feminism « Heartbreak Nymphomania

9Jul/104

Stop with the fucking victim-blaming already.

I'm not typically one to respond to other blog posts, or share my opinion on social issues here. However, a certain post just makes me too angry to not say anything; and, I suppose, unfortunately was written at the same time that I've been experiencing frustrations surrounding this issue in my daily life:

If your body is being groped, used, assaulted, grabbed, handled or otherwise touched without your permission [...] it would seem that you are doing something to provoke it. [...] The average person doesn’t get touched on a daily basis [...] No woman deserves to be treated like a whore, however is she happens to be wearing the uniform….

This post was written in response to Britni, who wrote about her upsetting harassment at a bar, where she was humped and almost penetrated without her consent. What shocks me is that the response I quoted is on a blog that is written by a woman, and someone who I perceived as sex-positive, until now. She didn't write the post herself, but put it on her site so I assume she agrees with the overall sentiment enough to post it, which is just as ridiculous.

I've refrained from writing about rape culture and victim-blaming because I feel that everything worth saying has already been said, and there's little that I can add to the conversation. However, it blows my mind that so many people just aren't getting it: the rapist/harasser is the cause of the rape/harassment. The victim may have made some bad decisions, but that didn't cause the violation, and it was not the victim's fault. The only person who caused it to happen, and who should be blamed for it, is the violator.

Why is that so difficult to understand?

So many of the posts and comments I've read about this issue have just been assertive re-iterations of the same message due to, it seems like, the large amount of schmucks out there who aren't willing to open up their minds and attempt to comprehend what is being communicated to them.

A few days ago, a man groped my ass in the middle of the street. I was going home, drunk and alone, from a party at 2 a.m. Thinking back, I shouldn't have gone home alone. I shouldn't have gone home that late. Those actions were contrary to my own common sense, and to what any friend or family member has ever advised me. But that hardly matters. What matters is some guy came up to ask me the time, actually blocked my path when I tried to avoid him, and then grabbed me. I didn't notice him as I walked up to him, but when he came to speak to me I realized he had been loitering in the shadows next to one of the buildings, and had probably waiting for someone to walk past him so he could do that.

On the other hand, I was wearing a sundress - nothing that showed a lot of thigh or cleavage - and still had good motor coordination so didn't look obviously drunk. I was walking the mere three blocks from the subway to my apartment. And both of my (female) roommates had assured me that the neighborhood was safe and that they had both walked back late at night with no trouble. While I've just moved to the area, they have been living here for a year already.

I think that anecdote makes it obvious that none of the details of the event really mattered. I just had the bad luck to run into that guy.

I don't even know why I'm bothering to address the claim that victims might be to blame. Really I shouldn't even be dignifying it with a response, but it's clear that some people need some kind of counter-evidence.

I was talking to the Inventor about this, and he compared victim-blaming in rapes and assaults to victim-blaming in traffic accidents. Someone died in a car crash? Shit, they must have been driving too fast. They probably weren't careful enough. That couldn't happen to me. Basically: people blame the victim because it gives them the illusion that they can somehow control what happens to them. If they're careful enough, they won't get raped or involved in a traffic accident.

Well, you know what? It's a scary thought, but it could happen to you. Nothing you do will change that. If you happen to run into a horny asshole who doesn't give a shit about other peoples' feelings and personal space, and if you don't have the ability to defend yourself, it might happen to you.*

The bottom line is that it's pointless to point at the victim and somehow try to make them to blame. They aren't. The victim did not cause the violator to violate them. The violator chose to do what they did, and they should face the consequences and take responsibility for their actions. I have no fucking idea why so many people think that they deserve pity, coddling, and enabling. They don't.

* Note: Not to say that I believe you should engage in risky behavior just for the hell of it. If you know a certain area is dangerous, it's probably a good idea to avoid it. What I'm trying to say is that even if you take precautions, that doesn't mean you're 100% immune to danger.

Further Reading:

- Rape Prevention Tips and Victim Blaming

- It is not your fault

- Stop Street Harassment

Filed under: feminism, life, reflections, the Inventor 4 Comments

9Feb/104

Things I should have said

... and wanted to say, but didn't. Also some of this is paraphrased, clearly, because I don't remember everything word for word.

Example #1.

