I’m a guy, and I need feminism. Not “men’s rights.” Feminism. Here is why.
Everything that MRAs talk about that men can’t do or are socially punished for arise directly and immediately from misogyny. Not “misandry.” Misogyny.
Whether I am expressing my emotions, playing with…
I love the shit out of this. Well said.
I will always reblog this.
me too!
Rule #2
Well, it makes perfect sense to me.
I wish that I had Diana’s power to talk to kittens :)
Yup, pretty much how it works.
yup
Laughing so hard reading this. Little One is so adorable <3
I have the habit of telling my daughter to have an awesome day when I drop her off at school. (Go away, naysayers who claim the word is overused. I like it.) Generally, she rolls her eyes and tells me she’s always awesome. Today, she told me I should be awesome, too. I was not feeling particularly…
Exactly
Abandoned hotel.
Refugio del Salto facing the Bogotá River in Columbia
http://eyesoncolombia.wordpress.com/2010/06/13/tequendama-falls-the-haunted-hotel/
Alie arrived at our 1st-grade classroom wearing a sweatshirt with a hood. I asked her to take off her hood, and she refused. I thought she was just being difficult and ignored it. After breakfast we got in line for art, and I noticed that she still had not removed her hood. When we arrived at the art room, I said: “Allie, I’m not playing. It’s time for art. The rule is no hoods or hats in school.”
She looked up with tears in her eyes and I realized there was something wrong. Her classmates went into the art room and we moved to the art storage area so her classmates wouldn’t hear our conversation. I softened my tone and asked her if she’d like to tell me what was wrong.
“My ponytail,” she cried.
“Can I see?” I asked.
She nodded and pulled down her hood. Allie’s braids had come undone overnight and there hadn’t been time to redo them in the morning, so they had to be put back in a ponytail. It was high up on the back of her head like those of many girls in our class, but I could see that to Allie it just felt wrong. With Allie’s permission, I took the elastic out and re-braided her hair so it could hang down.
“How’s that?” I asked.
She smiled. “Good,” she said and skipped off to join her friends in art.
‘Why Do You Look Like a Boy?’
