“Dude calm the fuck down it’s just a fashion statement! He can wear whatever he wants!”
“Yeah, he’s just hot… so what?”
“OMG WOMAN PUT SOME CLOTHES ON PLEASE!!!”
“Slut! She really needs to put some clothes on! It’s not fair on us guys - she’s just asking to get raped!”
a male celebrity can literally beat his girlfriend half to death and still enjoy a successful career with millions of adoring fans
a female celebrity can gain a few pounds and she’s shunned, mocked, and ridiculed by thousands of people over many different mediums
do you see the problem with this
Imagine you have a Rolex watch. Nice fancy Rolex, you bought it because you like the way it looks and you wanted to treat yourself. And then you get beaten and mugged and your Rolex is stolen. So you go to the police. Only, instead of investigating the crime, the police want to know why you were wearing a Rolex instead of a regular watch. Have you ever given a Rolex to anyone else? Is it possible you wanted to be mugged? Why didn’t you wear long sleeves to cover up the Rolex if you didn’t want to be mugged?
And then after that, everywhere you go, there are constant jokes about stealing your Rolex. People you don’t even know whistle at your Rolex and make jokes about cutting your hand off to get it. The media doesn’t help either; it portrays people who wear Rolexes as flamboyant assholes who secretly just want someone to come along and take that Rolex off their hands. When damn, all you wanted was to wear a nice watch without getting harassed for it. When you complain that you are starting to feel unsafe, people laugh you off and say that you are too uptight. Never mind you got violently attacked for the crime of wearing a friggin time piece.
Imagining all that? It sucks, doesn’t it.Now imagine you could never take the Rolex off.” —The Wretched of the Earth: [TW: rape] On Rape Culture (via hyperbolequeen)
I love the clump of earth that you are,
because, from the planetary prairies,
I have no other star. You repeat
the universal multiplications.
Your wide eyes are the light that’s left
of the defeated constellations.
Your skin quivers like the trails left
in the rain by the passing meteor.
Of so much of the moon, for me, were your hips,
of the entire sun your deep mouth and its delicacy,
of so much burning light, like shadowed honey,
your heart, charred with long red rays.
And so I pass by your fiery form, kissing you,
planetary and small, my geography, my dove.
Pablo Neruda, Sonnet XVI (via lightningstruck-tower)
Forever in love with you Pablo. My heart.