Guy friends 1 + 2: *discussing a hot girl they want to have sex with, but think is really dumb*
Me: How can you have sex with someone you don't like? Or someone you find boring or dumb? I just can't, personally.
Guy friend 1: What, it's not like I'm going to be having a conversation with her while we're having sex. *imitating thrusting motions, mockingly:* Oh, hey, so what are your philosophical views?
Guy friend 2: Know what would be awesome? A girl who was so bendy she could fit into a box. Then I could have sex with her and it would be, like, vagina in a box.

What I said: [Nothing.]

What I wanted to say: Jesus, why not just get a Fleshlight? The people you have sex with are still people, not things for you to stick your cock in.

---

Example #2.

Me + F + Group of acquaintances: *we'd been playing "Never have I ever" and eventually it comes out that I'd slept with a trans person. Thanks, F, for putting that one out there...*

Guy: *and this is someone I'd just met, asking me this in front of a bunch of people I'd also just met* Wait, so you mean he didn't have a penis? How does that work?

What I said: Um, well a penis doesn't have to be involved for two people to have sex. [Something vague about him looking and acting like a guy but his anatomy not matching up]

What I should have said: That's none of your business. How would you feel if I asked you what your girlfriend's vagina looks like, or asked you how you have sex with her in front of all these people?

I didn't realize the mistake of my response until afterwards, when something about the interaction struck me as oddly wrong, but I couldn't put my finger on why. It wasn't until I read this post about invasive questions that I understood. At the time, I justified what happened by thinking that I knew my trans partners were pretty open about themselves and their experiences, and that it would be better for me to answer and have those people know what was up, instead of walking around being ignorant. I also didn't want to look like I was too ashamed or afraid to answer, when I'm not ashamed at all of people knowing that I am queer and I have slept with trans people. People have shamed me for sleeping with transfolk before, and I think them doing that is idiotic. In any case, none of those reasons excuses the fact that a perfect stranger was asking about private information, and I didn't recognize that as offensive, and answered. Even if my partners are open with their information, I can't make the decision, on their behalf, to give that information to someone they don't even know. Even though I am not trans myself, I want very much to support those who are, and help instead of hurt :/ I'll just have to make sure not to make the same slip-up in future.

---

In short: I really should speak up more often than I do. I like to think that I am, and that I'm changing for the better.

Filed under: Queer, feminism, life, reflections, transgender 4 Comments

20Aug/099

HNT: Peepshow

Warning! Rant ahead. Take this as a release after a long while of buildup...

DSCN3345

I can probably mark my onset of puberty with the day men first started
sketching on me in the middle of the street.

This was before I was fashion-conscious, and before I considered myself attractive, you understand. I was just this dumpy, awkward, nerdy-looking girl who could do with washing her hair a few more times per week. Anyway, one day when I was 15 years old, I was out with my family. I was wearing jeans and a bottle-necked, thick, white sweater. We were entering a clothing store when I felt the unmistakable sensation of a hand surreptitiously groping my ass. I spun around indignantly, angrily, to see the guy I thought did it gliding smoothly away.

Later, I for some reason decided to go home ahead of everyone else. So I was walking home, in the middle of the day in this big city, and this guy comes up to me and starts asking me questions about the firework display that's happening later that day. Fine, I thought naively, he's just some lost foreigner who wants to know what's going on in the city. So I answered him.

But after a while he started asking me questions about me. Where I lived, what my name was, if I'd spend time with him. It was at this point that I just started walking away, hoping that he wouldn't follow me.

"Tell me your name," he called after me.

"No," I said.

And of course there were all the instances where people just made remarks loudly at me: "hey beautiful", "want to come with me?", cat-calls, whatever. Which always makes me feel more like I was being talked at than talked to. As if I were a tasty-looking meal or a nice car that they're voicing their approval of.

I'm only writing about this now because today I was wearing the above outfit and while I was waiting for the bus, some guy walked past me, commented on how attractive I was, then asked me my age. Thankfully, he simply left right after that and I just felt embarrassed. But it reminded me of something that happened when I was in San Francisco. Incidentally, I was wearing the exact same outfit. It was a poor choice for the day in question, as it was a particularly windy day and I was giving free pantyshots all over the place. Great.

Anyway I was trying to meet a friend and had got a bit lost, so I was wandering around looking kind of confused. And then this dude starts walking with me. Asking me personal questions, asking me to hang out with him, saying "when I saw you I thought - wow! - you're special," etc, etc. I eyerolled, thought "sure, like you can tell so much about me just by looking at me," gave him a fake name, gave him a fake number, hoped he would be contented with that and just go away, made it clear to him that I was busy and had to meet a friend, but he didn't leave. He followed me for at least two fucking blocks.

