Thursday, December 31, 2015

It's a big B-word.

Lately, that's all the commentary I have to offer about life.

Yes, my wounds have healed. No, I will not be showing what they look like. Lastly, they may very well scar. Luckily I haven't reconsidered in a major way since, though the last few days have caused my sanity train to derail quite a few times. Medication cannot fully augment a broken brain, only repair it temporarily, or lift some symptoms. That, and my general stomach aching is driving me skittering ten feet up a wall.

Friday, December 18, 2015

Bound, bandaged, hidden

I relapsed.

It was unintentional, obviously. I was overcome with grief, for no reason, really, had an episode. I took a razor to my legs, and now I must conceal them under bandages nightly, and daily, cover them with something long, in order to avoid telling anyone, close to me, that I relapsed. The cuts are shallow, but the skin on my legs clings to the muscle. As a result of being skinny, wounds don't heal rapidly. So I've tried to consistently apply antiseptic stuff, whatever I can dig from the unpacked goods, to treat them.

My psychiatrist, after hearing that I've been having more mood shifts, has put me on low dosage mood stabilizers, but I've yet to start taking them. Nobody except for a few close friends on CR and my old blog, knows that I did this to myself. Until now, obviously.

I feel very brittle and weak for relapsing. I also feel like breakdown is simply cyclistic, and it'll happen from time to time. If nearly not so drastically as this. It's still stupid. 

I was in a lot of episodic pain, and I ended up slashing my legs as a result. For some time I’d been contemplating it, either that, or ingesting enough pills to give me some kind of ulcer, which is what I was constantly warned would happen to me with my laxative abuse (it hasn’t yet). A combination of factors reassured me, my brain coddled me, my disordered mind, that shitty, shitty mind. It all coaxed me. I targeted my legs. Slit, after slit, after slit, because my legs were wiry enough to use a razor on to harm, and it was accessibly convenient. I was sick of being all alone. That hasn't changed.

Torment by my own thoughts, my own warped mind, that wants me, that begs me, to cling to the past, to cling to whatever I can hurt in avoidance of betterment, if it means that I can somehow feign stability for five fucking minutes in front of a crowd of few onlookers and faceless masses who aimlessly judge me without knowing my actual situation. Nobody fully comprehends that I feel so shitty, nobody fully comprehends what it’s like having the effects of unspeakable torment that’s trailed you since you were a child to the point of childhood memory regression, a forced selective amnesia, and a lasting trauma.

Even if I’ve been living at my father’s residence for nearly two years, it hasn’t stopped me from having breakdowns, it hasn’t stopped me from resorting to self blame, and it hasn’t fully stopped me from sometimes reverting to my old maladaptive coping mechanisms in times of dire stress. The lingering effects of what’s happened to me won’t go away at immediate notice, nor by request, no matter HOW hard I try. And I was redirecting my anger unhealthily recently. My guilty conscious, combined with my situational turmoil, drove me back to relapse. And I wish I could say I was strong enough to avoid it all this time, but I was getting to the point where I wanted to relapse, months ago.

Sometimes, I’m so stony that no matter how much my heart swells, I can’t force tears from my emotionally drained eyes. Sometimes I’ll spend hours crying. I want to be happy for people, eben the people who I’ve had bad blood with to be well themselves, but I’ve somehow felt like even inwardly I’ve misdirected my anger at all of them at one point or another. And the guilt within me there swells to proportionate and uncontrolled size.

I drive people away, it's my profession. I feel like that’s all I do.

A lot of people like to treat being borderline as being more minimal, or composed of only a few traits, to paint it as being one dimensional and incomparable to things like DID or schizophrenic disorders.

As if severe mental illness is some kind of competition, an aspect to be proud of. A year in, nearly, since the confirmation, and I still have no security in this, and in my symtoms, and when my next change will strike. Security fluctuates, one day I'll have assurance and the next I'll be a baffled mess.

Who wants to pit themselves against me in competition? Why would someone want to try and outrank me in derangement or misery? My disorder is my individualized struggle, I’m not treating it as a part of me I enjoy. It’s a part of me nonetheless. Who wants to be mentally shaken to the point where functionality is a chore? I look at these tumblr kids and their self diagnosed disorders and my eyes flame with an uninhibited vex. Who would want to have what I'm stuck with? If they spent a month in my shoes, a week in, they'd be begging and pleading to be transferred back to their own body. It's gotten to the point where the childish nonsense of teenage normality being mistaken for fullblown BPD is not just a nuisance, it's fucking infuriating.

