whatnot.

Taking It All Off: in which “misogynoir” is the newest, most useful word I learn in a long time. Read the whole thing. I just. Yeah. [standing O]

♥ Dress me, darlings! What in the world from Anthropologie is supposed to suit me? I see other bloggers running around in the brand, and I cannot for the life of me connect their fantastic fashion with my regular, disappointing trips to the mall.

Flesh and Bones. Because: And yet I felt alien in our house; I couldn’t identify with my mother’s womanly body, all that curvaceous flesh. I did the laundry, and couldn’t understand her bras the size of colanders, the underpants I could fold in eighths. Because: looking like a little girl after all your friends hit puberty is something else. . . I felt like a sexless, androgynous kid, excluded from the rituals of this new club, their foreign aura of womanliness.

Though I am thrilled to note that I have only ever made love in the dark because we wanted to experience the glow sticks more fully. I grew up wondering about that. Is it meant to be a modesty thing? Because I’m pretty sure I hated my body, yet I never felt the need to cover and hide it. Maybe we all make love in the dark in different ways.

I know that’s not the point of the essay. I know it’s about thinness not equaling health, and that I, too, am probably going to have my first heart attack at forty-nine, and will someday break bones as easily as twigs. But those bits spoke to me.

♥ Via Jo-my-Jo, 10 Epidemically Overrated Books. On Wuthering Heights: “Why is this book considered one of the most classic romances of all time? All of the characters are despicable and cruel to one another, the plot is awkwardly structured, and it’s all very boring and depressing, if you ask us.” WORD.

♥ I am jealous of my friend Kelleigh. It’s not because she effectively has two husbands. It’s because she has a room full of used books. Is “bibliophiliac” a word yet?

♥ “Dead Poets Society” needs a trigger warning. Nine years after I saw it and I realised that one morning: I should never have been allowed to watch it at the end of junior year. The hell with Lessons about Life and Education. You don’t show a recently-suicidal girl a movie about fucking suicide. Teachers, professors, please make sure your students will not, say, run out of the room in hysterical sobs because it was almost them. Please don’t let us in for that kind of humiliation.

TIA.

♥ Why am I surprised that I liked Wives and Daughters? The book, I mean, doorstop that it is even without its final chapter. I need to pick up the Cranford novels and see if this is a Gaskell thing or specific to the one novel.

I THINK I HAVE MY GENRE.

And for your weekend viewing pleasure, dive into the Lizzie Bennet Diaries. Start here:

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