Superman(the people of the United States) have been blindsided by Lex Luthor(Trump) and Otis(Republican politicians and operatives)who are colluding with rogue nations(North Korea, Russia, and Saudi Arabia, etc.). Democracy is in the balance. Sad.
Know what I want more of in my fiction? “Nice Guy” villains. “Incel” villains. Villains who exhibit the most toxic aspects of current masculinity and culture and are shamed for it.
Like Tighten from Megamind.
I know it’s years old but this movie is still the best, especially because of the characterization of their villain. He receives a dozen soft no’s from Roxanne (the Lois Lane archetype), it’s suggested he’s been getting them for years, and he still pursues her even to the point of endangering her life. When he finally understands that her “no” is final, he throws a superpowered shit fit and tries to kill her and her actual love interest (Megamind) and televises it in a ploy to get sympathy (”a reminder of the night she ferociously ripped out my heart”). He has no concept of boundaries or consent, and it is shown for the vile behavior that it is.
And the thing is? I can’t remember another villain like him? Not anywhere. You could make an argument that Snape is a Nice Guy, but the narrative doesn’t criticize the behavior. To the contrary, his eternal love obsession with Lily is praised. Every character who comes even close to Tighten, ends up praised by the end. And I’m sick of it.
So this is a totally useless rant, but as a skinny girl, I’m getting extra, extra tired of fat-shaming.
I work for a corsetier at a Renaissance Faire. We sell corsets. Not flimsy bullshit costume corsets; like real, durable, waist-training corsets. Today a woman came in with her boyfriend, so I helped her pick out a corset and try it on. While her boyfriend—who was decidedly enthused about the whole corset thing—sat watching me lace her in, he told me, grinning, “Of all the good jobs at the Renaissance Faire, I think you have the best.”
I shrugged in agreement. “I touch butts and reach down cleavage all day; I mean…” Because we like to be a bit rakish at the Faire, and, y’know, it’s true. Tying people into corsets pretty much invariably requires getting handsy.
The couple laughed at that, and the boyfriend said, “That’s the job I would want!” But then he chuckled again and said, offhand, “Or maybe not; while we were looking at the racks, there were some pretty big sizes on there!”
Our sizes are all done in inches, and the biggest we make is a 46. And you’d better believe our large sizes sell. For a second I wasn’t sure what to say to the guy’s comment, but I answered him casually. “We get a lot of beautiful big ladies in here.” Because we do. “We make corsets for real women, not Barbie dolls,” I added. Wasn’t trying to be smart, just kind of tossed it out there because that’s the line we like to use when people ask about larger sizes, and because, again, we do.
The boyfriend went quiet at that; I didn’t think anything of it, I just kept on lacing. A moment later, he said, a little awkwardly (but sincerely enough), “Didn’t mean to be offensive.”
I quickly smiled and brushed it off, said he wasn’t, said I was just saying. (Don’t want to make the customers uncomfortable, you know?) And that was the end of it. His comment had rubbed me the wrong way, but it wasn’t a big deal. Now, I wear a 20-inch corset. I’m a few cup sizes short of being one of the Barbie dolls. Like his girlfriend, I’m one of the “hot chicks”; he doesn’t have to worry about offending me by implying that I wouldn’t be fun to poke and pull at.
Honestly though, of all the people I fit sexy technically-undergarments to in a day, fat girls are maybe my favorite people to lace up. Because they are just so damn happy that we have stuff that fits them. They are so damn happy that the corsets we make in their sizes are all the same pretty, shiny colors and cool flower/dragon/skull/etc. prints that the smaller corsets are, not ugly beige and boring “granny” colors. They are so goddamn happy that at least one (of several on the grounds) corset shop carries things that they can wear, that they actually want to wear, and that they look fucking awesome in. This is only my second season working, and we’ve fit 60+ inch waists and double-K busts. The only people we’ve ever had to tell sorry, we don’t have anything that fits them, are twelve-year-old kids.
