Maybe I’m old or just bad at social networking, but I don’t
get Twitter. The only time I’ve come in contact with it is on Tweet Beat, and
from what I’ve seen it seems that the main purposes of Twitter are to confirm
my suspicion that celebrities are illiterate and to broadcast Coco’s ass. And while I thoroughly appreciate
gratuitous booty shots, I can’t justify signing up with yet another social
media outlet in order to view them (and I get more than my daily dose of ass
from Tumblr, thank you very much). I’ve already unsubscribed from so many of my
friend’s posts on Facebook that it feels like I don’t have Facebook anymore
(which is, of course, ideal). I think people are annoying and I get annoyed
really easily and I just think that Twitter is a bad idea for me. That’s simple
enough, isn’t it?
As it turns out, nothing is as simple as it seems because
today I made a Twitter account. I did it because I had to. Apparently if you
want to be involved in the publishing industry you need to be “connected” via
Twitter, so as soon as I made my account I started following all of the
comedians I could think of, Hunx, my
favorite blogger (Karley Sciortino of Slutever), and Ru Paul. I threw Powell’s
in for good measure (and hopefully coupons or something) but all the
publishing-related Twitter accounts I’ve seen are pretty boring. So I basically
got into Twitter for school and career reasons but thus far have not used it
for any productive purposes whatsoever.
Ben Franklin once said that “Beer is proof that God loves us
and wants us to be happy,” and I totally agree with the man. I don’t believe in
God but I believe in alcohol. I know it’s bad to start out a sentence with,
“I’m not an alcoholic, but...,” but I’m not an alcoholic, but booze makes
everything better. Everything. Better.
Figuring out how much alcohol you should consume in order to
improve certain situations is definitely an art form and takes years of
fine-tuning. I now know that drinking a Bud 40 improves my academic
essay-writing skills tenfold and taking upwards of ten shots of tequila over a
3-hour period gives me superpowers like the ability to twerk. Of course
I can’t twerk it, but damn does it feel like I can. That’s the whole point of
alcohol, anyway. There’s a reason why social anxiety medication makes you feel
a little tipsy. Inhibitions are important and necessary but very boring, and
sometimes they stand in the way of your ability to have fun. Knowing how to rid
yourself of certain inhibitions while retaining crucial motor skills and basic
abilities (aka not acting like anyone on the Jersey Shore when you’re drunk) is key. I’m not telling
you to become an alcoholic, I’m telling you how to put your already latent
alcoholism to your advantage. You’re welcome.
There are so many things that a drink or two can vastly
improve. This includes but is not limited to grocery shopping, working out,
having coffee with someone you haven’t seen in years, waiting at the DMV, work
(if you work a shitty service industry job), and getting dressed/ready to go
somewhere. I’m such a huge advocate of the latter. Picking out an outfit or
putting on makeup whilst tipsy is the best idea ever because everything looks
awesome when you’re buzzed. I like to think of a shot or a tallboy as a mini
ego-boost and a few drinks more than that as a skill-improver. Being
legitimately drunk turns everyone into a better dancer, singer,
conversationalist, and cook. It’s just the truth. But once you pass the
threshold of being awesomely drunk to hopelessly wasted, you’re done for. The
only thing that being black-out drunk helps is your ability to lose all of your
belongings and sleep like a heavily sedated zombie. Know your limits! Never
take shots upon shots in a row because you’re desperate to be drunk as soon as
possible; you’ll just end up puking on the dance floor at your high school
formal. I’m speaking from experience, guys. Be safe, have fun, and don't be a douchebag.
Plenty of girls are too nice. They apologize when something
isn’t their fault and they feel bad about stuff they shouldn’t. For example,
they for some reason feel obligated to give out their phone number to every
dude that asks for it. We’ve all been there – you’re at a bar or a party
talking to a guy who you’re not particularly interested in and when he asks for
your number you begrudgingly give it to him. Then you put his number in your
contacts as “DO NOT ANSWER,” block his calls, ignore his texts, and wish you
had originally told him that you were already in a relationship or a lesbian or
a leprechaun. We go through a lot of trouble because we don’t want to be honest
and reject the guy to his face. For some reason it’s much more easy to offer a
piece of personal information to a stranger than admitting that you’re just not
interested, and I think that should change.
