“Yes, being in a female dominated field, I do know what it means to be marginalized. “
oh my fucking god
The really ugly part is they’ve actually done multiple sociological studies on this, and guess what the…
How I deal with ignorance.
Before you read further and make an unfounded conclusion, here are two things (that should be fairly obvious, but sometimes are misinterpreted for one reason or another)…
More Than Words: Tomboys R Us
THIS whenever some girl brags about being “one of the boys” or says something like “I’m not like other girls, I LOVE [stereotypically masculine thing].”
i mean how dare a show for little girls let them identify with it in the sea of male-targeted movies out there that have males in all the roles you just complained about females being in
laughs because girls are not allowed to have anything to themselves ever lmaooooo
I didn’t even realize the text on the pictures were meant as complaints until I read the comments and looked up again to see “My Little Misandry” in the corner of each image.
Shut up you fucking dorrito-huffing neckbeards and let little girls enjoy their show.
MY LITTLE MISANDRY
oh my fucking god all of the people involved with this need to be murdered by amazons.
actual literal mythical amazons.
My mistrust is not, as one might expect, primarily a result of the violent acts done on my body, nor the vicious humiliations done to my dignity. It is, instead, born of the multitude of mundane betrayals that mark my every relationship with a man—the casual rape joke, the use of a female slur, the careless demonization of the feminine in everyday conversation, the accusations of overreaction, the eyerolling and exasperated sighs in response to polite requests to please not use misogynist epithets in my presence or to please use non-gendered language (“humankind”).
There are the jokes about women, about wives, about mothers, about raising daughters, about female bosses. They are told in my presence by men who are meant to care about me, just to get a rise out of me, as though I am meant to find funny a reminder of my second-class status. I am meant to ignore that this is a bullying tactic, that the men telling these jokes derive their amusement specifically from knowing they upset me, piss me off, hurt me. They tell them and I can laugh, and they can thus feel superior, or I can not laugh, and they can thus feel superior. Heads they win, tails I lose. I am used as a prop in an ongoing game of patriarchal posturing, and then I am meant to believe it is true when some of the men who enjoy this sport, in which I am their pawn, tell me, “I love you.” I love you, my daughter. I love you, my niece. I love you, my friend. I am meant to trust these words.
There are the occasions that men—intellectual men, clever men, engaged men—insist on playing devil’s advocate, desirous of a debate on some aspect of feminist theory or reproductive rights or some other subject generally filed under the heading: Women’s Issues. These intellectual, clever, engaged men want to endlessly probe my argument for weaknesses, want to wrestle over details, want to argue just for fun—and they wonder, these intellectual, clever, engaged men, why my voice keeps raising and why my face is flushed and why, after an hour of fighting my corner, hot tears burn the corners of my eyes. Why do you have to take this stuff so personally? ask the intellectual, clever, and engaged men, who have never considered that the content of the abstract exercise that’s so much fun for them is the stuff of my life.
"It’s the social economic version of “just stop being depressed”"
thats exactly what bothers me about “forget money follow your dreams” like lol ok poor people just stop being poor and do things start a business
just acknowledge we live in a capitalist society and that following a dream isn’t achievable for everyone like. be real. i’m a positive person but i’m not full of illusions about how things work.