Lately, my misdirected anger has been the absolute downfall of me, alongside the festering filth that’s sinking to my bowels. I’ve lost lovers, I’ve lost friends, I have lost my sibling for a long span of time, I have even brought forth disappointments in the people who I do fucking trust, my father, my therapist, my psychiatrist, and even strangers!! (My therapist accused me of being bulimic the other week!!) are directing some scorn at me. I’ve been almost hit twice today whilst driving by distracted, piss poor drivers in midsize cars, when I myself already have enough nerve driving after having an accident a few days prior. I don’t want to have to step on eggshells and end with my foot bleeding, inspiring a panic attack, a paranoia, a further fear than what is already deep seeded in me. I’ve even been honked at, walking my dog on a park path near a public road, by some ass in an SUV who I can assume only thought it to be the most hilarious thing ever to try and deafen a teenage girl who is clearly standing there, overlooking the edge of a short bridge, to a short drop into defecated sewage runoff, just trying to think, with a canine by her side. The inconsideration from strangers Who I don’t even know, has driven my sensory issues wild. I began crying for a bit after the horn honking incident. I hate the screech of a car horn nearly as much as I despise being yelled at. Why do perfect strangers aim to antagonize me, and my poor creature of an animal who is there trying to make me feel better, the glint in her amber irises thatre usually focused on squirrelly creatures eyeing my distressed being with great concern.Even my dog treats me better than some holiday neurotics do. Meanwhile, I'm not seasonally neurotic, but a neurotic mess on and off, what seems like, all the time. 

It just feels like the whole world is creeping out on a limb to somehow torment me, or, more accurately, my mind is interpreting these independent actions as being somehow related to me, this insatiable and unstable attitude, the fact that I so happen to end up driving behind, in front, and past, the worst suburban soccer mum bitches with no consideration for anything or anyone except how fast they can arrive at their intended destinations, the fact that within less than a five day period, both my sisters car and mine obtained damage.

 I feel like I’m just a misfortune walking. That’s what the voices say. I guess I have to believe them. When no one listens anymore, when no one speaks to you anymore for what's supposed to be an allotted requirement of human interaction hours a day, there’s only use in talking to the characters you’ve formed on paper and the sneers in your head.

I'm sorry, all. I tried to be ok. I’m really going to try not to misdirect my anger from here on out and redirect it towards healthier things, but I can’t go back to any kind of hospitalization, especially during the holiday season.

I can’t break my father and sister’s hearts, especially since the latter has finally come around to trusting me once more. I don’t care what my mother thinks. She’s a sorry excuse. I’m a torn narrative and a constantly revised draft. I just fucked up and ripped myself some more. If I relapse again, I may have to take more drastic action.

Until such time as they heal, I will have to conceal my wounds by wearing pants and long skirts, applying bandages and antiseptic when I can overnight, for the sake of faster healing. It’s wintertime, I can get away with it. Until such time as the guilt kills me, I can’t tell the people closest to me, either.

I'm sorry. I'd said that I'd never let y'all down. Nasujima mun is a serious wreck. I've been through a lot in the past few months. Dropped out, ended up procrastinating on my equivalency work after B left me and let me down, and I'm somehow still wallowing in that, since once again, I disappointed myself by falling for a person too hard. But yeah, I guess there's no comeback for me to any kind of tumblr blogosphere or community until I'm stabler.

I did let you down. It breaks my heart.
I hope everyone else's holidays are safe, and I'm going to try remaining normal, having normal conversations, and eberythng. That's what I've been doing as
Far as my online activity has been concerned eben after I cut myself up. There's no point in clinging to this for too long, and a vent is all I need to get out there in order to feel a smidgen better.

The weather outside is frightfully cold, considering the cast of the Texas sun. And I must go on in life. If anything else happens, I promise I'll drag myself to the nearest facility for admittance, but until further notice, I'm gonna have to trust my new mood stabilizers to take some effect.

Saturday, December 12, 2015

TiA-isms: The grossly elongated LGBTQ+ acronym

Taking my break from my depressive and angry raving about a man who doesn't even contact me anymore to post some dumb shit

By this point, I've become a regular lurker on TiA, and of course, sometimes, I contribute. I used to be a more active poster until I ran out of suitable material and generally found myself too dissatisfied with even the most hysterically inaccurate assumptions and fallacies spouted by the dense morons, but I still frequently lurke, so I recently revamped my activity as an actual follower of TiA with some commentary. There was a post about "gender flags", including such bogus melarky as "trigender", the whole agender controversy, which I find to be incredibly polarizing but still improbable, and genderfluidity, which either refers to tryhard cis girls with tomboy mannerisms or sometimes, the actual very veery rare, and when I mean rare, I mean like, one of billions (so don't get your panties in a twist), person with dysphoria who fluctuated between feeling masculine and feminine. Most tumblrinas are whiny teenage to twentysomething females. I am somewhat a female misogynist, but let's face it, the needless drama, infighting, and overspecialization is just an oversaturation of poor feminine misbehavior and petty jealousy, which'd make sense since most LGBTIUIABCDEFG (the list might as well comprise an entire alphabets worth of letters, since it's getting longer by the day). There are SOME guys, but they're outnumbered by the delusional females.

