short hair is feminine too

the men who hate real women

I’ve been remembering a guy I used to see and all these things he used to say about women, and it got me thinking… so I thought I’d share my experience a bit.

This guy said that women with piercings, short hair, tattoos, coloured hair or scars were ugly. He hated those things on a woman. He said they weren’t “feminine”. If a woman was taller than him or had more muscle definition, he’d deride them. He expected women to have perfect bodies, but criticised women who exercised because it was “too manly.”

Yet he expected me to be interested in all his interests, and whenever I spoke about my own he ignored me. He would say I was “manly”,  that my hair was too short for me to be feminine, and it really damaged the way I viewed myself. He wanted women who were blonde, petite, small, quiet, tanned, big-breasted, never shared their opinions, weren’t funnier than him, always wanted to have sex, and were interested in all his interests without sharing their own.

Only now do I realise that the woman he wanted was not a woman who existed. But the idea of a woman who existed just to please him. He didn’t want a real person. And the only way he could make himself feel like a man was by making me feel as if I was not good enough.

Real woman have scars. Scars are one of the sexiest things I can imagine - they show you’re a survivor. That you have survived. Why are men seen as sexy for having scars, but scars on women are seen as ugly? Weak men are afraid of women who are survivors. I once had a therapist who told me this, and it rings true.

Real women care about their health and treat their body well. Real women are passionate about fitness and work hard not because they want to look “beach body ready” but because sweating and running and working their asses off feels amazing. And having the strength to kick ass is sexy as hell.

Real woman have tattoos and piercings and coloured hair. Real woman take control of the way they look and decide what they want their body to be like. We can etch things that mean the world to us into our skin. We can cover ourselves with art and stories, and if that’s not beautiful, what is?

Real women have opinions. We don’t have to pretend to be interested in fucking Transformers if we’re not - we can love what we want. We can love video games or fashion or biomedical engineering or construction or art or politics. Or all of these. The world is not split into “pretty, stupid girls” and “clever, ugly girls.” We can be everything - we can be strong, intelligent, hilarious, kind and talented all at once.

Men who want their partners unscarred, opinionless, complaint, soft and pretty don’t want real women. They want a sexist’s fantasy of a woman. Not the reality. And if you hate the reality, you’re a misogynist and don’t deserve a woman to ever even look your way.

anonymous asked:

I’m afab, closeted nonbinary / kinda genderfluid And I’ve been feeling pretty masc lately so I’ve stopped shaving. My excuse is “no shave November is not just for boys” but my mom especially has berated me before about not shaving my legs. I also really want to cut my hair way short but she’s forbidden me from doing it. She wants me to be “traditional feminine” ugh. Any tips on how to convince her that it’s just hair and it really shouldn’t matter??

You could explain that a lot of cis women have short hair, and are “still feminine” and you “could be too” (I know that’d be tough to say but it could convince her)
Also about leg hair and stuff you’re lucky now with it being winter (hopefully where you live!) you can try hide your lack of shaving with layers of clothes!

Good luck -Matt

anonymous asked:

Hey! Question: I'm a genderfluid AFAB, and I recently cut my hair short, but recently I've been female and I actually getting dysphoria from looking too much like a guy? Is that possible? I'm confused.

Our eternal struggle. That probably isn’t quite dysphoria, but it is a body and presentation discomfort. I know I struggle with this all the time, with my clothes being perhaps too masculine or even underwear not being feminine enough. One of my biggest fears of changing too much about my body is that the next day I’ll probably hate it. Perhaps looking at some girls with cute short hair might help? Wearing some cute feminine clothes might help too. You could also try growing out your hair a little bit to try to get it more gender neutral. But, I will say girls look really cute with short hair, and maybe it will just take you a while to get used to it?

Good luck!