It’s half-wonderful, half-heartbreaking how excited those women get. Women who say with sad smiles, when we ask if they want to get fitted, “Oh, no, you don’t have anything that fits me,” and then are stunned when we’re 300% confident that yes we do, and we have options. Women who can’t stop smiling and looking at themselves in the mirror after we’ve got them laced in.
I had a lady last week whose waist I measured (cinching the tape tight, as per procedure) at 41 inches—honestly not all that big. So she picked out a 41-inch corset to try on. I could tell halfway through getting her laced that it was going to be a bit big for her, so I mentioned it and said she might do better to try a smaller size. She started crying on the spot. She was so overwhelmed; she couldn’t believe someone had just told her that a 41 was too big. She told me about how hard clothes shopping was for her, how her mother would tell her she needed an XXXL instead of an XXL, how she had recently lost weight but still couldn’t wear certain colors because they didn’t fit or she wasn’t confident enough.
She did end up getting her corset, and after I checked her out she asked if she could give me a hug, so we ended up standing there hugging each other for a minute. While we did, I told her, “Do not ever let anyone tell you any bullshit. You are gorgeous.” She said, “I have a new boyfriend and he keeps telling me that.” I told her he was right, and to just keep telling herself she’s gorgeous; it was okay if she didn’t always believe it, but to keep telling herself anyway. (That’s how I talked myself through shit when I had bad anxiety.)
We all know fat-shaming is bad. The stupidity, fatphobia, and misogyny of it has pissed me off since I first became aware of it. But working with clothing, especially as figure-hugging and precise as corsets, has given me a new perspective on it—how much it affects people and just how shitty it is. Like, what does it say that I had a grown, only average-big woman crying into my shoulder because she was so overjoyed not to be the uppermost extremity of what a manufacturer can clothe?
My job rocks and it’s really rewarding, but sometimes it highlights some of the ugliest shit about society. I’m so glad I work at a shop that’s not bullshit about body types and operates with more people in mind than just scrawny white chicks like me. The fat women I work with are a ton of fun to lace up, and they’re so much more than their size—they’re cool, they’re smart, they’re funny, they’re sweet, they’re great to talk to, and yes, they’re hot. I’m so damn done with them getting short-changed and shamed by petty fucks who refuse to make them nice clothes, who refuse to even try to work for them, who refuse to consider them pretty. This whole rant was useless and won’t get read, but I had to vent because it’s been driving me nuts.
So actually, screw you, random dude. Fat girls are the highlight of my job.
This made my eyes water
This made me cry, I’ll admit it.
Many times I’ve walked through stores, past racks and racks of cute clothes to the far back corner, to have to flick through a half-dozen drab tunic tops that look something my mother would wear.
For the longest time, I had lived with the conclusion that “fat girls can’t have pretty things”.
This belief didn’t make me determined to meet unrealistic size goals for my heavier peasant frame. It didn’t make me pour money into fad diet scams. It didn’t make me suddenly able to afford the more expensive “healthy” foods being shoved at us from every TV screen. It just made me fucking depressed, isolated, and sullen.
The day I walked into a Torrid store and found a pair of leather boots (on clearance!) that actually fit my fatter calves…I felt like I could dance.
Something so simple meant so much.
I’m still not happy with my weight, but now I don’t feel as cursed by it.
Torrid is one of my favorite places to buy clothes (especially jeans). But even then, I never have luck in the stores. For whatever reason (told to me by numerous employees) they only ship one or two pieces of the most popular sizes (I’m a 2 to 3 in tops because of my jubblies) and they -never- have them in-store. So I’m forced to only buy online. Not that I actually want to go to the mall, lol. But it does require me to buy on a picture alone (and notice how they almost never photograph the models from the side…). (When will you join 2018, Torrid, and supply free return shipping???)
For boots, I would try out Amazon. I found a pair of the cutest boots from a maker called Sbicca…and they were magical. Leather. Sturdy. Comfortable. And the best part…not over-priced.
For any of you who are writing ‘across the pond’-here is a little guide I put together of some common differences between British and American English!
