All Goofing Aside I Genuinely Don't Understand The Urge To Reimagine Taylor Allison Swift As A Secretly

like there comes a point where you think something is fundamentally wrong with you. and then it turns out it’s just Friday and you haven’t washed your hair in three days and maybe you’re also just a little lonely and the combination of all three of those things is whittling a hole into your chest every time you breathe. but also the sun’s up. and you’ve survived everything so far, so you’ll survive this too, even if it hurts, even if you have to survive it many times.

"don't do this it will make your skin look older and give you wrinkles" and what do you think i'm here for?? you could not have chosen a worst argument, all i'm here for is to get older with each passing day waiting for my death

i've been afraid of lizards my whole life, those little bastards just seem so off, but my younger sisters have taken after me and are also afraid of those fuckers, which means i am no longer afraid whenever i'm with them

there’s something really special about the way that, during barbie’s breakdown, gloria comforts her with (loosely paraphrased), “it kills me that someone as beautiful and smart as you feels this way”

and the point, of course, is that stereotypical barbie and stereotypical ken have both suffered under the constraints of their titles, that neither have ever had any room for self-actualisation as dolls, but barbie is surrounded by powerful women. doctors, physicists, presidents, judges. amazing women who—unlike barbie—hold massive amounts of power and influence in barbieland outside of just being barbie. stereotypical barbie goes through her arc asking questions and believing that everyone else around her is more qualified, more intelligent, more capable, more-whatever than her, despite the surface thesis of her story being that she has to confront the inequalities still faced by girls and women in the real world. even in barbieland, this utopia for women, barbie herself does not feel on par with her other aspects

because even the narrator pauses the action for a second to acknowledge that, yeah, margot robbie is fucking gorgeous, and any situation where she’s saying she isn’t pretty is objectively wrong. but the narrator doesn’t stop to say, “hey, stereotypical barbie, you don’t have to be called anything special to also be intelligent and creative and worthwhile,” because despite the utopian ideals of feminine power, stereotypical barbie is still regarded as the blonde bimbo who has to rely on others to tell her what to do, even if it’s meant kindly

but gloria, who she’s deeply connected to, whose emotions and fears barbie has taken on, who feels inadequate and small in her own life, looks at stereotypical barbie—before barbie became the doctor or president or construction worker or anything other than a pretty girl in a swimsuit—and says, “how brilliant you are, already, all on your own, without any special titles at all,” knowing that the changes that she needs to go through at the end of her story aren’t to make her smarter or more capable, but simply for her to find her own place

"It’s often unhealthy to hyper-analyze your sexuality to the point where how you experience it changes where you belong. This is why the idea that broader terms are somehow more restrictive is baffling. Continuously breaking labels down and creating terminology for each facet of one’s identity shrinks communities until it’s just one person convinced that they’re the only one who relates to their experiences. It isolates people and ignores the importance of individuality within a collective identity."

On Hyperpersonalized Sexual Identity

i think one of the best parts about being a teenager in the early to mid 2010s was that cigarettes were definitely not cool anymore and vapes hadn’t popularized yet so my lungs made it out of my peak impressionable years relatively unscathed

Salman Toor (Pakistani, 1983), Immigrant Gathering, 2016. Oil on canvas, 122 x 81.5 cm.

healing hasn't been a great journey, and i don't think it will ever end, but at least i'm still trying

truly some people have no genre savviness whatsoever. A girl came back from the dead the other day and fresh out of the grave she laughed and laughed and lay down on the grass nearby to watch the sky, dirt still under her nails. I asked her if she’s sad about anything and she asked me why she should be. I asked her if she’s perhaps worried she’s a shadow of who she used to be and she said that if she is a shadow she is a joyous one, and anyway whoever she was she is her, now, and that’s enough. I inquired about revenge, about unfinished business, about what had filled her with the incessant need to claw her way out from beneath but she just said she’s here to live. I told her about ghosts, about zombies, tried to explain to her how her options lie between horror and tragedy but she just said if those are the stories meant for her then she’ll make another one. I said “isn’t it terribly lonely how in your triumph over death nobody was here to greet you?” and she just looked at me funny and said “what do you mean? The whole world was here, waiting”. Some people, I tell you.

So true bestie what did you say btw i was dissociating