-Mod Rowan


I suppose since I’m showing off other women’s rawness, I should introduce myself and part of my story as well. I got a chance to be on the other side of the camera when I had Bailey take these of me for our first Woman in the Raw shoot.  The Herb that is featured is Vitex/chasteberry, the same that was written about on Bailey’s post here
Here’s my two-cents on discovering my womanliness and my hopes for this project:

I was nine or ten, overheated while running around playing tag on the playground at Elementary School on a hot day, wishing I had worn a short-sleeved t-shirt. I chose to wear a long-sleeve that day, and every other sunny day, because I was convinced that the sight of my irregularly hairy arms would make my friends and the boy I liked find me unattractive and boyish.

Before entering Jr. High, my older sisters told me I had to tame my beastly eyebrows. While waiting for my skin to numb with bags of ice, they browsed Seventeen and Cosmo to find celebrity inspiration and then tweezed me into a different looking person.

My mom was sympathetic towards me as my hairiness came from her and regularly bought me cream bleach on her trips to the grocery store so I could bleach my “mustache.”

It wasn’t until traveling abroad without much access or time for hair-removal and alteration tricks that I learned to live without them. And it wasn’t until I discovered and fell in love with old photographs of Frida Kahlo that I learned to be okay with me in my natural hairy state and eventually, find that state beautiful, exotic even.

It’s still difficult not to cringe when a pokey, black hair (or seven) establishes itself on my chin because that voice in my head says it doesn’t belong there on that chin, that female chin. But, I look closer at that hair on my chin and see how its growing out of soft skin that wraps around my entire body, the largest organ I have, my shell, my home. And I’m reminded of the splendor of that body, how it carries me through the world and allows me to experience this great gift of life. I decide once again, that it is perfect, and that every other female body is as much of a jewel as mine and should be celebrated in its nakedness.

The visual examples of women owning their rawness that I craved in my youthful state of feminine insecurity were rare and stigmatized. 

Now, as an adult, I’m blessed to know many women who bear humbly the fullness of their natural existence. They undoubtedly still face ridicule for their “non-feminine” features like their hairy armpits, or short hair, or too strong of arms, or too “lazy” of appearances.  But, they are comfortable in their skin and feminine identity, a trait more challenging to achieve than any sort of perceived beauty. 

The highest pursuit I can have as a photographer is to to enable advocacy through my photographs. My hope with Women in the Raw is that it can both normalize and honor the diversity of feminine identity, to provide realistic and empowering examples for young girls at the crux of developing their self-expression. 

-Tari Gunstone

anonymous asked:

I never felt like a boy when I was little, and I had no problems going through puberty. I actually used to adore my female body but all of a sudden it just changed?? Like at the start of the school year I started to hate being addressed as female and I wanted to have a penis. Is it common to start having dysphoria out of nowhere like that? I just feel invalid like what if I'm not really trans.

Fox says:


My childhood was complicated, but gender never bothered me before Grade 9 (Freshman Year). I cut my hair short and someone told me that my name was too feminine for me, starting up my “male equivalent” nickname. That’s gross, of course, but I liked it.

Later that year, I saw a trans nonbinary individual on TV. Ze interested me, but at the time, I hadn’t ever met someone transgender, so it wasn’t some moment of epiphany like, “AH YES, I AM TRANS”. It wasn’t until I became a safer sex educator for LGBTQ+ youths and we had groups about being transgender that I’d actually started working it out, and at that point my discomfort with my name and pronouns hit really hard.

So no, you don’t have to know as a child, and it doesn’t have to be some extravagant realization, and even if it is, it’s okay if dysphoria comes on rather quickly. You are still valid.

~ explore yourself ~

Shitennou hair headcanons

Nephrite sleeps with his hair in rag curlers every night. He’s the one who’s most vain about his hair and puts the most effort in to keep himself looking good.

Kunzite’s hair is like silk- naturally. He doesn’t do anything to it besides wash it and run a comb through. (Zoisite, whose naturally curly hair has a much coarser texture and tends to go frizzy in the humidity, is not-so-secretly envious.)

