Fetishizing ‘power’ in women characters – having them kicking ass and always being ready with a putdown - isn’t the same as writing them as human beings.
Jack Graham, in Stephen Moffat - A Case For The Prosecution, a guest post on Philip Sandifer’s blog (via linnealurks)
In my experience working with a multitude of anti-racist organizing projects over the years, I frequently found myself participating in various workshops in which participants were asked to reflect on their gender/race/sexuality/class/etc. privilege. These workshops had a bit of a self-help orientation to them: “I am so and so, and I have x privilege.” It was never quite clear what the point of these confessions were. It was not as if other participants did not know the confessor in question had her/his proclaimed privilege. It did not appear that these individual confessions actually led to any political projects to dismantle the structures of domination that enabled their privilege. Rather, the confessions became the political project themselves. The benefits of these confessions seemed to be ephemeral. For the instant the confession took place, those who do not have that privilege in daily life would have a temporary position of power as the hearer of the confession who could grant absolution and forgiveness. The sayer of the confession could then be granted temporary forgiveness for her/his abuses of power and relief from white/male/heterosexual/etc guilt. Because of the perceived benefits of this ritual, there was generally little critique of the fact that in the end, it primarily served to reinstantiate the structures of domination it was supposed to resist. One of the reasons there was little critique of this practice is that it bestowed cultural capital to those who seemed to be the “most oppressed.” Those who had little privilege did not have to confess and were in the position to be the judge of those who did have privilege. Consequently, people aspired to be oppressed. Inevitably, those with more privilege would develop new heretofore unknown forms of oppression from which they suffered. “I may be white, but my best friend was a person of color, which caused me to be oppressed when we played together.” Consequently, the goal became not to actually end oppression but to be as oppressed as possible. These rituals often substituted confession for political movement-building. And despite the cultural capital that was, at least temporarily, bestowed to those who seemed to be the most oppressed, these rituals ultimately reinstantiated the white majority subject as the subject capable of self-reflexivity and the colonized/racialized subject as the occasion for self-reflexivity.
Andrea Smith, The Problem with Privilege (2013) [X] (via radfemphantom)


Today is my country’s national patriotic holiday (“independence” day but it’s actually the date of the first government gathering but w/e) so me and my gf seintos made a little Asado in our apartment! And this weekend we are gonna celebrate it with our friends as well 🍻✨

Roasted pork aka “pulpa asada” glazed with honey mustard and salad 🍯🍖💚

National WE ARE NOT GRINGAS day yay!!



Screaming and small 


(ch.118) watching your girlfriend get killed is probably not ideal


It’s ridiculous to me when people claim that behavioural sex differences are intrinsic without even being aware of the subtle ways in which male and female children are taught that they are fundamentally different from one another (most obviously, through dress). When you dress a boy in a t shirt and pants and a girl in a skirt and a halter top (yes, it happens), you are marking their differences and implying that these differences are meaningful (that is the purpose of feminine clothing, after all). I’ve seen little girls try to climb trees while wearing dresses and ridiculous baby-heels with pink fluff on them. I’ve seen little girls try to chase after their friends on the playground only to promptly twist an ankle or slip due to wearing wedges or dress-shoes. I’ve seen little girls get told off for hanging upside-down on monkey bars because their dresses fell down around their heads and exposed their underwear. Parents and society both incapacitate girls from the get go, teaching them that their appearance comes before their enjoyment and physical capabilities, and then they have the gall to go on and on about how cute it is that, despite their liberal views on ‘gender (*cough*)’, their daughter was never really active and outdoorsy, preferring to just sit and play with dolls.


Men never fail to impress me with how fucking shameless they are.

I usually bring my laptop to work so I can do some 3D modelling on my downtime. Today I was working on a model I’ve been ironing out for the last few days. It’s a bust of an East Asian style dragon, which I started doing specifically so I could practice sculpting flowing, curvy shapes on Zbrush. My coworker - the unpleasant, boundary-ignoring, teen-girl-ogling one - has been watching me model and often giving praise. He dabbles at 3D modelling himself, but hasn’t been studying for as long as I have and doesn’t have the same theorical art background. Which means I’m considerably better than him.

Today the dude gets to work and first thing he does is pulling a drawing pad out of his backpack and saying “I have an idea, and I’ll make you accept it even if I have to threaten to give you cyanide”.

Yes, that was an excelent start. Death threats with a big smile. Classy.

So he starts rambling about how we should make a 3D scene together, and his idea of a scene is a shack with a big burly viking dude holding an axe (which I would have to model, since he “doesn’t do organic modelling”), some furniture and… my dragon head stuffed and mounted on a wall. He would do the background, he says.

He also points that I would have to do texturing and render, since he’s not good at those parts either. And he continues rambling, with a huge fucking smile on his face, about how this would be “really good for our portfolios” and would “give us both a lot of visibility”.

The funny thing is that the part that offended me first is that he wanted to take my dragon and mount it on a wall. I made a bust because the purpose of this specific model is practice on the shapes of the whiskers and mane of the dragon. Doing the body would not give me the kind of practice I want. But all this man saw was a decapitated head of a beautiful beast he could mount on a wall and display as his.

And isn’t it a good metaphor of the whole situation? A man sees a skilled woman, a woman who’s way more skilled than he is, and instead of wanting to learn from her, he wants to seize her and mount her on a wall. In this case, he wanted to use the knowledge and craftsmanship that I acquired over almost a decade of study and make me labor for his benefit - to mount me on his portfolio wall, or his facebook wall, for everyone to see. And he tries to sweeten the deal by telling me a half-truth, that if I made a well rendered scene, people would appreciate it. It would give me “visibility”.

The full truth is that yes, it would. But I don’t need him to do that. He doesn’t have anything to offer me in return for my work, he doesn’t have anything to give me that I can’t get myself. He’s not offering me money, knowledge or valuable networking. He just wants to take something he knows he doesn’t have, because he likes it and he feels entitled to have it. Take my work and reframe it on a typical male dominance context. The man kills the dragon and mounts it on a wall. And this man, with a smile on his face, threatened to poison me if I didn’t mount myself on his wall.

And of course, I won’t do it. My dragon is alive and free, and doesn’t belong in anyone’s wall, specially on those of parasitic, lazy males. And of course, he sulked when I said “no”, he said I was boring, I was selfish, I wasn’t cool, I was missing an opportunity, I was making him sad. He said he would start modelling the shack anyway, hoping that I’ll change my mind once I see it done. He tried to appeal for some sense of friendship we don’t even have, tried to make me feel like somehow I owe him that, that not doing what he wants me to do would mean I’m a bad person somehow.

I think it’s really interesting how a simple situation like this shows so much of how male entitlement works, and how being a feminist gave me the insight and the tools to dissect the instance and see exactly what this dude was going for.

And, most important of all, it gave me power to say “no” and not feel minimally bad about it.