So I bring in my first comment. With the ridiculous influx of new identities that are merely components of preexisting ones, outright false, could be named by something that already exists, improbable, or downright impossible? 

(this response actually got a chuckle out of me. TiA is generally a pretty amusing place if you're not tumblrina fodder, and if you have the capacity to not be offended by free-range sarcasm. there's an overabundance of people there who enjoy joking around, and also a fair amount of people who'll be willing to give you long winded, well worded answers that put a uni student to shame. It's a pretty diverse and interesting sub that isn't filled to the brim with tumblr's toxicity. be warned, you'll probably be banned from r/offmychest for posting tho)

The acronym for the LGBTQ+ community is being passed around like fucking syphillis, and each person seems to try and transmit a new letter to an acronym that's already a damn pain to pronounce in real conversation. Try saying "LGBTQUIA", and whatever else is added in the future to this shopping list, in real conversation, and watch someone give you a quizzical look of complete and utter confusion. Why? Because it's damn near unpronounceable. It's not understandable. It's nonsense. Try saying it, watch yourself stumble. It's simply not meant to be lengthy. That's the purpose of an acronym. To be snappy, short, to the point.

This "new" melarky also includes IDs that either are deemed to be very very rare, and filled with fallacy. 

Intersex people are pretty damn rare, I wouldn't at all call being intersex a gender identity unless the person involved has dysphoria. There are likely some intersex people who grow up to fit within what Tumblr calls "MEHHHH RESTRICTIVE GENDER BIIIIIIINARYYYY!1!1!1". Because, let's see, a good 95%- if not higher - of the damn world is Cissy. Cis. Most people. Yes, pretty much, most people, grow up to fit into the Oppressive Gender Binary. 

Shockingly astonished, the tumblrina doubled over and Xe Xir Xizzle Zerp You're An Oppressive Shitlord Twerp died from her morbid obesity, though in her will, she cited her Crippling Self Diagnosed PTSD as the cause of her demise.

True "Asexuality, or Aromancticism??" is EXCEEDINGLY rare, most people have romantic feelings and sex drives, some more rarely than others. If you derive sexual pleasure from something even if it's only in the comfort of your own home, and don't necessarily want to have sex with other people, that still means you have a sex drive. If you're more interested in sexual aspects before romanticism, that doesn't mean you're repelled by romance. Very few fucking people have the inclination towards disdain or boredom towards these things, for many people, their sexuality doesn't develop as early on! That's normal. And everyone goes at their own pace. Some people feel that they can't have intervourse or be in a relationship due to trauma, but may still have undertones of this. Very few people are actually 100% uninterested in these acts. Most people claiming they ID with these labels are either people who claim to have lesser "urges" than others (you still have them, dense loons), or young people who are inexperienced, not all of therefore interested in participating in sexual or romantic relationships yet.

I don't know what "U" means. I'm just going to say it's "Ugh". As in, "ugh, please stop, tumblr, please stop, before your infection spreads to the real life population and the easily influenced youth".

I mean, I would not have such a problem with it if there was more validity, but I always felt like the acronym and the movement were intended for identities that'd long been considered "unacceptable", and since I don't remember the last time someone user "asexual" as the butt of a joke or as a placeholder for the word "stupid", let alone the last time someone derived any stereotypes from the identity, I can't say I can put it on the list. Considering the degree of asexual people in comparison to the gay, lesbian, bi, and trans population, it's far too marginal to even deserve its own spot. Intersex is extremely debatable, but I don't consider it to be a gender of its own class either. Intersex people may very well go on to identify as something else.
And once again, both instances here, these are more "marginalized" by a significant amount than any of the "groups" listed. Like, less than a percent of the population. Perhaps less than half a percent. This is just an excuse to try and oppress yourselves, people. Using false pretenses for what asexuality is, by the way.

The nearest cliff is that way, I suggest you go and plunge headfirst into the water underlying it, swim in your own, murky, shitstained words.

