I finished my essay and all is well!
I read this great comment in Lady Dahmer’s blog and I just had to share the content of it:
To try and look like the models in today’s fashion magazines is about as easy as trying to look like Picasso’s the Girls of Avignon. You’re also probably going to be more successful imitating the Picasso painting…
Technically, I’m writing an essay that’s due tonight, which is the exact reason why I’m blogging so much today.
I just wanted to share this “lovely” example of sexism for kids. This is a dance costume, obviously aimed at younger kids. Cute, a pair of overalls and a striped sweater in different colors, very suitable for a mixed group of kids.
Except the makers obviously saw the need to make two versions of the costume, one for girls and one for boys. The boys has trouser legs to below his knees, a real shirt while the girls have very short trouser legs and some sort of leotard with attachable sweater arms (I don’t even know what to call them…)
If ANYONE can tell me a single reason why there should be a boy and a girl version of this costume, a real reason, I’m listening.
(…I would also like to point out the heavy makeup and sexualized poses…)
This is a recording from my choir concert this Sunday, Candlelight Carol. Unfortunately, since I’ve heard it about a million times, naturally I hear everything that’s wrong (as much as I’m capable of, at least), but it’s fun to share anyway.
In light of the Steubenville rape case and the brutal gang rape in New Dehli, Washington Post published the following picture:
Source: Washington Post
As usual when one tries to discuss rape, there is always a large cry of “won’t somebody think of the poor men, falsely accused by witchy women?”
Can we end that myth now, please?
Edit: The graph is originally from The Enliven Project.
(On a completely different note: the title quotes will from now on (or last post, I think) be the first tag in each post.)
Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, Happy New Year!
Lucia is over, finals are over and Christmas is over. The past few days have been spent in a horizontal position on the couch, together with my good friend Ipad and my even better friend Netflix. And with family and friends, just as Christmas is supposed to be.
I just wanted to post about a thing that happened to me after our second Lucia-concert. It’d gone really, really well, and everyone was exuberant because of large amounts of sugar and adrenaline. Several people came up to me and told me how beautiful it had been, what a great concert, and so on.
Nothing odd about that, it had been a lovely concert. Easy compliments to accept.
But then two women, ca 25, 30ish came up to me and said:
“You’ve got a beautiful voice.”
And my first reactions was that they must’ve mistaken me for someone else.
Perhaps getting better at accepting compliments should be my New Year’s resolution this year?
Much love to all of you.
I read a great blog post (in Swedish) by Elisabeth Björk and I just had to interrupt my studying to blog.
You see, all my life, since i was very little. I’ve known that I’m fat. And that this was a BAD THING. And while not as fat as many others, still, it’s noticable and different.
And that was, in a way, what defined me. When I was teased in school, that was the one thing they focused on. When I bought clothes, same thing. When I started exercising, it was all about becoming thin(ner). When I got to puberty, it wasn’t about growing up, but that I might lose weight.
If I would only lose some weight…
If I just lost some weight…
I could…
I would…!
If only…
This is what I’ve heard, all my life, from magazines, school, my parents, my relatives…
If you just lose weight, everything will be fine. If you’re thin, you won’t be different anymore.
Got any problems? Headache, stomach ache, depression? I’m sure it’s just because you’re fat.
Any wonder that I thought this was the only thing worth noticing about me. Fat. As in something negative, a burden on me. A Swedish journalist once wrote: “In every fat girl, there’s a thin woman longing to get out.”
My very existance, my entire life, was defined by the fact that I’m not as thin as someone else.
23 years on this earth, and that was it. My eulogy: “She wasn’t as thin as the others.”
My life was, I felt, essentially on hold because I was fat. I won’t get a boyfriend as long as I’m fat. There’s no point in even trying. I can’t dance, because I’m fat. I can’t wear short skirts because I’m fat. I will though, once I’m thin. Later. Some other time. Just not now, because I don’t deserve to right now.
It is insane. Insane, do you hear me? How much time did I waste waiting for that one day where it would be OK for me to live my life? How insane is it that I’ve been taught my entire life that that is just something I have to accept. Second-rate citizen.
And it’s my fault, because I’m fat and that’s because I have no self-control and I’m disgusting. Read any magazine, that is the bottom line.
In a way, this is what I’m most grateful to feminism about. The realization that I can life my life and I’m about so much more than just being fat.
That being fat is OK. I don’t have to wait.
I’m so many things worth noticing. I’m so much more than just fat.
I have lots of half-written blog posts I will post once I’m done with finals on Wednesday. Until then, I just wanted to post this gorgeous picture, which sorta symbolizes my view on life:
Since my brain is too mushy with Christmas lyrics, please watch this trailer for the Hobbit instead, in honor of my teenage years.
It’s the first Sunday of Advent, and for those of us that sing in a church choir, it’s busy times. Which means I’ve spent the entire day in church, singing religious songs and eating Christmas food. 11 days until the best day of the year, Lucia!
Because of singing and that pesky little thing called studying, blogging hasn’t really been a priority.
Next week, I have choir on Monday, Wednesday, Saturday and Sunday and a tiny little 45 point project to turn in.
So… See you in a week?
So. When my mom and I were in London we did a lot of shopping.
Well… We bought 15 books. At a lovely bookshop called Daunt Books in Marylebone.
Highly recommended.
The Light Bulb 