He finally left when I started ignoring him, which is what I should have done in the first place.

I am too fucking polite with these people.

I've always reacted to these encounters with a confusing slew of emotions. On the one hand, I felt strangely flattered. At least I'm attracted enough to get noticed, right? But that feeling was always quashed very fast. Why were these guys doing this? Was there just something about me, or the way I dressed, that just screamed "I AM A GIRL WITH NO STANDARDS, FUCK ME"? Plus, how come no normal, young, decent men tried to approach me? Why was it always these creepy, middle-aged men who lurked around on street corners?

(Hmm. It's probably because all the decent guys know better than to do shit like that.)

Let me get something straight...

When I put an outfit together, I wear it because it is aesthetically pleasing to me and rarely because I will be using it to seduce someone.

Here are a few things this particular outfit means to me:

a reference to punk/punk lolita/goth/gothic lolita
tough femininity
a twist on the typical school uniform (Roommate once said I dress like "a demented schoolgirl" and a quarter of the time, yes, I do)
black, red and white are three of my favorite colors, and I also really like plaid

So, please tell me, where exactly in there is the message "I REALLY want strange men to chat me up"?

I briefly considered changing the way I dress, thinking that maybe it would help... but then I realized something. There's nothing wrong with the way I dress. The ones with the problem are those men who come up to me.

---

I realize that my posting this rant together with an HNT is pretty ironic. I suppose it does look like I'm employing a double-standard. Some would say that by posting HNTs, I'm only objectifying myself.

But let me point a few things out. This is my sexblog, where, among other things, I post erotica and sexy pictures, because those are two ways I like to express myself. Under this post, there is a comments section. In this context, making comments on my appearance is appropriate. Just like if I were at a bar or frat party, and someone started flirting with me, I wouldn't be pissed off because the context is appropriate. Of course, I still expect anyone who comments on my posts or flirts with me to act polite, respectful and basically like a decent human being.

I am a sexually liberal woman who posts half-nekkid pictures of myself online, runs around Zeta Mu in my underwear, and is comfortable hanging out naked with my friends in the woods.

That does not make it okay for you to invade my personal space, interrupt my day, or try to push me into something that I'm not comfortable doing.

Thanks for reading.

Filed under: HNT, body image, feminism, life, reflections 9 Comments

26Jun/094

The “Ideal” Woman

kellylicious5

[Canto-pop idol Kelly Chen]

I appreciate and am attracted to women of all different shapes, sizes, ethnicities and personal styles. Most of me understands that beauty comes in many different forms, all unique and special in their way, and I like to think I'm open-minded when it comes to people's appearances.

But a part of me, say 20%, insists on disbelieving that. This 20% believes in an "ideal" woman who renders every other type of woman out there inferior in comparison. This woman is very feminine and graceful. She is typically white or East Asian, so slight in build that she looks like a strong wind would blow her away. Her skin is pale and flawless; whatever outfit she wears is perfectly put together (from make-up to accessories to shoes); her features are strong, but delicate. She makes you want to protect her. You also want to take her in your arms and never let her go - but you feel too afraid to. You feel like you'll break her if you touch her because you're too clumsy - that or you just don't feel worthy enough. All you can do is admire her from afar.

The ideal woman is a porcelain doll.

I hate that part of me still thinks this way, but I have to acknowledge that I do. I hope that, with time, I can question and examine these views of mine enough that they'll become non-existant.

Korean pop singer BOA untitled2

[Korean pop singer BOA]

For a long time, I didn't even begin to think outside of this limited little box, and, as always, it largely has to do with the type of culture and standards of beauty I grew up with.

Of course, the Western world largely dictates that "attractive" people have to be thin, or fit, or whatever. But I won't hesitate to posit that East Asian culture is even more limiting in that aspect. In the West, certain types of "fat" are desireable. Big boobs, hips, or ass for example. But in Asia, or at least where I live, in Hong Kong, even those aren't considered good qualities. Female celebrities here seem to have 0% body fat, don't have much in terms of breasts, and don't have much of a figure, either. And if you walk around the city, at least half the women you see are thin. I've seen some people whose waists looked like I could snap them in half with my bare hands.

[Japanese pop legend Ayumi Hamasaki]

Personally, I'm not attracted to the "ideal" woman all that often. But sometimes, I wonder if I just force myself not to be attracted to her because I'm jealous. I don't look like that.

