ever since the first trailer for Captain America: Civil War, I’ve had this huge WHAT THE FUCK reaction that I’ve been holding on to, hoping that the movie would somehow make the UN sanctioned accords make sense to me, or at the very least, the side objecting to them would point out what a huge, huge mistake this would be with actual, you know, facts. That exist. In the world. And I was really stunned that at no point did anyone point out what a disaster they could be, because of what an actualfax disaster the UN has often been at oversight and peacekeeping.
It would have taken less than ten minutes for them to dig up some real-world examples of disastrous policies that led to the slaughter of thousands of innocent people, and given those arguments to someone on the team as a basis for their suspicion of what the accords intended to do. But I’m equally baffled by why they had Tony and Rhodey coming out in favor of the accords and the UN and Thunderbolt Ross, for god’s sake, when they would know these things because of the nature of their jobs, and Vision because he has access to all that information in the databanks.
If you’re not familiar with the giant shitstorm that is often UN peacekeeping work and human rights oversight, here are a couple of Greatest Hits for you–and these are just a few that have happened within Tony’s and Rhodey’s lifetime.
As a doctor, when faced with an ethical or clinical dilemma, one simple question often provides amazing clarity: Is what I am doing in service of my patient? The answer to this question is always “yes” when I support my patient’s right to choose. Forced childbirth is never in the best interests or in service of a woman. Even under the best of circumstances, pregnancy is not, medically speaking, a benign state. The risk of death when a pregnancy is continued to birth is about 14 times as great as the risk of death from safe induced abortion.
But for me, this consideration is only a starting point. As a physician I will be charged with promoting the health of my patients, and there is so much more to this endeavor than just caring for the body. This is especially true when it comes to reproductive health, which has profound emotional and social significance to patients. In this sense, access to abortion is a matter of dignity and of a fundamental level of autonomy over the body.
The harm in denying this autonomy is real. One only has to go back a short time in history to realize that at a policy level we do not have a choice between legal abortion and no abortion. Instead, we have a choice between safe and unsafe abortion.
Omphaloskeptomai 