Anonymous said: Do you spout childish, absurd feminist tropes while making a huge effort to physically be the male ideal in order to confuse other women, who are on a primitive level your competition, or to make actual feminists jealous, because they are such tiresome fuglies?


Okay, usually I would giggle and delete such a ridiculous message but I am bored and the sky is grey, so I will bite.

If you think I am ‘the male ideal’ then I am flattered at your attraction, however being your ideal does not mean that I submit, conform to nor comply with the male gaze. I am the opposite of what the male gaze wants, and I can tell you this for certain having worked in an industry that centres around female sexuality.

The male gaze does not like tattoos; the male gaze is offended by tattoos because pictures on the skin are a reclamation of the female form that (straight, cis) men see as alarming and offensive; sure, young men who don tattoos themselves may see a woman with sleeves and think she’s sexy, but young men do not make up the majority of the male gaze, nor do they have an impact on its cultural ramifications; young men don’t control the media, young men don’t control our laws, young men have little to no impact on how the female body is perceived within the western world, they simply consume it.
I can promise you, for every 23 year old getting off to Christy Mack’s porn videos, there are one hundred middle aged men who find women with tattoos to be an affront on the very image of what they consider ‘feminine’. These are the men who shape the ‘male ideal’, friend, these are the men it is fun and revolutionary to offend with your very existence. Next.

The male gaze does not like my style of makeup. I don’t know who the fuck you think people draw winged eyeliner on for, but it ain’t men. “What are those flicks?”, “Why do you wear so much makeup?”, “I like the more natural look” and many more, are thrown at me constantly by men. The male gaze likes natural, dewy, sunkissed skin, a couple of coats of mascara and some lipgloss (or so they think); you only have to look at the most celebrated “sexy” women in our media to understand this truth. Men do not like ‘unusual’ makeup, or makeup that they can see has been applied heavily/at all; it subconsciously crushes their idea of makeup’s purpose to ~enhance natural beauty~ and therefore cater to their desires. Next.

You will find that the male gaze shames plastic surgery. Next. You will find that the male gaze favours ‘natural’ hair colours and has a fundamental issue with hair extensions. Next. Men tell me every day that they hate the way I dress - I have been everything from too gothic, to showing too much skin, to overdressed, to so underdressed that I am not allowed within their establishments and everything in between.

This message is so obviously from a neckbeard, it’s not even funny. This message wants a rise out of me; this message wants to hurt my feelings and belittle the pathetic response it assumes I will provide. Unfortunately for this message, I have been completely in control of my body since first dyeing my hair pink at age thirteen. I have made my own decisions and I have gone behind peoples backs to do it, from my first forbidden piercing at fifteen to the tattoo I hid for eighteen months at seventeen years old, I have actively rejected not only the male gaze but society’s eye in general when it comes to the physical manifestation of the entity that is Daisy Lola. I know this is a terrifying thought to you, and I know you will by now have spilled your Mountain Dew on your spare fedora in rage at my insubordination in refusing to facilitate your opinion on how my body should look, but, and let me put this in the simplest possible terms,

  • my body is not for your consumption
  • I make active choices to make my existence offensive to ~the men in power~ within this ridiculous world
  • 99% of women make their choices based on their own ideals, not the ideals of men they don’t give a fuck about
  • other women are not my competition
  • your mother is calling you down from the basement; your frozen pizza is ready to go.

this is fucking amazing, and so well written.

I just had a guy ask me for money and then ask for my number


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