I am not a large person. Most people I've met in the US think I'm thin (but curvy/shapely). I wear a US size small, and even then sometimes when I shop I find that clothes are all slightly too big for me.

But before I came to the US, I spent most of my life thinking I was fat. Compared to most of the other girls around me, I felt clunky and ungainly. When I shop here, I wear a large, and most of the time dresses and trousers are much too tight for me. For goodness' sake, I bought a pair of "one size fits all" thigh-high socks once, but ended up cutting the foot bits off and using them as arm-warmers. They were that tight!

I felt awful about myself because I thought that I could look "attractive" only if I tried hard enough. But over time I realized that I'm never going to look like those women. And it's not my fault (well, I could work out more and eat less desserts) because my body simply isn't meant to be that way. My mother is white and my dad is Filipino. My mother and her mother are both pear-shaped, curvy women. And that's perfectly okay.

Twins

[Canto-pop duo "Twins"]

However, upon coming back to Hong Kong for the summer, I feel self-conscious wearing my cute summer dresses and mini skirts when I go out. I almost feel like a small elephant tramping around the streets.

And I'm not the only one. My elder sister, who is thinner than I am, not fat by any standards at all, and gorgeous, feels bad about her appearance sometimes. A number of her white, expatriate friends feel depressed about their looks here, when in their home countries they are considered beautiful.

They, and I, shouldn't have to feel this way. I shouldn't have to feel like ashamed of my body; like covering myself up. Nobody should have to feel that way, regardless of whether they're considered generically "hot" or not.

These women are indeed beautiful - but it's just one kind of beauty. I'm going to remember the confidence I felt in the US and the Caribbean, I'm going to wear my cute, revealing outfits whenever I feel like it, and I'm not going to let these standards limit me.

Filed under: body image, feminism, reflections 4 Comments

16Dec/085

Sometimes

Sometimes...

I wish I were thin.

There are times when I feel beautiful and desired - and those times are wonderful. They don't come around very often. (But they used to not occur at all.)

But then there are times when I look at myself and all I notice is that my thighs rub against each other when I walk; that I wear big, nerdy glasses; that I'm small and dumpy; that my belly is bigger than it used to be; that my breasts are still too small. (But if I were no longer curvy, I think I would miss it...)

And for every person who likes me and I like back, there's a hundred people I like and who are too good for me. They chase the pretty, outgoing, svelte girls. And for every person who likes me and I like back, there's a hundred people who like me and I don't feel at all attracted to them. I wish I did - but instead I find them sketchy, unattractive, overbearing, overeager, arrogant...

Sometimes...

I wish I were drop-dead gorgeous.

Filed under: angst, body image, drunk, feminism, reflections 5 Comments

14Sep/080

Objectify me

I'm still feeling out this whole blog business... trying to decide length, how to manage series, changing its name. I want to be more visceral, and less like I'm trying to recall everything detail-by-detail. I'm busy perusing other sexblogs out there, many of which are intelligent and insightful and hot, and I'm wondering if my views and perspectives will be at all eye-opening or unusual to others. I'm no sexuality or gender theorist - I have my experiences and emotions and that's about it. We'll just have to see where that takes us.

---

Last night, I went to my first fête - which is Carribbean for a big-ass party. I was excited about going out - alcohol and dancing are things that I understand and enjoy.

Here, dancing is just dancing, no matter how sexual, and doesn't really mean anything. For me, any sort of close physical contact means something. Intimacy. Familiarity. Affection. Sexual interest. Trust. Not something I do with just anyone. Even with people I am extremely close to, like the Actor, who I cuddle with all the time - sometimes if I'm irritated, stressed out or upset, being touched or held is the last thing in the world that I want. During those times, it feels smothering and makes me panic...

I dance. Men come up behind me and we grind. We do not look at each other. I can't count how many people I danced with that night, some were acquaintances, many of them strangers, but most of the time I do not see their faces. I just feel the oddly-impotent movements of hips. Commodify anything too much, and even the sexiest of them become unsexy.

Even after more rum, I do not enjoy winding [i.e. grinding]. I enjoy the dancing, like I always do, but the unwanted contact is just a bother. So I try to ignore them. Don't look at them. Or I use them like a prop. Grind hard; force them to match my movements instead of matching theirs. Because isn't that what we are being for each other? Props in a dance?

I only want to dance with perhaps four people who are there. I manage to dance with one of them - British-Trinidadian dorm-mate - multiple times and it's exhilerating. I see a Bajan guy friend now and again, and chat and dance with him, and enjoy it. We dance front-to-front for a few minutes and I feel myself start dripping...