This isn't funny. This isn't cute. As a person whose part of the "acronyms", sincerely, fuck off. I've dealt with this sexuality confusion my entire life and spent years without a supportive parent backing me, but a bigoted and abusive mother demeaning me. People love to act like I didn't struggle at all, having nothing to confide in and all until I moved into an environment where I didn't feel constantly judged. And on top of that being verbally and sometimes physically thrown around for the slightest infraction

A lot of people like to try and discount bisexuality's validity, specifically these sorts of people. The ones who won't stop trying to perpetuate their awful little additions. Trying to replace bisexuality with pansexuality and whatnot, the latter which I now realize is pretty damn near made up.

Slow clap for you guys. Totes appreciate being booed out of the LGBTQ circle by a bunch of you fake queers.

I was born to hate living

Sometimes, that's almost exactly how I feel. Sometimes, I look at myself and the fact that I've become pallid and gaunt in the face that used to be rounded, but gawk at the horror that is my less than miniscule thigh. Some days I look at myself in vanity and interest. It's the same shit, on and off. I'm shit, I'm that shit. The new meds to an extent are helping, but the dimwit doctor has vowed to try and space my appointments closer and closer as if to milk more money from the whole deal. I only saw my previous (shitty, skinny shaming, blaming) psychiatrist who provided me Xanax every few months, why should I open special circumstances for the newbie who openly agreed to put me on addictives?? I mean, as much as I do appreciate them, I've been taking them more sparsely lately to try and spruce myself up, it's not simply done, but I am doing it more on an "as needed" basis like the bottle describes. As supposed as to an everyday crutch. I've been swallowing three to ten pills a day since I was a child, and there's some things medication can't even cure. You think by now that researchers would've invented a solution for all of life's little discrepancies, moreover, a cure for the warped configurations of my brain. Nothing of that nature has even been tested. I suppose it defies humanity and nature. That we're somehow destined to "overcome" our flaws, but some of us are also doomed to certain, eventual death.

It's fucking sick.

And I guess, so am I.

I don't know myself well enough, I don't love, no, I don't know how to love anymore. They've all broken my heart a bit; all the rejections and admissions. Almost sentiently tapping me on my now scarred shoulder, where a healing wound that resembles a cigarette burn is splotchy, uneven redness against ruddy slightly tanned skin. It's not from any person, it's something I let fester and  develop into a cluster of blood vessels, a clumped and disgusting lesion that could only be removed sensibly through precision by a skilled professional with something resembling a box knife, and the flickering red torch of a laser. The dermatologist laughably coined it to be the "chip on my shoulder", the "evil twin".

I was given an anesthetic, didn't feel a thing. Initially. The precursor to pain post surgery, even of such minute urgency, is always numbing. Then comes the actual pain, the itchiness, the desire to scratch, pick, rip the healing wound apart, because it won't stop fucking pestering you. Like a sentient person. Who used to be in your life. Even if the wound isn't there anymore, even if someone isn't there anymore to watch over you, to care, to bring you the affection, joy. My "mole" lesion was unwanted in most ways, but the after effects bear resemblences to a lost person, the lost contemporary to you, the person that you were so helplessly infatuated by who just… faded from your life faster than the blink of an eye without even a goodbye.

I really cared about my asshole "friend", but calling him that would seem unjust. I don't know what he was. I let myself care too much. I felt something there, I just wasted it horribly. Surely, he was flaky, forgetful, imperfect, and flawed, but I was willing to put up with anything, anything, for someone. And now that someone I cared about has been gone for a long damn time, but I can't think of the drifting apart and the general disinterest I started to express for no reason. On a downward spiral, somtimes it's seemingly impossibly to stop your feelings from dictating your actions before they clumsily exhibit themselves before a crowd of astonished and disgusted onlookers. I guess that's the splendor of it all. I let myself get distanced because, as I've previously stated, getting too close to anyone, and showing them your personality, if you can even call my monstrosity that; is a no no in the rules manual for depressive stints it's just. unfortunate that the loser is a tumor on my arm whose stupid face and hair, and smell, I sometimes think about; is any kind of figment in my imagination. Go away, B.

Thursday, October 8, 2015

Asocial Justice: For some, "Healthy" now translates to "Landwhale"

We truly live in a place that has regressed so much. The only thing that has progressed in American terms for most of us Westerners, is our weight. The only thing that has balooned is our waistlines. As America gets fatter and fatter I feel like our humungous asses become the butt (ha ha, bad pun intended), of a thousand jokes elsewhere. And of course,  encouraging this bulging fatness is our lovely friend, Internet Social Justice, and the Fat Acceptance Movement.

The funny thing about the Fat Acceptance "Movement" is that its proponents generally do not move from behind the artificial light of their computers unless absolutely necessary, most of them to grab food, because that appears to be all they do every waking second of the day. Devour food. That is the only fathomable reason I can think of as to why someone would weigh so much. The only explanation. Aside from the obvious not getting exercise explanation, their food intake must be so much that they ballooned to three hundred some pounds.

To the fat acceptance movement, the fat are oppressed. The fat are suddenly a marginalized group that has been targeted for the shape of their body because that is the way they were born if we are using the technical definition of oppression here. Oh, boy.

While some may have a certain leniency towards weighing more later in life, and certain conditions, medications, and other factors may affect weight, no one is born morbidly obese.

Morbid obesity is not thrust upon a poor person, they are not forcefed by a maniac, morbid obesity or even being mildly weight is something that is often self induced, and was once self fulfilled. If you eat ten thousand calories a day and exert even two thousand of them out, the caloric intake is still massive. As someone who eats up around 1000-2500 a day at most and takes out much of it, I cannot fathom eating so much. 10,000 calories? That is well above three fast food meals a day, that is so far well above my normal dietary intake that I can't imagine how painful it must be on the stomach of someone who was of normal weight, or even someone who is slightly overweight. The point is, no one is forcing you to eat such an excessive amount of calories that it has resulted in a 200% weight gain from your original. So first and foremost, fat people are not oppressed, that is the first point i laugh at in the fat acceptance movement.

Fat people are not liked for their appearances, usually. That does not translate to oppression outright. The stereotype of being fat is usually associated with gluttony and slothfulness, both of which a chunk of people find to be repugnant, not everyone finds fat bodies attractive and that is just their set of tastes. There are plenty of fat bitches in the FA movement who do not like fat guys, so their hypocrisy is laughable. But on the flipside there is also a small demographic of fat fetishists who would like nothing more than to fuck fat people. Again, fat people aren't oppressed just because people don't find them attractive, and people do not want them to wear certain, showier styles. It is a matter of the fact that societally fatness is associated with disgusting behavior, lower life expectancy, and health problems, none of which most people want to deal with. That is point number one. People not finding you physically attractive because of your appearance is not discrimination, it is selectivity or preference. Preference is a whole different ballgame, I don't consider myself into some facial features or body types, and it is totally normal as humans to have different preferences facially, bodily, physically, and personality-wise. That does not make me a bigot.

It is true that fat people are additionally looked down upon, because much of the time they do embody the stereotype they claim not to. You see a lot of massive blokes that refuse to take care of themselves dressing as sloppily and as nastily as possible paying little heed to their hygiene. At the point of seemingly no return, which for most is over two thousand pounds, accessibility to cheap things is almost outlawed because no stores want to lose commerce selling 3x or 4x shirts that the majority of the lower overweight population will never buy. There is admittedly a much smaller selection of products for extremely fat people, as the US desperately tries to discourage its citizens from ballooning to worse weights. There are also many lazy fat people, who are held back by their weight and have become soft, accustomed to the lifestyle of laziness. Let's face the facts that very few notably fat people, anyone above the sizes stores tend to carry, 1x or 2x? You do not see those fuckers exerting themselves excessively in public. So, yeah, there is a lot of toxic attitude towards fat people, despite the fact that they now compile a third of american adults, but that still does not equate to oppression.

Fat is not inherent, fat is not usually hereditary, fat is once again, I said it earlier, a result of poor lifestyle choices. Choices. Being fat is, in near all cases, a choice! Your being the size of a whale has given me the impression that you obviously do not care about the way your body looks, and most of you do not.

Health does not equate to being so massive that you spill into the next airplane seat. Health does not equate to inability to fit through doors because the span of your fat is so wide that it cannot fit. Having rolls that tumble down past your legs, and calves the size of some people's thighs and waists, does not constitute health. And don't give me any of that "healthisT" talk. It has been proven that the fatter you are, the more at risk you are for heart conditions, among other things that can lead to an early fucking death. Fatter people, contrary to what the FA movement deludes themselves to believe, do not live longer. Your heart is literally so coated, and your valves so clogged, at 300+ lbs that it is hard to merely mobilize, what do you think is happening to your body? It's telling you to stop gaining, fatty! 

Seriously, I cannot even begin to express my qualms. If anyone has such illusions of grandeur that they believe being 300 lbs at anything under 6 feet, hell, even above, is healthy, then i truly feel the human race is doomed to an early extinction.

Fatness is a disorder, alright. A disorder of the mind. The compulsion to eat food in disgusting quantity is similar to the mindset of an eating disorder patient in some ways, it literally is a lack of impulse control. Now, some people are just gluttons naturally, but to say that there is not some underlying mental action going on here would in most cases be a lie. So in a way I feel terrible for some fat people, because the urge for many has become so uncontrollable that it has escalated to disorder. It needs to be understood that the desire to binge excessively is also an eating disorder, and that it should be treated. Simultaneously I also get incredibly angry whenever I see FA glorifying Tess Holliday and her extreme weight. She was a size sixteen once, and she's supposedly a twenty two now, I highly doubt that she's merely a twenty two, but that progression overtime has clearly showed that she gained. That she was not naturally that fat before. Even at a slightly shorter height, that is still SIX SIXES below. We need to not see fat people as victims nor as idols, we need to see them as people, but we also need to see them as people who obviously have a problem.

There will always be a stigma attached to being fat. Just as there will always be stigma attached to being too thin. There will often be stigma attached to extremes and nobody can control that, for it is just a fact of life. Should people be nicer and respectful, and understand that most fat people are ill? Yes. But should companies accommodate people the size of whales and be inclusionary of them, even in specialized settings? No, that is what things like plus size stores are for. That is why we have massive seating in certain areas, the only exception is airplanes. The world does not exist to accomodate to your comforts, but to be functional for the everyman, and the obese man is not quite the majority yet, but slowly, very very slowly walking there.

Fat is no longer a minority, to claim it to be is idiotic, to claim fat people oppressed, as if they cannot help themselves, as if they cannot help being fat, when most of their damage is self inflicted? I'm so sick of hearing excuses and justifications for obvious refusal and laziness. Stop blaming the whole wide world for your faults, and take responsibility for them. Take charge of them. Or let delusion ruin and rule you, look at how many fucks I give. If you're upward of 300 or 400 lbs you're facing an early demise nonetheless.

Sunday, September 20, 2015


My sister had her second homecoming yesterday. She is a sophomore now, I was unaware she went to homecoming last year. The gathering between her and her many, many friends, aquaintances, and their parents and siblings, happened at a park that was half sinking, wet, ground from the previous day's rainfall, and sharp and pointed rocks that knobbed out and portruded at jaunty angles that made walking on them in heels virtually impossible. But the young people managed. My sister, who has almost outgrown me by this point in time (the painful realization when you realize you're forever stranded in average 5'6-5'8 land while your sibling pushes 5'9), looked leggy and stunning. All the girls dresses were equally stunning.

Can you tell which one is my sister?

Unfortunately, such beautiful scenery and attire is not without me acting like a fucking idiot, as I was the first to spear myself on the sharp, and frankly, hard stones after losing my footing on uneven surfacing. And I squeaked. I withheld the curses I wanted to scream rather loudly as the onlooking guys (the ladies dates, though the girls outnumbered them by a pretty fair ratio, surprised how many girls were without dates, it seems like for a lot of 15-16 year olds, dating someone used to DEFINE you, it's a refreshing change to see less boy craze) - and concerned parents, eyed me all at once while I staggered to my feet with an achy tailbone. Yes, as far as the rocks went, I'd hit a pretty dull one, but the lack of cushioning on my upper ass did not do me favors, and I found myself, even at what could be considered neutral posture and footing, to be hurting. And I still feel the effects of my idiocy, bleeding over into the next day, right now, as I sit in my bed flat and type this. Every. Fuckin'. Time. I move. My ass.

The contusion that it left is ironically very small, a tiny daub of purple above my ass crack compared to the pain that seems to seer whenever I move in the wrong way. It's funny how something bruises so small but impacts painfully enough, not to fully inhibit my movement, but enough to make me think "why did you have to spear your damn flat ass on a rock, Audrey?". This week has seemingly been a series of blunders.

Early in the week everything seemed to be going decently, though I was still recovering from the fact that my flaky friend flaked out on me on a Friday, fucking fuck fuck (note to self: stop trying to make shit alliterative).

like the Virgo he is, he slaved away at collegiate work all night and overslept, and apologized to me with a halfhearted "I disappoint people" excuse.

Yeah, Brandon, like I don't understand that. I've been disappointing people for the last five years of my life, what's good?

I don't even understand why I am still trying with him. Because I am hopelessly addicted to the idea that he's a good person, but he's also a workaholic and that clearly interferes with a. Lot of shit? I should just stop needlessly wandering around the subject here.

Aside from that, what was formerly my grandmother's cat watch broke on Wednesday. One of the fasteners holding the watch strap in place snapped and fell onto my floor. The clutter made it impossible to relocate, so I eventually admitted defeat and set the watch's remaining parts aside. On Friday, after a safe day of no breakage, I hit a double whammy. In the middle of classes, less than 30 minutes prior to end of the week early release, my sandal strap snapped. This wouldn't have been such an issue if the sandals in question weren't two inch platforms. I proceeded to absentmindly exit school shoeless and drive to get food. Of course, I realized that it would be quite hard to get food, at a walk in sandwich restaurant, with no shoes. So I forced myself to do it in broken ones. Which was only moderately annoying. Moderately. When I got home and took my every 30 minute break on the can, my elastic underwear snapped. Apparently my hips were too fat for some shoddily made VS elastic undies. Thanks, Vicky.

Yesterday, the air conditioning in my father's car proceeded to stop working midday. Luckily it wasn't that stinkin' hot out.

Have I become some kind of bad luck magnet or charm? Has Lonely Boy's flakiness put some kind of curse upon me that I can only rid myself of if I can convince him to stop being so lonely? Nooooo one knows! All I know is that shit keeps breakin' when I'm around.

Tuesday, September 15, 2015

More dresses

I have a surprising amount of "casual-formal", if that's even a thing, dresses in my wardrobe, some from thrifting in the last few months while others are older pieces

Up, Up, and Away.

This one was originally sold at Anthropologie retailing for about 128 bucks. I don't know what the thrift price was because my sis bought it for me as a birthday gift, but it's very nice. My main issue with it lies in the fact that it's been stretched out slightly by someone chestier than me, and the fact that I feel I no longer have the ample cleavage to pull it off as well as a curvier woman would.

It's also an XS, which is of course, XS, fits pretty well in everything but the chest, I usually wouldn't call myself an XS…

The other issue with the chest is that it hangs low and my parents complain endlessly about how I'm showing too much tittayyyy. Not like I'm naked, guise. Also, I'm a flat board. Of course in the above pic I adhered to the bitching just to avoid more altercation (goddamn bandeau), but I digress.

The shame in not having DD tits anymore, tho. The shame.

Graduation dress

Technically, I wasn't graduating last year, I was just rooting for everyone who was. And trying to impress the salutatorian. Of course, like my over emotional and sappy self I ended up crying and quickly my hopes turned to ruin. If you haven't guessed it I wore this for Flaky Guy from the Week In Hell post. Eh, I still do care about him. That's the sad thing.

It's a nice dress, and the underlying slip cinches nicely around my boobs and hips, except the way the belted part, or whatever you'd call it is set, where it just makes me look odd and boxy for some reason. I mean, the dress is much more appealing in real life than in photograph, but I personally think in hindsight the cut isn't as well fit to my body type… ugh…

Floral Hell

I like florals, to an extent. They aren't nearly as flirty as dots, but the right color scheme really does do florals justice on me. This one, of course, is not helping me in the chest department, much like the Up and Away dress I think someone chestier could pull it off more effortlessly, but its waistline is better set than the previous dresses'. This was another thrift find. It's a 4; so the waistline is looser than expected, but it fits.

This has to be my favorite and most worn of the bunch, though to be fair it is also the oldest as well. I loooove love looooove this dress with all my vintage polka dot heart. It's showy without being overbearingly slutty, it's flirty without being classless or what people would deem as "trashy", it reaches just high enough to show leg without showing too much. The ruffles create the illusion of larger breasts, so I need not worry about looking flat, and a smaller waistline! It's so fuckin' perfect!

Not to mention I also have a cardigan with an inverted color scheme, also dotted, that corresponds well with this.

Lastly, and the newest addition

My buddy received this dress by proxy through her pastor, who I'm guessing is female, if females can be as such, and if not, then he's probably a close family friend with daughters? I don't know the story behind it, obviously, so I too received it by proxy from my friend, SEREEEEENAAAAAHHH (that's the way you pronounce her name in ~dramatic~ Spanish), being one of her friends and also probably the only size 2 among them, though I was skeptic at first that I'd fit in it at all.

After seeing the brand name though, I was determined to do what I could with it. Goddamn Anna. Fuckin'. Sui. Checked the tag and shit's made of real silk too. These things usually retail for two to six hundered bucks, maybe less considering it's a strappy dress and considerably old by now (I've tried asking around reddit and yahoo and skimming Sui's collections from the past, as well as using the product number? But to no avail, sadly, I wanted to know the original name and original price, dammit), but still, expensive designer dress, yeah?

Fortunately it fit like a charm, snugly around my chest without choking me, and loosely fanning out around my legs like it should. Perfect. I swear to god I am now forever in Sereeeena's debt for this dress. I ain't even kiddin'. I am so happy and so grateful for some reason.