Jadeite keeps his hair short not because he thinks long is too feminine (he does sport earrings, which could be seen as feminine) but because he wants to make himself stand out from the others.

Honestly, I’m getting real tired of being assaulted with female body positivity on websites, tv, popup ads and even artwork.

It’s literally everywhere now. But body positivity for men? Psh. They don’t need it!

Even though male models have to have a freaking 6-pack with absolutely no body fat, a perfectly chiseled jaw, and at least 6 feet tall if they even want to be CONSIDERED pretty enough to show a product.

I bought socks and underwear for my man once and all I saw were male model hunks with impossibly large packages under their tighty whities. SERIOUSLY? AND YOU NEED THICK MUSCLED LEGS FOR ADVERTISING SOCKS?!

I have both dated men, and have male friends, who have some serious body issues. From thinking they are “too thin” or “too fat” or “too short” or their hair isn’t perfect. It’s thinning, or short haircuts don’t look right, or their hair is too naturally feminine. I tell my man all the time how much I love how he looks or how handsome he is because he’s really insecure about it. He doesn’t show how insecure he is, and he machos his way out of it but I know from all the little things he says here and there it bothers him every day how he looks.

I have to fight tooth and nail to tell him how perfect he is, and to tell my male friends how attractive they are and that they won’t be single forever just because they don’t have abs. Or some stupid shit like that that they feel insecure about.

Where’s their body positivity?!?! 

It honestly pisses me off. Feminists scream about wanting equality, and yet all they want is female superiority. It’s a load of bullshit. I can’t stand modern day feminists in western culture. They make me sick.

sallie gardner at a gallop;

Giving Robb the peace of his sleep was about all Clara could do. Once again the two bit at each other and give each other cold glares across the from a distance that was safe enough to know that she wouldn’t get smart enough to close it again. There was a contemptuous little bow of her head and a hiss of a ‘Good night, your grace’ that stung about as harsh as anything else they breathed and she hurried herself to the bed. She pulled the fur that fell front he bed in her strange attempt to keep the king warm, and threw the few bits into  the bed before she sat down. When she did, a heavy sigh fell from her mouth and her fingers pressed against her temple before she covered her face up with her hands. It wasn’t until a wet nose pressed against the front of her hands and she dropped them to be face to face with the wolf. Of course she had heard stories of the wolf as much as she heard stories about Robb, but her lips curled upward as she looked into the beast’s eyes. If only the king was so attentive, she mused and secretly she wished Robb would have demanded even more from her. And the bed was big enough for the two to share without even an attempt of touching. But to be that bold was a crime, and she pressed her head against the crown of the animal, letting the fur press against her skin. She wasn’t hungry, not even a bit, so the idea of even staying up to eat didn’t really entertain her. So she unzipped her boots and pulled off her tights like she had done the night before and rested them beside the bed. Grey Wind found his spot beside the bed as well and she fell back against the lesser of furs and looked up. Her hands folded perfectly over her stomach, in her dress that would be deemed too risqué to be perched next to a king and thought.

How she got here seemed hard to piece together. She knew this place was important, but why it was important didn’t make sense. It wasn’t Earth, and she was nowhere near London where her own bed was with her own sheets and her own set of rules where she could wear whatever she wished. But somehow she got into the bed of a king, and was advising him on matters of great importance when she herself wasn’t really that important at all. She was so small without the Doctor, and smaller still next to Robb. She wondered how deep the stories lie. How just two days in a time traveling box could create folklore that ran deep with the superstitions nature of these people. Clara was in a war, stuck in the middle of a march down to a place she wasn’t even sure she could properly find on a map with a boy who she found more interesting to pick fights with then win wars. She hoped the Doctor was okay. It was just like him to get trapped away like that, behind walls she couldn’t get to. And though the motivation might be to get him safe, it was become more and more saving the North. How many times as she’d promise that to Robb just tonight? Even if she did fight with him, Robb was nothing but kind to her. By all accounts she should be dead, and the image of Robb falling to his knee next to her was hard to shake. Now she had to think more like Northern from this strange place. She had to think more like a queen. And though her and Robb might never actually get along like how she imaged a king and a queen getting along, they could work. She was willing to, and the thoughts of him started to fall into her mind so quickly it was suffocating. Robb made her breathing hick and her body clench up and her palms sweat, and that must be loathing. It had to be. Because if it wasn’t…