Why? He's a cool and interesting person who I'd actually want to be closer to. He seems out of the typical mindset of most people here. He's attractive. And I trust him.

Trust. Funny how out of so many factors, that's almost the most important. Trust, and liking the person as a person.

For the rest of the night I'm subtly touchy with him. I want to talk to him; dance with him more, but he keeps vanishing. I'm so tipsy and it's so packed that it's hard to pick out people in the crowd. And it's noisy. I can't hear what anyone is saying, and nobody can hear me. For a while, I'm pretty sure I lose my voice for all the yelling I've been doing.

Around me, the 'prudish' American exchange students are taking advantage of the overall debauchery to do things that they normally wouldn't. Beside me, one of my tripmates (cute one too) is dancing intensely with a short local girl; sweat dripping down his face and bared chest. Another exchange student I know is sandwiched between two men, pushed up against a fence, practically having clothed sex. More than a few congo-grind-lines are happening.

Aren't I taking advantage, too? As I dance with British-Trinidadian behind me, and gesture to the cute-tripmate to come so that his back is against me, running my hands over his sweaty sides and back... I realize that I'm guilty of exactly what everyone else here is guilty of, for all my (supposed) reservations.

The party is broken up at around three, and everyone starts scrabbling for someone to go home with. I've been dancing with a skinny, slightly effeminite guy for a while and he asks, "do you want something from me?" I hadn't realized that if you dance with someone for a long time, or more often, it 'means' more, and I'm embarrassed. I excuse myself quickly and look for my dorm-mates.

On the way back, I fall into step with Bajan-guy. I oddly feel more confident. (Just like that day where I was sketched on by a shit ton of people...)

When I watched the movie Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, one quote struck me:

[Clementine: And in your little brain. You try to figure out, "Did she fuck someone tonight?"
[Joel: No, see Clem. I assume you fucked someone tonight. Isn’t that how you get people to like you?

I am a quiet person. Sometimes I find talking difficult. I find expressing myself difficult. Alcohol loosens my tongue. Makes things easier; makes me more sociable.

And I resort to the visual. Cute clothes. Dancing. Sex. Sex breaks down barriers. Doesn't always need words. Says things that I can't. Sex permeates so many of my close connections with people. Is it surprising that out of six of my best friends at college, I've slept with four of them?

Maybe it's not a bad thing to gain confidence, validation and exhileration from sexual encounters. But I want more control. I want to be the one making the choices.

I don't take anyone home that night. Some of us continue the party in the dorm-backyard, but I go to my room and write a long, explicit email to the Emperor, in response to this. The close bodily contact made me think of him and wish that I could have him...

The next day, I'm frustrated because the power and internet are out for the 4372498th time, and I can't check to see if I got a reply. I go out to use the library's internet, but they're closed by the time I get there. When I come back, my roommate tells me that Bajan-guy had stopped by while I was out. Which made me really happy. I haven't exactly made any real friends here yet, except for my trip-mates...

Maybe I'm on my way to making one.

---

(I'll post parts of my email to the Emperor later ~)

Filed under: angst, blogging, drunk, feminism, reflections No Comments

8Sep/080

Exotic little white girl

Today, I was walking around the University' extracurricular activities fair, alone as usual, and I got sketched on by at least three guys who I had never spoken to before.

It's common to get cat-called randomly here, but no one has ever approached me or tried to get in my face before... until today. A couple of guys tried to say 'hi' to me; one of them opened the cafe door for me, which was in my walking-path but I didn't actually want to go in. "I thought you wanted to get coffee?" he said, and I said that I didn't, and after I walked away I could hear his friends laughing...

One guy, who was sitting at a table with a bunch of his friends, greeted me, and I greeted him back. After that, he followed me into the cafe (yeah, I did want to get coffee eventually) and randomly started talking to me:

[Him: Hi.
[Me: Hi...
[Him: I'm sorry, I saw you and thought you were so cute, I just had to talk to you.
[Me: Thank you...
[Him: What's your name?

We made small talk for a while. He tried to ask me for my number, and I lied and said I didn't have a cellphone, then he asked where I lived - thankfully, it was my turn to order and I did, without answering him. The cashier didn't hear me the first time, she asked me to repeat myself, and he actually repeated my order for me. We both gave him odd looks, and I repeated my order instead. A while after that he left me alone, and the cashier said:

[Her: Was he harassing you?
[Me: ...He just randomly started talking to me.

