Female toplessness is legal in a lot of places in the US (although not where I live), and I’d be meeting the letter of the law with a couple of Band-aids. But I have a gut feeling that if I go anywhere that there are people—and particularly anywhere there are children—nobody’s going to be too happy about my Band-aids. The enforcement is social; women just don’t go around topless in the US.
It bothers me because it’s unequal, but it also bothers me in its implications: that my body is inherently sexual, and a man’s body isn’t. It feels like men are being viewed through the first-person lens of “it’s nice to feel the sun on my skin, and I don’t mean anything by it” and women are being viewed through the distinctly third-person lens of “it’s inappropriate for me, a heterosexual man, to see her sexy parts.” It ignores the experiences of people who are turned on by male chests and somehow manage to contain themselves when they see one.
The Pervocracy: My boobs want to be free. (via sexisnottheenemy)
I have no desire to go topless anywhere, but I thought this made good points about perspective, and about how female [identified?] bodies are considered inherently sexual even when nothing sexual is going on or implied.
(via feministdisney)(via positiverolemodel)
It’s hopeless… she is so beautiful and I am… a monster.
Take a stroll down Glasgow’s Queen Street past the Gallery of Modern Art on any given day and you might see a traffic cone sitting on the head of the statue of the Duke of Wellington. For the last 20 years or so, Glaswegians have been, despite requests from the police, crowning the Duke (and sometimes his horse!) with various cones in the middle of the night. The police remove the cones in the morning, but it won’t be long until another takes the last one’s place. I suppose you can say it’s become of a bit of a tradition. After all, as proved again by reactions to “Hurricane Bawbag”, no one has a sense of humour like the Scottish.
(via natasha-gray)