Me, the living embodiment of a twelfth century maiden and wilful heroine of a medieval ballad: “The Woods are a totally valid, reasonable and safe place to meet new friends and men.”
me, the living embodiment of the fairy queen to whom the woods belong, sick and tired of all these maidens traipsing about picking my roses and trampling on my moss: “oh my fucking god”
few things are more obnoxious than a man deriding women as a class for being obsessed w how we look or for how long it takes us to get ready or for how much shopping women do etc etc and taking some smugly superior tone abt how men don’t do that shit
like fuck you!! maybe if you being treated as a person was conditional on how you looked, you too might feel compelled to look as palatable as possible, wouldn’t u!
stop treating the problem as a natural feature of our silly frillsome lady-brains and maybe notice the cultural context. we don’t need to be condescendingly reassured that none of this really matters, we need u and ur guy pals to stop making it matter
the highwaisted breeches and loosely-tucked white shirt, possibly with sword belt attached, is THe hottest look available to any single human (or other), and i would be the lustiest harlot in regency England had i existed when it was À La Mode