Also for all of us non-native speakers who don’t know which fucking English we’re even using
swedes = rutabaga
rubbers = erasers
as it comes = without any alterations (”I’d like this sandwich on the menu, please.” “As it comes?”)
can I have = can I get
put out the bins = take out the trash
dummy = pacifier
nappy = diaper (and then nappy bag = diaper bag)
bag/handbag = purse
purse = wallet (specifically for “women’s” accessories)
telly = tv
drawing pins = thumbtacks
“It’s a good job…” = “It’s a good thing…”
chemist = drugstore
Don’t start the soft drink discourse again @universalfanfic , you know I’ll find proof 😂😂😂😂
@gracieinanovel OK but “fizzy drink???” That just sounds like some Doctor Who silliness and you KNOW IT.
Some of the American ones are either wrong, or weird because we use both terms. Like Make-up. Most Americans won’t call it cosmetics – unless we’re being technical. Street cars aren’t really a thing anymore, except in certain areas because big business drove them out. We also have tights – the difference between tights and pantyhose is that pantyhose are sheer. I don’t know about the UK, but soda is called different things in different parts of the country. In the region I’m currently in, we usually call it soda, but if you’re in the eastern US, they often say pop. And because my grandma came from the middle of the US, we called it soda pop when I was growing up. We also say bill often enough when eating out: “Who’s footing the bill?” or we ask for the check. Language is complicated, especially spanning so many regions.
Tumblr was deemed too full of inappropriate content to be allowed to be downloaded from the app store.
It has this “inappropriate” problem because of rampant porn ad bot accounts. The old solutions were bots to detect image sets with nsfw content, the automatically enabled safe mode, tag filtering for mobile, and wide takedowns of nsfw bots based on words used (that’s why their messages are full of numbers and symbols, to evade this)
Tumblr released their own bot supposedly capable of wiping the ad bots, but it’s taking down many popular blogs, possibly due to sheer amounts of posting or sheer amounts of ad bots in their notes. This bot was likely rushed to be put out.
You are more likely to be accidentally flagged if you post external links, as well. If your acct is taken down you CAN get it back, but it’s a pain. E-mail tumblr support for help with this. It takes down side blogs with the main ones.
I’ll be halting posts for about a week or until this problem is fixed.
So this happened to me a few days ago, and I thought maybe sharing my experience could help someone if this happens to them in the future.
I was checking my Tumblr when suddenly I was logged out from it and given the usual Log In page. When I entered the details to access my blog, this appeared:
My heart skipped a bit. I tried to re-enter the details (maybe I got them wrong the first time), but no, the same message about Termination was shown. I typed my blog URL and got the
ominous
:
Same thing with my sideblogs.
So obviously I was very worried. I contacted the Tumblr support but didn’t get an answer for 48 hours, only an automated reply. I already started mentally saying goodbye to my blogs, my posts and all my followers, when finally I recieved their answer:
(In case you can’t see the picture, it says:
Hello, We’ve restored your account. Thank you for bringing this problem to our attention. We’re sorry that it occurred, and we’ll do our best to make sure that it doesn’t happen again. You should now be able to log in just fine with your email address and password. Please let me know if there’s anything else I can help you with.
My blog was restored and working normally. All my sideblogs were intact , and so were my posts and my followers. The only thing that was lost, is all the conversations by Messages. The people with whom you talked are still there, but all the history of the conversation is gone.
Alright so here is what you should do if this happens to you. Don’t panick like I did Click on the “contact support” link provided in the terminated window. Alternatively, go on Tumblr.com/support.
Politely explain your situation – give your blog URL, your mail, tell what happened exactly. I understand that the situation can be upsetting, but the person who will read the message and try to help you isn’t directly responsible for the termination of your blog. And sending an angry message with insults isn’t the best way to get your blog back either.
Wait for the reply of the team. If you feel like it takes too much time (more than few days for example), try to fill the Help/Support form again.
Once the team is in contact with you, keep the polite tone. Normally if your blog didn’t go againt the Tumblr rules and policies, you should getit back like I did.
Voila 🙂
Guys this is important. 2 of my followers and rp partners got their accounts terminated today so be careful
Asknotbug's Tumblr Backup 