Thoughts were gladly interrupted by a call outside the tent. Clara’s head turned toward the entrance and she sighed. She wasn’t hungry, and Robb seemed to already fallen into sleep. So whatever her and Robb did after a certain hour of the night, she mused, must be off limits. Even if it was sleeping apart from each other. Her body twisted toward a few candles close enough to her to illuminate the area where she rested and with one large breath she blew them out. It didn’t take long for Clara to fall back on the bed and curled her back away from the tent entrance. Sleep surely followed, quickly and swiftly. She needed rest, if she was to ride the next morning. Even just the idea of riding again made her both frustrated and horribly bored and while Robb’s dreams might have given him light, Clara’s dreams dwindled her down. Mostly dreams of falling. From horses and tall bright red trees and uncharted seas and even once into a lion’s den. Most dreams seemed to disappear as quickly as she hit the ground, falling and tumbling into a series of unwelcome nightmares. The only thing  she constantly heard as the Doctor, the Doctor cooing for her not unlike the other times she slept. She wondered if it was her mind or actually the Doctor anymore. But whatever it was, it wasn’t calming and she kept falling from place to place, tripping over rocks or being pushed by faceless giants in silver armor. All falls, drifting down hard and hard again until one particular strange fall from layers upon layers of clouds where she rather literally was being blown off by winter winds and ice that nipped at her clothes. But, she  was caught with a large huff. It wasn’t the ground like she was expecting and she was pressed against frozen metal and the snow was too thick to see but she knew without even having to look up who she was pressed against. 

That was when the dream stopped and Clara woke up in a near panic. Her breathing got too heavy and her gasping air heaved her body. She was sweating, even in the cold air, and she kicked off the fur from her body and touched her forehead. Whatever her mind was doing, she was not very fond of it. Her knees bent, closing in on her chest as she caught herself. Not even her dreams were safe, it seemed, and Clara was more frustrated than anything. Her head tilted to hot breathing and she looked next to her to see Grey Wind, still staring at her. Her body once more twisted toward the animal and she wrapped her arm around his neck and pressed her face against the fur. She knew he knew everything about her, from the time of the box to the dreams she was having. Magic wasn’t real, and she knew better, but there was something that was so in tuned with the world around them, and the direwolf was apart of that magic. So she held him for as long as she could before slipping away. It wasn’t time to sulk, she reminded herself. And if she wanted to forget about the world that she fashioned herself in, now was not the time. Clara slipped on just her shoes stood. As soon as she stood up, she toppled backward back to the bed. Damn that ride. She thought she was finally getting over it, but it seems like her legs were just in the same twisted mess they were in yesterday. But she didn’t dare let Robb see. Never. For some reason that would make her weak if he noticed and she wanted to look strong. Frankly, she wanted to impress him, like the ride was nothing and she was just as strong as of his solders. Deeply, she breathed and pushed her weight up on the bed and got used to the trembling of her knees underneath her. Nothing she couldn’t ignore, she reminded herself. And once the legs got used to her weight, she walked to the candle and pulled it back to her bed, propping it right next to her. The flash of her red satchel underneath the table caught her eye. How these people knew what to do was still so confusing to her. Similar to how people knew how to put up tents so quickly. She’d like to see Robb put up a tent, she allowed herself to think. Picking up the satchel, she threw it back into the bed and crawled back in.

