Gamers get hella uncomfortable over male sexuality too. Can you imagine a “good male character who just happens to be wearing sexually exploitative outfits because he’s ok with his masculinity?” Constantly has the camera pan lovingly over his asscrack and firm glutes, and big ole dangly ballsack that is totes sweaty from all this MMA and soldiering. Time to hit the showers, and do you, personally, think it’s ok to have a long slow pan up the dude’s package (indiscreetly hidden in a jock of course), to his chiseled physique and erect nipples (pierced). He’s not even a Bond-esque confident man, he’s basically a weird Bowie caricature that’s constantly having near-dickslips in every single cinematic as the completely nonsexualized female characters do their business of being gruff and shooting dudes and advancing the plot. Finally, at the end he falls in love (out of nowhere) and/or is killed by the big baddie.
— a forum post I read recently, trying to give a solid example of what ‘male objectification in gaming ’ would actually look like if it was anything equivalent to current female objectification in gaming. (via nothingbutsurrender)
Look how your children grow up. Taught from their earliest infancy to curb their love natures — restrained at every turn! Your blasting lies would even blacken a child’s kiss. Little girls must not be tomboyish, must not go barefoot, must not climb trees, must not learn to swim, must not do anything they desire to do which Madame Grundy has decreed “improper.” Little boys are laughed at as effeminate, silly girl-boys if they want to make patchwork or play with a doll. Then when they grow up, “Oh! Men don’t care for home or children as women do!” Why should they, when the deliberate effort of your life has been to crush that nature out of them. “Women can’t rough it like men.” Train any animal, or any plant, as you train your girls, and it won’t be able to rough it either.
Voltairine de Cleyre (via petitefeministe)
The best part of this essay is when she advocates for children to be brought up with no gender-role stereotyping, and gets in some not-so-subtle digs at heterocentricism and heterosexism in the process.
Did I mention this was written over a hundred years ago? Because it totally was.
Alan Moore by Frank Quitely
The writer of it is, we understand, a female; this is an aggravation of that which is the prevailing fault of the novel; but if our authoress can forget the gentleness of her sex, it is no reason why we should; and we shall therefore dismiss the novel without further comment.
Review of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, by a man.
So, I am really into Frankenstein, and Mary Shelley lately? Chalk it up to Sady’s Inexplicable Fascinations, Part 20,143. And, of course, plenty has been written about Frankenstein as a feminist text, and about Frankenstein as autobiography. But read the above quote. Then read this:
Shall I respect man when he condemns me? Let him live with me in the interchange of kindness, and instead of injury I would bestow every benefit upon him with tears of gratitude at his acceptance. But that cannot be; the human senses are insurmountable barriers to our union. Yet mine shall not be the submission of abject slavery. I will revenge my injuries; if I cannot inspire love, I will cause fear.
This is, of course, the Monster. But if you can’t read this statement as sort of a pre-emptive response to the one before it, I don’t know. Mary Shelley’s mom (Woolstonecraft!) died as the result of her birth: The Monster is a child-killer. Mary Shelley lost more than one of her children: The Monster is a dead birth (he refers to himself, at one point, as “an abortion”). Percy Bysshe Shelley was a highly irresponsible father: The Monster is the creature rejected by its parent, and that creature’s rage. But, first and foremost, I think, the Monster is a girl. There are all sorts of idealized, sweet, angel-in-the-house types floating around this novel: The saintly (dead) Mrs. Frankenstein, the saintly (soon-to-be-dead) sister/wife Elizabeth, the saintly (also gonna die) servant Justine. But then there’s this creature. This thing that stands outside of “man,” longs to be accepted by “man,” knows there is something wrong with its shape or its nature and only, really, wants one person in the world to love it. All the house-angels die off or run away; the Monster kills most of them, directly or indirectly. And at the end of it, there’s this creature, refusing “the submission of slavery,” which had gentleness at one point but forgot it, standing out in the cold, permanently alone.
we’ve got the un-edited pictures back from the photoshoot a while ago. i’ll post some of the good ones next but what jumped out at me were the in-between shots, the ones where no one’s ready and she’s testing the camera.