sunfishdunes

sunfishdunes:

Do not let your daughters grow up to be like Jennifer Lawrence.

Yes, she’s a beautiful, intelligent, sensible, wealthy and successful individual who can do whatever she wants with her life.

But she’s also female, which is bad for your mental health.

Today she’s having to come to terms with the fact that a bunch of nude and semi-nude photos of her have been leaked online.

A total of 101 female celebrities are thought to have been targeted by someone who hacked the Apple photo storage service iCloud and published them in return for money.

In an extra layer of creepy weirdness, actress Mary Elizabeth Winstead said the photos taken with her husband years earlier had been deleted – so iCloud had kept a copy, and the hacker had to hunt for it.

There are no leaked photos of naked male celebrities.

Despite the fact men quite like waving their wangers around in public and sending pictures of them to people, the hacker felt it was more fun to do this with women who wouldn’t enjoy it.

It would be normal for Jennifer Lawrence to spend today sobbing under the duvet and asking herself what she could have done differently. It’s something we should all ask ourselves, as nudey photos are fairly common these days.

So how do we avoid being similarly violated?           

First, ensure that your sexy shots do not include your face. The recipient isn’t interested in it anyway and when some ratbag puts the shots online it gives you a level of plausible deniability.

Secondly, do not use someone else’s server to store your naughty photos. When you buy an Apple product it almost forces you to sign up for iCloud, and it takes a level of ingenuity and pig-headed determination to avoid it. But it can be done.

After that, you simply need to tell your daughters not to be like Jennifer Lawrence.

Tell them not to be beautiful, because then it’s inevitable that strangers will think of you as nothing but a meatsack.      

Tell them not to be intelligent. Maths, sciences, arts, humanities – being clever is useless if you’re still female underneath.

Tell your daughters there is no point in being an Oscar winner. To achieve success in your chosen trade or profession, and to be recognised for it, cannot cure the disability of your sex.

Just ask Rona Fairhead, the new chairman of the BBC Trust. A man nominated for the job would have his qualifications discussed; but the headlines about Rona have concentrated on her gender, because a womb cancels out achievement.

(A woman at the BBC! Imagine!)

Teach your daughters not to bother with wealth. If they earned it themselves they’ll be loathed by those who haven’t, and if they hook up with a man who’s wealthy they’ll be accused of gold-digging.

Tell your daughters to never, ever, bother with sex. If they don’t do it enough they’ll be called frigid, if they do it too much they’ll be called whores, and either way someone somewhere will tell them they’re wrong.

Remember to impress upon your daughters that a tendency to be upset at something bad means people will want to do that bad thing to you.

Hair-pulling, name-calling, stolen photos, rape, it’s all so much more fun if she squeals.

Make sure your daughters never decide to do something someone else might not like.

This weekend it was reported that Hana Karim, a veterinary student, was among 28 women shot in the head by Shi’ite militia in a Baghdad brothel.

A dozen women were killed cowering in the bathroom, some were killed in bed with clients, and one was dragged from the cupboard she was hiding in. All were shot in the head, because the killers didn’t have time to stone them to death.

Perhaps Hana was visiting a friend; perhaps she had money worries; perhaps she just liked having sex. Who cares? Someone didn’t like her decision, so of course she should die.

Tell your daughters not to go online, where they’ll only be groomed or trolled. Tell them not to get old because they’ll be past it, tell them not to get drunk because they’ll be asking for it, and tell them not to stay sober because then they’ll be no fun.           

Tell them not to be athletes, or their bodies will be derided by men. Tell them not to be actresses, ballet dancers or models, or their bodies will be derided by men. Tell them not to walk down the street, or their bodies will be derided by men.

Tell them not to work, not to try, and not to hope that they will only ever meet those men who treat them better than that.
It doesn’t matter how beautiful, moral, bright, pleasant or useful you are. If you are female, you will have trouble every day of your life.

Tell your daughters that if they really want to be happy, if they don’t want to be victims, to forget about their bodies.

Instead cut out your daughters’ brains, stick them in a jar, and cover the whole thing with a black cloth bag in a darkened room where they will be safe from rapists, hackers, misogynists, trolls, public transport gropers and the hatefulness of strangers.

That way they could avoid all this crap that Jennifer Lawrence and every other woman on Earth has to deal with.

After all, it would be too much to expect the handful of men responsible for it to behave better, be arrested, or be the least bit sorry.

vintagegur1939

Don’t look up, my love, there’s no war here. The girl on the train works with the peace corps and hanging right next to her backpack is bright pink mace.

Close your eyes when you get home, carry your mother’s best knife with you into the shower. Hold it in your shaky palm. Wait for your family to get home, keep it where you can get it, have it pointed in front of you like the prow of a ship. Cleave the air, wait for the moment when out of the closet or under the bed a man will grab you and use your empty house as an invitation, as asking for it.

Lock your car. Check the backseat before getting in. Don’t sit too long in parking lots. Don’t break down on the side of the road. Don’t get in a vehicle with people you don’t know. Don’t stand up straight, don’t hold your head up high. Don’t cry where someone could see.

Have 911 pre-dialed. Carry a pocket knife the way your brother does. He plays with his because he is a boy scout and he might have to use it. Yours is a weight and you are terrified for the day you will have to use it. Don’t panic when men stand too close to you, don’t breathe too deep, don’t look them in the eye - but don’t look weak, don’t look vulnerable, don’t show that you’re scared, but be scared.

Don’t marry him if he’s mean to his mother, if he’s mean to dogs, if he’s mean to waiters. It’s your fault if he is cruel, you should have seen it coming. Don’t kiss him if you’re drunk and not looking to follow up. Don’t give him the wrong idea. Don’t love him, it’s clingy. Don’t spurn him, it’s heartbreaking.

Let him catcall you from the safety of his four-wheel drive, don’t flip him off. Think about the girls that have died on the edge of the road. Let him trail slowly behind you so that the crunch of his tires matches the grind of your teeth. Get inside whatever building you can find. Hope the car doesn’t loop back around and follow you later. Sooner or later, one of the cars is going to loop back around and follow you later.

Don’t call yourself a feminist, you will become sick of explaining that you don’t hate men. Don’t call yourself a feminist, it’s seen as an attack. Don’t call yourself a feminist, you will hear more slurs against your person than if you had said you wanted to kill the president. Don’t call yourself a feminist, it’s dangerous to want something for yourself. Don’t call yourself a feminist. Hold fast to the idea that girls of all shapes and sizes and colors and bodies deserve the same things as everyone else, fight for it quietly - but don’t call yourself a feminist.

Don’t be like other girls, whatever that means. Don’t be one of those plastic girls. Don’t be one of those gamer girls. Don’t be one of those band geeks. Don’t be one of those hipsters. Don’t be one of those fangirls. If you can, don’t be.

Don’t look up. Don’t breathe. Don’t think. Don’t worry, my love, there’s no war here. It’s in some far-off distant country.

Nothing to see here (part one) /// r.i.d (via inkskinned)