That great age, you know, nine and three-quarters, where you’re not boy-crazy and you’re not mean to other girls. You really believe you can be an astronaut, a physicist, a waitress, a singer, a dancer. The world is your oyster. So that enthusiasm I find fascinating. I just wish you could bottle it and take it like a pill. When no one’s told you no yet. No one’s told you you’re not good enough, or no boy has broken your heart yet.
“I asked all of the gay male students in the room to raise their hand if in the past week they touched a woman’s body without her consent. After a moment of hesitation, all of the hands of the gay men in the room went up. I then asked the same gay men to raise their hand if in the past week they offered a woman unsolicited advice about how to “improve” her body or her fashion. Once again, after a moment of hesitation, all of the hands in the room went up.
These questions came after a brief exploration of gay men’s relationship to American fashion and women’s bodies. That dialogue included recognizing that gay men in the United States are often hailed as the experts of women’s fashion and by proxy women’s bodies. In addition to this there is a dominant logic that suggests that because gay men have no conscious desire to be sexually intimate with women, our uninvited touching and groping (physical assault) is benign.”
I DID NOT FUCKING NEED TO BE WOKEN UP. I ESPECIALLY DIDN’T NEED TO BE WOKEN UP BY A DRUM AND BASS VERSION OF TETRIS THAT MAKES THE WALLS SHAKE