Some people might say that women give their phone numbers to
guys that don’t stand a chance because they like “leading men on.” I hate that
term. Waking up to 8 text messages from a clueless guy is not something that
most women relish. Women don’t give out their numbers because they like the
(unwanted) attention, they do it because they feel like they don’t have a
choice in the matter. And they’re just too nice so they’d feel bad for saying
no. Fuck that! Just say no! Tell the dude that he’s creepy or not your type or
that you have a boyfriend, and then walk away. Put an end to the awkward
situation right then. You can even tell him “you’re welcome” for not wasting
his time. You’re doing both parties involved a huge favor. Promise me you won’t
give out a fake phone number again. And if your courage wavers, just remember
the wise words of TLC: “No, I don’t want your number. No, I don’t want to give
you mine.”
I’m a pretty big advocate of the phrase “fake it ‘til you
make it,” mostly because that’s what I’ve been doing for years now and it seems
to be working pretty well for me. Don’t get me wrong – I’m not fooling anyone
on a daily basis in order to get ahead in life; I’m fooling myself every second of the day so that I can go about
normal everyday things without succumbing to an anxiety attack. Hi, I’m Miranda
and I’m painfully awkward (with a little bit of social anxiety on the side).
I know many people feel awkward as often as I do, and most
of them have an anxiety disorder like me. Many of them completely
avoid social situations because they can’t handle the jitters or can’t bear to
face the impending discomfort of interacting with other people. Sure, it can be
rewarding to meet people and connect, but those fuzzy feelings are bound to go
to shit as soon as they say something that’s met with an awkward silence. Those
with anxiety are the flakiest people on the planet, and for good reason. The
burn of humiliation is one of the worst feelings a person can experience. I
mean, can you really blame them?
I’m not perfect, but I pride myself in being a pretty
un-flaky human being. You see, I’m better at lying to myself than to other
people, which technically should be pretty tragic, but in the spirit of “fake
it ‘til you make it,” I really rock the shit out of it. Instead of dwelling on
an embarrassingly awkward conversation I had with a coworker, or that time I
accidentally threw a full can of beer at someone’s head at a party, I convince myself
that these things didn’t happen. You can’t feel shitty about something that
never happened, dummy! I can tell myself that I’m a confident, interesting
person and then act like one. It’s pretty cool. It might be an indicator of
some other underlying psychological disorder, but it’s cool.
Meeting people is a pain in the ass. Whoever first said
“just be yourself” deserves a punch in the face because that shit’s impossible
when you’re trying to make new friends. You usually can’t crack the same jokes
that make your best friends laugh to a stranger because different people have
different boundaries, and you can never be sure of those boundaries until you
get to know the person. This seems like a simple fact to me, but it’s
surprising how often people you’ve just met cross the line and say something
that makes you uncomfortable. It especially sucks when they say something
prejudiced. If you happen to find yourself in the awkward position of deciding
to whether or not to address the situation and point out the bigotry in an
acquaintance’s statement, I encourage you to say something. Be concise,
straightforward, and non-judgmental, and if you’re met with any of the
following excuses, be prepared to debunk and demolish them.
“It was only a joke!” The thing is that jokes are supposed
to be funny and racism is not funny. Period. Anyone who relies on offensive and
ill-informed statements to get a laugh isn’t worth listening to.
“But its true!” It’s amazing that some people actually believe
stereotypes, but that’s because they don’t know about self-fulfilling
prophecies. Any given stereotype doesn’t exist because it’s a truth, it exists
because some idiot made it up and patted himself on the back every time a
person did something the reinforce the stereotype. Every time you see a woman
get into a car accident, it will remind you of the stereotype that women are
bad drivers, but you won’t think anything when you see a man get into a car
accident because that stereotype doesn’t exist. Generalizing groups of people
through stereotyping is just really uncreative and boring, to be honest.
“I work with/am friends with said group of people!” This is
an embarrassingly tired excuse for racism, but people still rely on it. There
just isn’t any logic behind it. Being around people whom you are prejudiced
against does not qualify you for the Nobel Peace Prize or some shit. It’s
called life and it would be a whole lot easier for you if abolished your
bigoted views.
“But I identify as said group of people!” The bottom line is
that women can be misogynists, minorities can be racist, homosexuals can be
homophobic, and the list goes on. Being prejudiced against yourself is
extremely harmful.