Maybe it had something to do with the clothes I was wearing - a lime green skirt that went to mid-thigh, and a fairly form-fitting top.

I guess you could say I dress in an 'ultrafeminine' way. I wear skirts a lot of the time - many of them long and flowy. (Here that's mostly just because it's too hot for pants... though women here generally wear tight-fitting jeans. I don't know how they bear it.)

Anyone who knows me well enough (or at all) knows that I care a lot about what I wear. I often get complimented on my outfits and I like to think I have a good sense of style. I put a good amount of self-definition, self-expression and self-confidence in what I wear. If I oversleep, for example, and just throw something on randomly and it ends up not looking bad, I can be in a crappy mood for the rest of the day. Or at least until I go change. Sounds pretty vain, I know.

(Random note: the airline lost my luggage so I didn't get it until a few days after I arrived here. I was stuck wearing my comfy but frumpy travel-clothes. I spent those days being in a bad mood, not really wanting to interact with people and spending most of my time reading in my room =\)

I only started investing in my outward appearance about 3-4 years ago. I literally sat down one day and said to myself "you're going to get rid of every piece of clothing that isn't 'you' and you're only going to buy clothes that you really like." Before that, I basically wore whatever, and before that, from when I was about 9-13 years old, I dressed like a boy and hated wearing skirts or anything pretty.

Most of the time, I am a very quiet person. In big groups, or when I'm meeting new people, or when I'm in a new place, I'm definitely a wallflower. Sometimes it's by choice (because I need to observe what's happening for a while before I participate, or I just don't feel like participating) and sometimes it isn't (because I feel too shy/afraid to approach anyone, or I feel uncomfortable).

I used to dislike my quiet-ness. I assumed that people misjudged, misunderstood, or looked down on me as a loner; an outsider. (A lot of the times they were doing just that.) I thought that if I at least looked good it wouldn't be as bad. I also had issues with my body back then. I still kind of do. I'm pear-shaped: chubby legs, big hips and ass, a bit of a belly, but for some reason up top I'm quite slim... and flat-chested. So clothing definitely helped with that as well.

Most importantly, clothing lets me be creative and expressive. In a sense, it's a form of identity. As a mixed-race girl, I don't really identify with any of my ethnicities, so clothing is a way to re-define myself; to distract from the skin-color.

It's ironic that my source of confidence and expression is also what allows men to sexualize me. In Islam, a woman needs to cover all of her body in order to prevent men from 'having lustful thoughts'. I've definitely read somewhere before that some cultures blame women for their own sexual harassment; saying that it's their fault for dressing so scantily or provocatively in the first place.

Dress can empower. For women who are part of cultures which seek to downplay the feminine (body, etc), dressing provocatively is a revolt against the oppressive rules and constructs of their society.

And then, because of the same oppressive rules and constructs, the men take this as a sign that the woman is sexually loose or is 'asking for it.'

I almost wish that I brought or had more 'butch' clothing. All of this unwanted attention makes me want to be less noticeably feminine.

Conversely and contradictorily, though, when that random guy followed me into the cafe, told me I was cute, and tried to chat me up, it was a bit of an ego-stroke; a sign that I had power over him.

---

Afterwards, I was walking to the supermarket with D, one of my tripmates, talking to her about what had happened. (We got cat-called at least twice on the way.) She said:

[Her: I was talking to [a Trinidadian dorm-mate] and he said that we should assume that any Trinidadian guy who talks to us is interested in us in some way. Apparently it's 'cool' to have an American girlfriend, or to date someone with fairer skin. Just like in the States... dating foreign people can be considered 'exotic.'

Granted - the dorm-mate in question tends to exagerrate. But still -

Why do we do this? People seem to either treat 'the other' with fear; or to exoticise them. And we take notice of it - throwing phrases like 'yellow fever' around; treating it like it's something unusual and worthy of special notice. And this is the States, where interraciallity and diversity are commonplace; and this is the West Indies, whose cultural history is supposed to be rich and diverse. Why, then, are we still insisting on fetishizing 'the other'?

Filed under: Gender, body image, fashion, feminism, reflections No Comments

This blog contains adult content.

Wilhelmina Wang. Queer, female college student with her mind lodged firmly in the gutter, seeking genderbenders, lessons in BDSM, a meaningful fuck, and a point in life.

Here's where her mind is spilled like the proverbial guts.

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