You’re single because you’re single. It’s not because you texted too much or too little or waited 33 minutes to respond because he took 23. It’s not because you met up with your ex that night at 5 a.m. that no one knows about, or because you kissed another boy after a date with a loser.
You’re not single because you spit food on that date or tripped coming out the the movie theatre. You’re not single because you hurt your first boyfriend really badly when you were 15 or because you have yet, to this day, to apologize. It’s not because you were secretly jealous when your friend got a boyfriend or that a guy you dated for two months now has a really cute girlfriend and looks really happy. And you’re happy for him. But still ill that he found someone before you.
You’re not single because you slept with your ex boyfriend. You’re not single because half the world found out when you didn’t even want to remember it yourself. You’re not single because you think the guy your friend wants to hook you up with is ugly or not tall enough. It’s not because you’re not willing to put up with someone who doesn’t brush their teeth on a regular basis.
You’re not single because your standards are too high. Good for you for having standards. It’s not because you didn’t like that really, really good guy who wanted to take you on a date and you just weren’t feeling it. And it’s not because you like to wear pajama pants as soon as you get home and wash all the makeup off your face. You’re not single because you didn’t learn enough from the past or would rather chill on a Friday night with your blanket and a cold beer than shower, get ready, and go out. You’re not single because something is wrong with you.
You are single because you are single. It’s really as simple as that. You haven’t made the connection with another heart yet. You can get dolled up, dress cute, cut your hair, dye your hair, tweeze your eyebrows, put on lipstick and you may still. be. single. You can go out to a bar hoping to meet the love of your life and not find a damn one in the place attractive. And it’s going to remain that way until it’s time for you to find one. Stop hoping for it. Start living the life that you do have instead of wishing for things that you don’t have. There will come a time you’ll meet a boy and you’ll have to give up some of this single freedom you currently have. Start being more thankful. Start doing that now.” —Why You’re Single by Amanda Crute (via winonaryderfanclub)
- Me: *gets on bus* omg everyone is watching me and judging me and they're going to laugh when the bus starts and im not sitting down, omg dont put your ticket in the wrong way or everyone will judge you and laugh at you.
- Me: *goes to pay for shopping* omg what if I dont have enough money? *counts money out 20 times* what if I look stupid, or say the wrong thing? am I standing in the right spot even? What if someone else wants to get past and im in the way, omg.
- Me: *says hey to someone online* omg, they arent replying, holy shit why am I so annoying? what if they tell their friends how annoying and lame I am? Why am I like this, holy shit.
- Me: *meets someone new* What if they dont like me and dont want me to be around, I shouldnt have met them, im going to be a burden, they're probably critisizing me right now, why am I the way I am?
who has a crush on me. this is very important i need this for research i am a scientist
There is a word in every fat fashion fan’s vocabulary that upon its utterance, whether by a TV style pundit, a designer or a well-meaning relative, never fails to strike a killing blow to any confidence we may have. The word is “flattering”.
Flattering. The word haunts us wherever we go. Shouting at us from our screens, omnipresent in the stares from 17 year old shop assistants, left in the comments of every article that dares to mention fatness and fashion in the same paragraph. This word, these three little syllables, have locked fat people – feminine fatties, dapper fatties, butch fatties – into a parallel universe of shame and despair, a world populated by an endless parade of diarrhoea brown calf length skirts, waterfall cardigans and hanky hems. To flatter is to hide, to minimise, to render obsolete. A way for fatties to move through the world, without actually being seen.
Flattering, a code word for elasticated necklines and empire waists. The idea that a belly and a bum means you’re not worthy of colour or fanciness. Of happiness.
I want you to join me, my friends. Join me in rejecting the idea of only wearing clothes that others deem flattering. let us adorn ourselves in sequins, in feathers, in tight Lycra. Let us frolic in skirts and jeans that trace the outline of our bellies without fear or shame. Let us wear our VBOs as a delicious fashion statement, instead of a curse.
Together we can walk the streets, take to the beaches a riot of colourful chubbiness. Together we will rise to the hates and shout…
It is time for us to take back our agency, it’s time for us to reclaim this word which is still used against us. And once we have it, we will destroy it.
Society may want us to hide, but we will not go quietly into the night! We will not vanish without a fight! But we WILL pour our bums into a pair of American Apparel disco pants. We WILL wear ruffles, peplums and skinny jeans and fitted 3 piece suits. We WILL dress exactly how we want because we deserve to feel good about ourselves.
Celebrate your body. Wrap it in silks, paint it in millions of colours. Wear hot pants or even baggy t-shirts if that’s what makes you happy. But don’t ever feel you need to wear something “flattering”.
The next time you hear that word, those horrible three syllables, say it with me: fuck flattering! Fuck flattering! FUCK FLATTERING!” —
A passage from one of my favorite blog articles!
It’s me! :)