psychotropicpolitics:

Classmate: I think [other classmate, not present] is gay.
Classmate #2: Oh definitely.
Me: Has he said this?
Classmate: You can tell.
Classmate #2: He’s so effeminate.
Me: Not to break your hearts guys, but I’m kinda an expert on not-gay effeminate men.

Upon your return to America, we will open a consulting firm.

theawl:

maura:

Just what the world needed: MORE MANSPLAINING. 

Things are getting ugly.

How about meta-splaining?
“Why is pop music the only art form that still inspires such arrantly stupid discussion? The debates that surround authenticity have no relationship to popular music as it’s been practiced for more than a century. Artists write material, alone or with assistance, revise it, and then present a final work created with the help of professionals who are trained for specific and relevant production tasks. This makes popular music similar to film, television, visual art, books, dance, and related areas like food and fashion. And yet no movie review begins, “Meryl Streep, despite not being a Prime Minister, is reasonably convincing in ‘The Iron Lady.’ ”
—
Sasha Frere-Jones, “Screen Shot”

theawl:

maura:

Just what the world needed: MORE MANSPLAINING. 

Things are getting ugly.

How about meta-splaining?

Why is pop music the only art form that still inspires such arrantly stupid discussion? The debates that surround authenticity have no relationship to popular music as it’s been practiced for more than a century. Artists write material, alone or with assistance, revise it, and then present a final work created with the help of professionals who are trained for specific and relevant production tasks. This makes popular music similar to film, television, visual art, books, dance, and related areas like food and fashion. And yet no movie review begins, “Meryl Streep, despite not being a Prime Minister, is reasonably convincing in ‘The Iron Lady.’

Sasha Frere-Jones, “Screen Shot”

I’m never getting married, obv, but this would be the song, right?

millana:

Men are afraid to date me!
[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]

ingrideb:

mikkipedia:

karaj:

throughclaretandblueeyes:

National Anthem- Lana Del Rey 

Overdosin’, dyin’
On our drugs and our love
And our dreams and our rage
Blurring the lines between real and the fake

perfect for cleaning while thinking about feminism, capitalism, politics, etc.. 

I have never preordered a record before today. Which is my Lanaversary. To think that before last Sunday I hadn’t even listened.

Money is the anthem of success.

So put on mascara and your party dress.

Ladies… you made my day.

I love you, INGS!

Anything that comes out of the South is going to be called grotesque by the northern reader, unless it is grotesque, in which case it is going to be called realistic.

Flannery O’Connor (via ederlezi)

(Source: dailyflanneryoc, via sl33pcr33p)

nudiemuse:

Pre clean up.

Talon make me uncomfortable and I love them. At first I thought the seam near the third nail from the bottom was like a curved red nib and I shivered.

nudiemuse:

Pre clean up.

Talon make me uncomfortable and I love them. At first I thought the seam near the third nail from the bottom was like a curved red nib and I shivered.

So I have arrived at what for me is at the heart of what’s the matter. Much of the newfound interest in African American women that seems to honor the field of black feminist studies actually demeans it by treating it not like a discipline with a history and a body of rigorous scholarship and distinguished scholars underpinning it, but like an anybody-can-play pick-up game performed on a wide-open, untrammeled field. Often the object of the game seems to be to reinvent the intellectual wheel: to boldly go where in fact others have gone before, to flood the field with supposedly new “new scholarship” that evinces little or no sense of the discipline’s genealogy.

Ann duCille (1994) ‘The Occult of True Black Womanhood: Critical Demeanor and Black Feminist Studies.’ Signs 19.3. p. 603. (via james-bliss)

(via blackamazon)

To all the little queens, do you know what you’re worth?

I’ll tell you every day till you get it, girl

It’s all going to happen