At least the fur was warm, and she kicked off her boots and opened up the bag and picked out two make up bags and dropped them on the bed. Stretching out, she unzipped one and opened up a compact to look over her face. She still, annoyingly, wanted to look good. She slipped down on her stomach and made sure her eyeliner wasn’t completely ruined and she smoothed her fingers over her hair. To keep herself busy she started on her hair. She rather have it up, seeing her hair length was far too short for her to be considered feminine. Or at least that’s what she told herself. She told herself a lot of stories when it came to this place and until Robb proved her differently than she would make up her own fantasy on the warpath. She spun pieces of her hair away from her face, using the small collection of bobby pins to tuck the pieces back. Then she started curling them behind her head, above her neck in twists and turns of dark chocolate colored strains. For Robb, she even added a few tiny little braids that she knew full well he wouldn’t notice. She needed to stop caring about what he thought of her. Her fingers worked the twists and the pulls until the intricate bun rested against the back of her head. It was a start. And as soon as that challenge was done, she packed up her tools and dropped the purse back down by the bed. Though the small time spent primping herself was completely bored again. Robb should get his rest, she insisted on his rested, but she grew ever more bored with each passing moment. Clara rolled on her back, looking back at the ceiling. Oh, to have a good book with her.

The temptation got too much, and Clara stretched her body out long enough to be awake. She wanted to see a new day. She wanted to see her dress and prayed the poor woman finished. She wanted to find new ways to impress Robb, and figure out one way to make him smile. That smile that he usually never showed. That was the one she held most dear. So she promised herself she’d be less of a burden and she pushed her weight back off the bed. Clara’s fingers went to the fur and wrapped it around her head and shoulders like a cloak and decides to chance to time and shake him awake. Breathing in, she teetered on her legs and her feet slipped back into her boots before walking forward. She walked with the same exact fear that she did in her dreams as she walked to Robb, bending over as each of her light steps made a slight jingled sound due to her straps of her boots. “Robb?” she whispered into the air, barely letting it hit the crispness of the morning. “Robb?…Hey… hey…” she whispered as she edged closer and closer. Her eyes flickered with that unmistaken curiosity as she tilted her head to see the sleeping boy. He looked less aggressive, when she slept, she noted. Like he was actually in a state of peace. She’d never seen that before. He was always such a stick lipped and combative.  Traits she’d learned to secretly like, but there was something so tranquil that she couldn’t help but smile as she tilted her head. She tightened the fur around her head with one hand while the other reached out. She wanted to touch him softly, and for a moment she allowed her hand to twist around and run against his cheekbone with the back of her hand that was uncovered from bandages. It was so quick, and she knew that she wasn’t allowed to be soft with him. That if she was soft then the urges to kiss him would come back like they had last night. That was one thing she couldn’t do. She couldn’t care for him. But it was too early to love so she bent her body closer and closer to look over the dirt that had found its way against the creases of his skin or the curls of his hair that she knew would look redder if he would wash it. “Robb Stark..?” she whispered again before her hand reached out and pressed against his cheek. This was the sort of touch she could pass off as simply just waking him up. “You promised me… Robb…?”

Her brow arched and for a moment she wondered if he was actually dead. Wouldn’t that be a story. She would certainly be ripped into a million pieces of Robb Stark was found dead with only a woman who was her height could take out a king. So in her panic she twisted her hand in front of his nose and mouth and felt the cold breath against her fingers and a weight was lifted from her shoulders. “At least you’re not dead… alright…” she breathed underneath her breath before she brought her fingers up  to the back of his neck and pressed hard where his skin was exposed before tumbling softly down to his shoulder and grasped it hard before giving it a firm shake. She hoped it was hard enough to awake him, and she frowned. Quickly she snapped her body away from Robb, as if he was breathing fire exactly when she woke up. So her brows lifted and her body bent down and she watched Robb’s face carefully underneath the protection of the furs.