Anonymous said: Do you have a boyfriend? Have you ever had a boyfriend? I'm almost 20 and I feel so alone. My big size probably disgusts everyone and I was wondering if you could give me any confidence advice or relationship advice.
this is my fox. we’ve been together for 2.5 years and I’ve never been happier. prior to him I’d been in other relationships, too. we’re entirely in love with eachother and there are no redeeming qualities that I have to ‘make up for being fat’. he loves me entirely, my body is not my flaw and he would never see it that way. there are numerous fat people who are in happy relationships with partners who love and appreciate them exactly as is.
I recently just made a video on confidence and while it’s pretty long, it’s basically my story with it and what has helped me along the way.
a big part of this process is to stop looking at fat as all of the negative connotations associated with it. fat to me is merely an adjective, I have fat, I am fat, it’s not the best or worst thing about me. there are (obviously) people who will love me and want me - all of me. that can be said for anyone really, no matter who you are there are going to be people who are attracted to you. that’s not the basis of our worth, but if that’s a part of what we want out of life then we can have it. being fat isn’t a sentence to die alone and to be forever unhappy. I know a lot of the world would have us believe that, but it’s so far from the truth.
part of my advice would be to browse the fat positive tags on here and look at these fat people enjoying their lives, their bodies, and themselves as a whole. I think a part of the issue is that you don’t entirely realize that there ARE fat folks who have what you think you can’t because you’re fat and maybe seeing that they do will help.
Arrow is the “Days of our Lives” of superhero shows.
girls who were bullied most of their life and gain confidence at one point should be feared most because they dont take anyone’s shit no longer and they will destroy you if you think otherwise
For many of these women, the reading experience begins from a place of seething rage. Take Sara Marcus’ initial impression of Jack Kerouac: “I remember putting On the Road down the first time a woman was mentioned. I was just like: ‘Fuck. You.’ I was probably 15 or 16. And over the coming years I realized that it was this canonical work, so I tried to return to it, but every time I was just like, ‘Fuck you.’” Tortorici had a similarly visceral reaction to Charles Bukowski: “I will never forget reading Bukowski’s Post Office and feeling so horrible, the way that the narrator describes the thickness of ugly women’s legs. I think it was the first time I felt like a book that I was trying to identify with rejected me. Though I did absorb it, and of course it made me hate my body or whatever.” Emily Witt turned to masculine texts to access a sexual language that was absent from books about women, but found herself turned off by their take: “many of the great classic coming-of-age novels about the female experience don’t openly discuss sex,” she says in No Regrets. “I read the ones by men instead, until I was like, ‘I cannot read another passage about masturbation. I can’t. It was like a pile of Kleenex.”
This isn’t just about the books. When young women read the hyper-masculine literary canon—what Emily Gould calls the “midcentury misogynists,” staffed with the likes of Roth, Mailer, and Miller—their discomfort is punctuated by the knowledge that their male peers are reading these books, identifying with them, and acting out their perspectives and narratives. These writers are celebrated by the society that we live in, even the one who stabbed his wife. In No Regrets, Elif Bautman talks about reading Henry Miller for the first time because she had a “serious crush” on a guy who said his were “the best books ever,” and that guy’s real-life recommendation exacerbated her distaste for the fictional. When she read Miller, “I felt so alienated by the books, and then thinking about this guy, and it was so hot and summertime … I just wanted to kill myself. … He compared women to soup.”
Here’s a fun thing you learn when you study literature: the western canon is not universally beloved. Those books are not the Truth any more than the New York Post is skilled journalism. The main reason they’re held in such high esteem is because they were written by boring white dudes with rage fantasies and boring white dudes with rage fantasies also happen to be largely in charge of deciding which books are deemed classics and taught forever in the American school system.
So if your boyfriend tells you he loves Kerouac then you tell your boyfriend Kerouac was a fucking second rate hack who wrote Beat style because he didn’t have the skill or talent to write any other way, which is probably also why he just copied every adolescent male wanderlust story since the beginning of time. That shit’s derivative and boring.
All this Inception swag coming my way has me like
around the house