Corset discourse really likes to talk in sensationalizing absolutes but historically speaking a corset is just a kind of garment. They could be uncomfortable and painful or they could be well fitted and supportive. They could be hyper-fashionable or they could be brutally practical. You could tightlace them or you could wear them with no reduction whatsoever. Most corsets were probably somewhere in the middle. Like bras. Or shoes. To say they were never perceived as restrictive or used as tools of enforcing dangerous/misogynistic beauty standards is like saying women’s shoes never restrict freedom of movement. Patently untrue, but that doesn’t mean those shoes have some deeper moral good or evil and it certainly doesn’t mean we can use that fact to draw sweeping generalizations about the relationships of entire centuries of women to their own bodies. Corsets, like all clothing, exist in context.
Refuting the “corsets were evil torture devices and vain shallow women were forcing themselves to lace themselves down to x inches so they could attract a man” narrative was never about saying “corsets are a universal good, actually”. It’s about considering more fully the variety of ways clothing shaped and was shaped by its culture, and affording the women of the past the dignity of agency and interiority
Not often spoken about is scene playing in autistic children.
What is scene playing?
It’s setting up an elaborate story for your toys, putting them into position and leaving them. The set up of the scene is the play, not the self-inserted interaction of typical imagination play.
Movement of toys from others or removal of toys by others can be very upsetting to the child as the scene is disrupted.
The child may leave the scene overnight or all day or until told to clean up.
Children who scene play still can imagination play… But often it’s through another child leading them. Self imagination play is often (but not always) limited.
Scenes can range from basic to elaborate as their inner world is vast and highly developed from a young age.
My boyfriend was on the phone with his dad yesterday so I went out to sit on the patio to pet the geese and play on my phone for a bit, and while out there I came across a comic of baby Grimace (yes, that Grimace) being sad because everyone hated his milkshake and saying he wished he never had a birthday. Then there was a follow up where tons of people had commented saying they loved the shake and wished Grimace a happy birthday, and that made him happy again.
This, for whatever reason, emotionally devastated me. I was sobbing. I was ugly crying so bad that even the geese waddled away side-eyeing me.
After a while my bf yelled from inside, “Okay, you ready for dinner?” and I was forced to accept I had to go back in the house a defeated sniffly little wreck.
My boyfriend, who has only ever seen me cry once in the whole year we’ve been together, looked horrorstruck. He assumed the worst. Someone got hurt. Something was wrong with my family. Someone was mean to me (a cardinal sin). The panic that washed over his face was unparalleled.
He, upon seeing me, (somewhat theatrically) rushed over and grabbed me by the shoulders. “What’s wrong, what happened? Are you okay?” he asked, frantic. “What is it?”
I realized how ridiculous the whole situation was and just shook my head.
He was growing more panicked. “What is it? Why are you crying?”
I then had to stand there and look him, this completely normal human being, in the eyes, and blurt out “Grimace”
Confused silence followed.
“….Grimace?”
I nodded.
“…The McDonalds guy…thing?”
I nodded.
“What…what did…Grimace…do to you?”
I then tearfully recounted the silly internet comic that had absolutely broken my heart. And this poor guy–this poor, wonderfully sweet, nice, patient guy–kindly stood there trying to figure out how to comfort me that Grimace was not, in fact, sad. (Nevermind that he’s a corporate mascot who isn’t real)
This morning my phone rang just after 5am. It was my boyfriend. It was my turn to panic, to assume the worst.
I didn’t even have time to say hello before he started excitedly yelling, “Look at the TikTok I just sent you! Look! Open it!”
Confused and not entirely convinced I wasn’t still asleep, I opened the TikTok.
