Category Archives: Psychobabble

The perils of being an aging bookworm, or why a lot of ‘women’s fiction’ royally pisses me off.

Cultural models matter. They matter because they’re how I and he and everyone else construct and understand our experiences, of relationships and aging and embodiment and all the rest, and it REALLY FUCKS ME OFF that what appears to be a large and popular swathe of books, including some whose press releases suggest they’re crossover literary, offer only limited and damaging options for women (and people!) to grow and exist and have relationships and careers after thirty-five. Fuck that shit. Continue reading

Posted in books, Culture, frivolous wittering, Love, Psychobabble, Sex, wtf even | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

On thin privilege and not being a dick (again)

Nb. Uploads aren’t working, so this is illustrated solely with pictures of cute orang utans. Sorry about that.  So a kind (if potentially mischevious) friend left this peculiar monstrosity of unchecked privilege , an article entitled ‘Don’t hate me for being thin’ … Continue reading

Posted in bodies, Culture, frivolous wittering, Hunger, Psychobabble | Tagged , , , , | 2 Comments

On fatphobia, thin privilege, ‘skinny shaming’, and people’s right to subjective experience whatever their body size

I wrote this for the F-word, but it was too long and I didn’t want to cut it because it all seemed important. I might try write a shorter version at some point, but not THIS point.  Before I start, … Continue reading

Posted in bodies, Culture, Hunger, Psychobabble | Tagged , , , | 6 Comments

In which intent and outcome are so rarely coincident: Neil Gaiman and Trigger Warning

This F-word post talks about how much I love Neil Gaiman and how troubled I was by his use of ‘Trigger Warning’ as a title, given its function and cultural history and his place on various privilege axes. Somewhat to my … Continue reading

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Pretty on the Inside; in which language is a bastard

This is another F-word post, inspired by discussion with a genderqueer friend of mine who hates being referred to as ‘pretty’ and seguing seamlessly into my attempts at reclaiming ‘pretty’ as a site of sociocultural resistance. Or something.

Posted in Culture, frivolous wittering, People being dicks, Psychobabble, Sex | Tagged , , , , | Leave a comment

We need to talk about rape

Post 3 for the F-word, a response to that massively troubling Guardian piece about ‘sort-of rape’. Contains ranting and references to the amazing Rock Star Dinosaur Pirate Princess’s internet-famous tea analogy.

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Advice and survival: In which I don’t have all the answers but I care about the questions.

Anyway, an infinitely valuable consequence of this is that people talk to me about the bad shit. Sometimes people get other people to talk to me – my mother and my friends operate some kind of referral system – and very occasionally it all gets a bit much and I have to hide under a rock for a while.

And sometimes, people ask me for advice. Continue reading

Posted in Culture, Hunger, Love, Psychobabble, Self-harm | Tagged , , , , , | 2 Comments

Why I love my ridiculous leggings by Sasha age 33 ½

RIDICULOUS LEGGINGS ARE THE SOCIAL LUBE OF EVERYDAY LIFE. They are a handy weapon against overtly sexual hassle! They open up topics like society’s ridiculous expectations of women with people who don’t consider themselves feminists, or even think about such things that much! They make you smile whenever you look at your legs! They are a handy fuck-you to social concepts of feminine aging and social appropriateness or taking up space! Continue reading

Posted in Culture, frivolous wittering, People being dicks, Psychobabble | Tagged , | 9 Comments

of rage, postsecret and pastries: in which an eating disorder is not a fucking getout clause.

A friend of mine posted this image to Facebook earlier, with the admirably restrained aside ‘Well, why not? Most of us underweight people love a good pastry.’ The lady in question is naturally skinny – she always has been – … Continue reading

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Biological clocks: in which I am bemused and curious.

I don’t seem to have a biological clock. I just don’t. No particular pull towards children or producing them; no visceral urge to reproduce; no sense of impending loss. I’m finding this paragraph difficult to write, already, because while many … Continue reading

Posted in Culture, Psychobabble, Uncategorized | 88 Comments