When I was fifteen, I was a fat trainwreck. Albeit a big tittied fat trainwreck (booooooobs, where art thou now?), but after examining an unfortunate photo of my body from 2011-2012? ish, I can honestly say that my weight loss is more noticeable than I imagined. Still not even close to how thin I want to be, but a significant improvement over the pudgebucket in the floral bikini.

Twenty pounds, hope you stay gone.

Thursday, September 10, 2015

Overdress, underdressed

I censored my own face here because I look fuckin wretched

Sunday, September 6, 2015

SNSD - "Lion Heart" MV

I'm long overdue for this, mainly because I've spent the last week griping about how terrible things are for me, so it's time for a refresher break. Time to review My Daughters' second, or first, whatever it's considered, title track, Lion Heart.

Where do I begin with the MV? Well, the styling is on point, the girls almost all look impeccable, minus Sunny to an extent, whose stylist dun fucked up worse than PARTY this time 'round. The blonde, at least, is offputting. The red is okay.

Where do I begin with "Lion Heart"? Well, it's certainly no PARTY, it's not a typical summer fare, nor is it exactly an edgy romp in the vein of "You Think". It hearkens back to Dancing Queen, which I know there is a certain divide of opinions on, some enjoyed the "Mercy" remake, and others abhorred it. Since I personally liked it, I liked "Lion Heart".

Lion Heart is certainly far from SNSD's strongest title track, but it certainly is up there with their stronger songs post-Jessica. It's not as messy as CMIYC, it's not a snorefest like PARTY, but it's a light and relatively safe vintage romp, it's not perfect, it's far from, but it is a pretty decent tune overall, it doesn't quite pique my interest like You Think did from the first listen, but the girls as usual bring their flair to the affair with their vocal styles, I've always liked the way that SNSD has harmonized, so shockingly not, I enjoy it here.

The video is a bit of a confusing venture,  or rather, it's intending to tell a story, but really goes nowhere, it's not exactly a "cohesive" story even though it's supposed to be plot-driven, and while the styling and outfits are impeccable this era (thank you, based SM!), I can't help wonder, what the fuck is with the Furry pandering ass Lion shit. I get that the lion is supposed to be representing the shit boyfriend being sung about, and that "Lion Heart" is a play on words for "Lying Heart" (or "Lyin' Heart" if you want to pronounce it correctly), but really? Dude be lookin' like he just strutted out from a furry convention.

Someone on AKP actually alleged that the dude in the fursuit was Shindong voluntarily assuming the role for Free Pizza. More details at 11.

So now S&M SM Entertainment has ventured into Furry Territory, there is a fear that they may never find their way back. Yall motherfuckers need Jesus.


In all seriousness, who the fuck is such a stupid fucking fuck who thinks he won't be caught cheatin' on 8 bitches. Dude traipsing around like he ain't gonna get caught. I get that it's supposed to be for comedic effect, but meh, it's kind of a flat attempt. My favorite part of the video is basically when the girls start shitting on him. Actually, my favorite part is when Furry Fuck is implied murdered by Hyoyeon.

The real value of the video shines in its aesthetic and fashion value, honestly. Most of the girls look marvelous, primarily Taeyeon, who has been looking adorable this era. Reiterating what I said in my You Think post, her stylist deserves all the accolades. Bitch couldn't look ugly if she tried. Even Hyo this era is looking relatively good. The fashion of the video reflects the retro style of the song, and the scenery accompanying it, very well, from the vibrant patterns and colors featured during the early dance sequences, to the demure and light florals featured later on, the fashion is very fitting to the era they're trying to emulate, and I looooove it. That combined with the styling and the scenery (the backgrounds, yay, SM, you ventured outside the dance in a box!). Of course, all the outfits within the video are allegedly designer (though given SNSD's checkered fashion past, they may be "homages" or plagiarized versions of the designer garments, which I personally don't care about, whether or not they are or aren't is not my concern, but whether they're cute or not to me is) so they're out of normal budget range for anyone, unless your grandmama or mama can be like one of SNSD's stylists and replicate that shit completely (I call it "illegally downloading a dress").

The only member, as I mentioned beforehand, whose hair was even the slightest bit problematic was Sunny's, but I think I'll adjust to it eventually. I liked long hair PARTY Sunny better, bish should've kept that long red weave.

Aside from that, there were also a few scenes where the circle lenses were gazing deeply into the crevices of my soul, but that's alright. It's not exactly RV's Ice Cream Cake level soullessness.

Overall I'd say for SNSD, especially post-Jessica, Lion Heart is a solid effort. Visually, