Femme on Purpose

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The rarest of the rare: a men’s magazine advocating hairy armpits on women.

We need more of this. Personally, I shave, but that’s just cause I don’t like the feeling of deodorant on hair.
Sometimes I’ll forget to, for a day or two, and I’ll have the teensiest amount of stubble. For some reason, I’ll feel really insecure about it.
Because society teaches us that we should.

I thought I was going to rage but then it was awesome

This is wonderful. I personally do not shave and have seen many harsh reactions, comments and discrimination for it, even had people tell me it was unnatural ( as ironic as that is). It is rare that you see magazines really come out and say that it is alright for a woman to have body hair, we have been so conditioned to view it as this gross “un-feminine ” thing when it is simply a personal choice…. shaving or not, you can still be feminine with body hair. The fact that women feel vulnerable and insecure when they have a small bit of body hair or skip a day of shaving is ridiculous, we should be comfortable with ourselves no matter what, and our community/friends/family should support our choices.We have been so conditioned to try and alter/shove ourselves into this small un-realistic box of “beauty” that we are loosing the true beauty of ourselves and striving for the beauty of others perceptions.Love yourself. And if you want to be hairy, dammit, be hairy. 

Hells. Yes.


You drink about it, smoke about it, don’t talk about it.


- Ella Eyre  (via o-opiario)

(Source: viuxic, via girlyandgross)


the best kind of friendships are fierce lady friendships where you aggressively believe in each other, defend each other, and think the other deserves the world.

(via dad--jeans)


cant keep ya eyes off my fatty daddy i want u 


(na na) 


surfbourdt surfboardt 

(Source: microsoftpussy, via novelistically)

at the risk of sounding like a huge misandrist…

I really hope that I can never enter another intimate relationship with a cis-gendered male ever again. As a pansexual, I can be super attracted to cute cisboys….fall in love with them and stuff. And I guess I’ve done that like three times now. And even though each time, the guy I fall for is a sweet and understanding and kind individual, I can never be happy. 

There is a lack of emotional understanding. I provide, and provide and provide, and always put them first. As I would with any gendered partner. But cis boys seem to have an inability to think of anyone but themselves. Maybe even that’s a bit too much. They have been kind to me, and cared for me. And put up with my shit. 

But would there have been shit to put up with if I was not constantly feeling like my needs and desires are being pushed to the side? If I didn’t feel like I was constantly catering to their contentment? Or feel like I had to constantly check my behaviours and emotions for fear of putting them off? 

They are so restricting. I want to talk to him about it, to fix it. But I feel there is no point. He will somehow make it something I do wrong that makes me feel this way. He wont understand, and that’s why I long for something different. 

Does anyone else feel like this? I know I’ve made a huge generalization and I hope I dont offend….I’m just tired of feeling this. 


untitled by vicki_king on Flickr.

(Source: loveless4ever19340523, via smallsnuggles)

"But confusingly, misogynists are sometimes men who speak softly and eat vegan and say “a woman’s sexual freedom is an essential component to her liberation. So come here.” It’s a tricky world out there. And while I’d prefer a critical approach to gender from men I elect, read and even bed, in my experience, the so-called feminist men I’ve met deep down have not been less antagonistic or bigoted toward women. What I see over and over again is misogyny in sheep’s clothing, and at this point, I would rather see wolves as wolves."


"Stop fawning over male feminists" 

omg this is so spot on

(via poorlycutbangs)

(Source: yoursocialconstructsareshowing, via drpepper10)


Étude sur le phénomène de l’amour, technique mixte sur papier, 38 x 56 cm. Par Stéphanie Béliveau.

(Source: azurea, via novelistically)


literally the most important show you’ll ever watch

(via puppiesandprotesting)


This is the rape joke:
My best friend was four years old the first time his father came into his room at midnight and tore out his throat. He still has days when I cannot hold him because the memory of a bleeding trachea haunts his doorway. He has not been home for the holidays in many years, but – even now – hands are seen as weapons.

This is the rape joke:
I have been told by more than twenty people that they have been raped. To all of them, I asked where the rapist was. From none of them, I heard ‘jail.’

This is the rape joke:
Once my brother told me that I was so ugly, I would be a virgin forever. Unless someone raped me. But even they wouldn’t come back for seconds.

This is the rape joke:
I believed him.

This is the rape joke:
I now look at every woman on the street and wonder if the space between her legs is a crime scene, surrounded by ripped caution tape. The statistics tell me that this is so common that I will never be in a room that does not contain a survivor. Not even if I am in that room alone.

This is the rape joke:
I was thirteen years old, and he was supposed to be just a friend.

This is the rape joke:
When his older brother came home, the boy pulled away. He wiped the tears from my face and said ‘we should do this again some time.’

This is the rape joke:
When I finally told my parents, they asked what I had been wearing.

This is the rape joke:
I had been wearing my innocence. My trust. I had worn the love I held for humanity and expected to be treated well. I had never been taught that I would be that girl, the one who keeps a mine of secrets between her legs – that girl was the slut. I wasn’t supposed to be breakable.
What had I been wearing? I wore the rape joke, then I became it.



This is the Rape Joke | d.a.s

After Lora Mathis’s poem “the Rape Joke

(via backshelfpoet)

(via smallsnuggles)