An official release from McDonalds confirming Grimace (who still isn’t real) did, in fact, feel special on his birthday.
also while we were in the car headed to dinner I remembered the little panel of Grimace crying and I got all teary eyed again, and my boyfriend looked over and, with all the genuine care, compassion, and sympathy this guy could muster, legitimately asked, “Are you having Grimace thoughts again?” which I don’t think I’ll ever let myself live down
your favorite youtubers and content creators are about to be offered some tantalizing tv/streaming deals so we’re all about to find out who the real working class allys are
someone’s gonna get cancelled doing this and they’re gonna cry crocodile tears over how difficult it is to make a living as a content creator and i’m telling you right now we are NOT going to buy it, got it? scabs deserve no sympathy
It is hard making a living being a quote unquote “content creator” still not an excuse to be a scab
This.
Trying to make a living from YouTube is like constantly running along the edge of a knife in clogs, it is incredibly stressful, it is mentally destructive and you do a truly obscene amount of work for genuinely very little compensation relative to the hours put in.
A big one-time payout from a streaming deal from some desperate studio jackoff could be life-changing, but it does not come for fucking free. The money they are offering you is money they have ripped directly from the hands and mouths of other creatives.
If you saw someone rip food out of someone else’s hands and then offer it to you, you wouldn’t fucking take it, would you? If you have a shred of decency you’ll tell the guy to give the fucking food back and go get fucked. And if you were the one getting food ripped out of your hands, you’d reasonably expect the people around you to have that same solidarity with you and not accept it.
The industry will try to abstract this as much as possible - they’re doing it in the press right now, “oh it’s just a bunch of rich, selfish Hollywood elites making a play for more money!” is EXPLICITLY an attempt to get you to see the union members as something other than your fellow workers - and they’ll try to pull shit like “oh the strike has nothing to do with you, you’re not a member of the union and you won’t see the benefits so why should you sacrifice this opportunity for them” and so on.
They’re trying to make the issue more distant and abstract, to alienate you from your fellow human beings. And in response we must make it closer and more concrete.
The money they offer to a scab is taken from the hands of a union member. They are offering you a union member’s student loan payments, their rent, their food budget, their kids’ college funds.
Do not take it. It is not and can never be worth it.
It is wild what kind of shit people will report to you in a security uniform. “Hey, that guy in the wheelchair? He doesn’t need it, he was walking outside earlier” like ??? Okay?? First off you don’t know his medical status, second what the fuck am I supposed to do with that information? Take it away from him?? It’s still his fucking wheelchair, he brought it from home
like I don’t have any physical disabilities that I’m aware of so stop me if I’m not in my lane but I feel like even if a dude is fully able-bodied, if he owns a mobility aid and he wants to use it then unless he’s swinging it around wracking toddlers with it then it’s really none of my damn business
Also?? “Hey there’s a junkie in the bathroom” ??? First off I saw them go in and I know for a fact that person has cerebral palsy, and also, are they actively using drugs?? Are they in medical distress?? No?? Then let them pissoh my God would you rather they shit on the street
and actually, another thing, because fuck it, but did you know?? “Security” means “safety”?? If nobody is using drugs inside the building and nobody is hurt or being hurt or bothering anyone or fucking in the lobby ar yodeling into the intercom or fucking, I don’t know, supergluing the toilet seats up and running off with the furniture, then what precisely are you expecting me to do about it? I’m not not the goddamn Social Norm Enforcer. If you’re wearing clothes and leaving people alone and you aren’t stroking out or freebasing coke with your non-service animal then I honestly do not give a fuck. “There’s a man in a dress in the women’s room” Okay and are they watching you poop? “I don’t think that’s a real service dog” is it humping someone? “That girl smells like weed can you get her out of here” Weed’s been legal for like five years get with the goddamn program. She probably works here. Do what you came here for and go hoooooome
“social norm enforcer” is exactly what is expected
I wish wizards were real so bad imagine coming out of a wal mart and seeing some guy with long robes and a big hat in the parking lot surrounded by wacky particle effects screaming some shit like “By the moon and the starlight, by the shield and the sword, I summon to me, my Honda Accord!” And then just getting into his car and driving off