“You’re just too sensitive!” This is a great way to shut a
person down, and it’s a bigot’s knee-jerk reaction to criticism. Many people
who are prejudiced consider themselves to be hardened and knowledgeable in ways
that other people (ie you) are not. When you criticize something that they say,
they will divert the blame to you, saying that it’s your fault that their
racist comments hurt or disturb you. That’s bullshit and they know it. Speaking
up against prejudice doesn’t make you overly sensitive and therefore not worth
listening to; it makes you a logical and rational human being. It’s not your
other people are such idiots.
Today’s installment of That’s Racist is about responding to
prejudice in your friends. Friends are people that you presumably know well and
have willingly chosen to surround and associate yourself with. Your friends are
a reflection of the beliefs, values, and passions that you all have in common,
but what often makes friendships so fulfilling are the nuanced perspectives
that each person has to offer due to his or her upbringing and personal
experiences. This is why so many friends can be so different and yet so alike.
Because your friends are a reflection of what you believe in, it can be
shocking and disturbing when one of them slips something discriminatory or
intolerant into a conversation. Instead of backhanding your buddy, take a deep
breath and follow these steps.
This form of addressing prejudice is not condoned by Mean Bones, unless she's talking shit about your cat.
See if she checks herself before she wrecks herself. Shit
happens, and sometimes people say awful things on accident. If this is the case
with your friend, she’ll hopefully be as shocked as you are as to what just
came out of her mouth and she’ll swallow her words. A mere “Whoah, there!” on
your part will suffice. Don’t harangue her for an innocent mistake that she
probably regrets.
If she’s completely oblivious, holla atcha girl. See if she
meant what she said, and tell her that you’re not comfortable with that kind of
talk. Instead of calling your friend a transphobic whore, try saying something
like, “girl, you did not just call that
person a tranny in front of me.” Then drop some knowledge! Prejudice stems from
ignorance, and the most valuable thing you can do for your friend is educate
her on the matter. Many people aren’t aware of the etymology of the word
“faggot” when they throw it into conversations. Plenty of young people grew up saying the word “retard” without considering
it ableist or offensive. And, unfortunately, many people consider racial
stereotypes to be truths instead of the self-fulfilling prophecies
that they are. Since people like talking about themselves a whole lot more than
being lectured, ask her about her upbringing. Was prejudiced language allowed or
encouraged in the household she grew up in? If you try to understand her
experiences, it’ll help her understand your beliefs. Chances are she’s not an
evil closet-racist, just confused and maybe a little brainwashed.
If all else fails, tell her to get a clue or get lost. If
your friend can’t respect your beliefs enough to abstain from using prejudice
language around you, she’s not a friend worth having. Remember that your
friends are a reflection of what you believe, and if you’re with one person who
has narrow-minded views, that can reflect badly on you to someone who may not
know you. Take a break from the friendship. When you’re ready to try hanging
out with her again, maybe she’ll have missed your company enough to rethink her
worldview.
This is the first segment of a several-part series I'm working on titled That's
Racist: How to Respond to Prejudice Without Loosing Your Cool. We've all experienced an uncomfortable situation
when a family member, friend, acquaintance, coworker, or schoolmate says
something racist, sexist, homophobic, ableist, or just plain offensive. And
we've all had to make the decision to pursue the issue or simply drop it. It's
a shitty position to be in for sure, and hopefully the next time it happens to
you you're able to fight the good fight without popping a vein.
It's important to remember that at the root of prejudice is ignorance, not
pure wickedness. All the worst -isms you can think of are merely the knee-jerk
response and defense mechanism of a person who is confused and wishes to assume
a false sense of superiority. But prejudice is also physically, emotionally,
and socially harmful to all people, and needs to be addressed. Pointing out the
flaws in other people's thought processes can be enlightening and beneficial to
everyone, but not all people are receptive to criticism. You need to choose
your approach and words wisely in order to avoid coming across as a critical
asshole, so I've divided this series according to the difference groups of
people you know. Today we'll look at those who hit closest to home: family.
Your family is made up of people
that you don’t necessarily have to be around and enjoy the company of all the
time, but sometimes, maybe even for just a short amount of time (if you’re
lucky), you do. And that can really suck if a family member (or all of them)
harbors prejudiced views and feels the need to share them. Nothing can ruin the
mood like grandma throwing around a racist term or Uncle Don ranting about
“queers” and “faggots” at a family gathering. Trust me, we’ve all been there at
some point, and it can be one of the most infuriating and frustrating things to
have to sit through. You don’t want to ignore that kind of intolerance while
passive-aggressively shoveling your mashed potatoes, but you also don’t want to
ignite an all-out family feud at the dinner table. So how does one stand up for
her beliefs while respecting her elders and her kin?
Say something, but choose
your words wisely. Instead of saying, “That’s racist, grandma!,” try to tell
her that not everyone would agree with her views, and neither do you. Tell her
that that sort of language is offensive, and ask her to try not to say it
around you or other people in the future. If you’re greeted with hostility,
confusion, or apologist language, assert yourself and then simply try to change
the subject. Seriously. I know it’s hard, but sometimes the most you can do
with family members is just try to avoid talking about certain things (ie most
things) with them. It sucks, and it’s boring, but if it gets you through
Passover or a 4th of July BBQ, just take one for the team and talk
about your job or a funny cat video you saw online. You can do no wrong with
cat videos (unless you decide to read the YouTube comments, which never fail to
be as offensive and asinine as possible).
Ultimately, remember that
friends are family that you choose. Some people are just stubborn, especially
people who feel that they have superiority over you due to age, or due to the
fact that they raised you. That’s why family time can really suck sometimes.
Although they may not have an ounce of tolerance, you kind of have to tolerate
them, but don’t feel bad for ranting about the fiasco with a friend or
significant other, or giving your family the finger behind their backs.
Honestly, just flip them off when they aren’t looking. It feels really good.
Middle school wasn't the best time for me. I spent half of it lanky, awkward, and unpopular, and that wasn't even the worst half. I didn't care about other people's opinions of me because nobody had an opinion of me to begin with. I was invisible but I was happy. But then I grew boobs. I grew boobs overnight and they changed everything for me.
Having boobs gave me a self-image for the first time in my life. I had never looked at my reflection with scrutiny before. It was like a revelation. I couldn't believe that I had looked in the mirror my whole life without noticing everything that was wrong with me. And I couldn't un-see any of it. I was getting wider and rounder and softer and I wanted it to stop. So I did something that I had never once thought of doing before in my life: I stopped eating.
Having an eating disorder in middle school while going through puberty is just the worst idea ever. I lost what should have been an innocent and care-free time to a mental illness that I wouldn't recover from until the middle of high school. I would throw away the lunches my mom packed for me right after my dad dropped me off at school. I stole laxatives and diet pills from the grocery store. I told so many lies so that I could control my body, which had started growing and changing and fucking up without my permission. I can remember one of my happiest memories at the time was after I had gone a week-long fast and a boy I had a crush on told me that I had a "hot body." I think I wrote my name with his last name about 800 times in my math notebook right after that happened.
That's the other thing that came with having boobs: in addition to seeing myself in the mirror for the first time, other people started seeing me as well. I was suddenly popular. Boys started talking to me for the first time ever, and girls invited me to hangout out the mall and sit with them at lunch. I was freaking out. But getting boobs and popularity overnight was a really tiring combination. There was so much going on that I thought I needed to maintain. It was fucking stressful, and anorexia eats stress for dinner. I wasn't lanky, awkward, or unpopular anymore, but I was miserable and mentally ill. And let me tell you, I much prefer the former to the latter.
About ten years have passed and I am completely recovered from my eating disorder. Luckily, my shitty experiences in middle school haven't followed me -- they've stayed put in a period of time that I consider to be the worst time of my life. I still have the boobs, however, and they still give me trouble. Honestly, I think I'm bitter at them for coming during a time when I just wasn't ready for that kind of commitment. Because, in case you didn't know, boobs are a fucking huge commitment. Especially big ones. It takes fucking guts to walk around with gazungas the size of your head, and I just wasn't ready for that at 13. I don't think any 13-year old is. Being a focal point, a target for the male gaze, is a shitty task, and I hope that young girls realize that it's one that they don't have to take on. I wish I had given the middle finger to the concepts of "normal," "acceptable," "contained," "stable" bodies, but the desire to conform was ingrained in my brain and subsequently controlled (and ruined) my life. I can't blame myself, and I won't. I won't blame my boobs either, because they kind of rule.
I love Tavi Gevinson. Sure, I went through a weird stage of
coming home drunk and leaving ambiguously rude comments on her blog, but I’m
over that. Which is good, since, you know, our age-difference is roughly 8
years and I really should know by now not to pick on people on the internet,
especially when drunk. I truly enjoy reading her blog, The Style Rookie. It’s
one of the few blogs I follow that I’m actually excited to see updated, and
it’s been fun to watch it evolve and grow over the past few years. I checked it
out for the first time a couple years ago when Tavi’s name began floating
around the internet in connection to “13-year-old fashion blogger.” I checked
it out because, as I said to myself, “holy shit, a middle schooler has a blog
that isn’t Blingee’d out* or resembles the Expage I made
when I was a pre-teen? What has the world come to?” When I realized that Tavi
was actually smart and obviously rich, I added The Style Rookie to the roster
of mindless fashion blogs that I was into following at the time, because that’s
kind of what it was. And that’s what I was into for some shitty reason. But
right about when I started getting over fashion and style blogs, Tavi did too.
(This post is seriously awesome and marks the moment when I began truly respecting this
girl). And she started hanging out with Kathleen Hanna, and stopped posting
runway photos. She got into ouija, My So-Called Life, The Virgin Suicides, The
Heathers, and Sassy. I mean, she’s me when I was a pre-teen/teenager, but with
a better vocabulary, better hair, more money, internet access, and, you know,
experiencing these things nearly ten years later in 2010 or whatever. Tavi
reminds me of my boyfriend’s 15-year old sister who is so much cooler than all
of her stupid tiny friends. Sure, there are a lot of things about Tavi that can
be criticized (this article has some good points, and there’s a lot more criticism that can be found online
that’s actually pretty lame), but who is truly perfect on the internet?
Basically, I like Tavi because she’s smart and writes things that I enjoy
reading, and I dislike her because Courtney Love sends her awesome dresses and
Kathleen Hanna gives her awesome sweaters and she’ll never have to have a
shitty service industry job and struggle to pay for her rent and schooling.
Yeah, I’m jealous of a 15-year old. And that’s silly, but that’s not what this
post is about.
* Tavi's blog does have some Blingee's, but they're not immature because they're IRONIC, OKAY?
Yesterday the website Rookie was launched, edited by Tavi
and featuring pieces written by famous indie-boners like Zooey Deschanel, JD
Samson, Fred Armisan, and Miranda July, and a bunch of hip-looking young people
from the only cool cities in the US (aka N.Y.C. and L.A.). It’s an online
magazine for high school girls, which is great because young people need more
websites that aren’t flooded with weight-loss ads and hair-removal tips, but it
also sucks because I’m not a fucking teenager any more. I wish Tavi would tell
me how to be a “back-to-school beauty” for my first day of grad school, which
is quickly approaching. I really was born a decade too early. Regardless, you
should know that I’m going to hit up Tavi’s new site like I’m still in high
school, partly because I kind of wish I still was, and partly because I’m
curious as to when the whole “back to school vibes” thing is finally going to
die. I really am done criticizing Tavi, though. I’m sure there are a bunch of
English majors complaining about how they got a college degree, spent years in
the publishing industry, and still haven’t edited anything that has gotten to a
larger audience than Rookie will, but they’re just old and whiny.
Having an online presence doesn’t mean the same thing to me
now that it did fifteen years ago. In middle school, when the concept of the
internet was mysterious and exciting due to both its novelty and my never-ending
boredom as an only-child, my ultimate goal was to become e-famous via my Expagecalled Tabby Kat’s Hideaway (R.I.P.) and my “website”/“company” on which I
“sold” (to no one) pixilated fairies created with MS Paint and customized Html
codes. As I became more angsty, internet stardom meant having over ten friends
on Livejournal whom I didn’t know in real life. Now, my online presence
primarily involves untagging pictures of myself on Facebook and reblogging
vintage smut on Tumblr in hopes of gaining over than 50 followers (I’m almost
there guys...ALMOST E-FAMOUS). Having just graduated from college and now
beginning to pursue a career in publishing, I have finally decided to go
through with creating and maintaining a blog featuring my own writing. Writing
has always been an important activity for me, whether it’s in the form of
journaling, poetry, or academic papers, and blogging has been something that I
repeatedly take up and eventually neglect every few years or so. I blame
partying, my own laziness, and Netflix streaming. But now I guess I’m finally
growing up, and being an adult includes getting dressed before 3 pm and
sticking with creative projects longer than just a couple months. (I also just
moved to a new city where I know very few people, so my social life is
currently nil.)
I’ll be writing here, and maybe you’ll read it. I have a
penchant for all-caps interjections, parentheses (lots of them), and downing a
forty of Bud Light before sitting down to write. I’m not a classy lady but I do
have impeccable grammar. I don’t claim the rights to any of the images I post,
unless they’re my own, and I try to link the source if I can. Anyway, I think firsts are super awkward, don't you?
