Rather than fighting for every woman’s right to feel beautiful, I would like to see the return of a kind of feminism that tells women and girls everywhere that maybe it’s all right not to be pretty and perfectly well behaved. That maybe women who are plain, or large, or old, or differently abled, or who simply don’t give a damn what they look like because they’re too busy saving the world or rearranging their sock drawer, have as much right to take up space as anyone else.
I don’t want to be told I’m pretty as I am - I want to live in a world where that’s irrelevant (via burritobabe)
I think if we want to take care of the next generation of girls we should reassure them that power, strength and character are more important than beauty and always will be, and that even if they aren’t thin and pretty, they are still worthy of respect. That feeling is the birthright of men everywhere. It’s about time we claimed it for ourselves.
when your little girlit is not your job | Caitlyn Siehl (via faintestglance)
asks you if she’s pretty
your heart will drop like a wineglass
on the hardwood floor
part of you will want to say
of course you are, don’t ever question it
and the other part
the part that is clawing at
will want to grab her by her shoulders
look straight into the wells of
her eyes until they echo back to you
you do not have to be if you don’t want to
it is not your job
both with feel right
one will feel better
she will only understand the first
when she wants to cut her hair off
or wear her brother’s clothes
you will feel the words in your
mouth like marbles
you do not have to be pretty if you don’t want to
it is not your job
youtube is responsible for literally all of my makeup/beauty knowledge & skill
I’m super easily annoyed by my facial features.
My face just pisses me off idk.
One day I decided that I was beautiful, and so I carried out my life as if I was a beautiful girl. I wear colors that I really like, I wear makeup that makes me feel pretty, and it really helps. It doesn’t have anything to do with how the world perceives you. What matters is what you see. Your body is your temple, it’s your home, and you must decorate it.Gabourey Sidibe (via calloway)
Everyone has their own unique perception on what the definition of that word is. Some people think that in order to be regarded as successful, they need to have fame or beauty. While others feel they need to have reached a certain level of wealth.
Wealth. Everyone has their own opinion upon this word, as well. Some people measure their personal wealth by the numerical amount that exists within their bank account. While others, base their wealth upon a more materialistic medium - the amount of clothes or shoes in their closet, the number of vehicles parked in their driveway, the amount of leisurely vacations in which they venture annually.
Then, there are people like my grandmother, who base their wealth off of the quantity of food stored in their kitchen cabinets. Having been an orphaned child growing up in The Netherlands during the Holocaust, she learned, at a very young age, the true necessities of life: food, shelter, and sense of security.
I could write a thousand paragraphs about the hardships she endured and the stories she has told me, but I’m getting away from my original purpose for this post.
How does one measure the value of success? How do I measure the value of success?
Will I feel triumphant if I graduate high school - if I graduate college? Will I feel successful if I’m able to snag myself a morally-centered husband who knows the grammatical difference between their, there, and they’re? Will I feel victorious if I attain prestigious placement in the career of my choosing? Will I feel accomplished in life if I die with millions of dollars left behind for my loved ones?
Or does my personal view of success even matter? Is it the opinion of others that I regard higher than my own that counts?
Or does no opinion matter at all? When I die, will anyone even miss my presence? Will my successes have any affect after my passing?
Too many questions… in which no one knows the answer to. All I’m sure of is that I am successful in finishing this post. For now, that’s enough.
Life is sad.
I think it’s beautiful when people are sad.
I think there’s beauty in tears.
The fragility of a moment.
The perfection of breathing. And falling apart. And being alive.
I feel so much and so little for people. Of the world.
Everyone is fighting. To hold on. To life. To each other.
And I think that’s beautiful. And I think it’s sad.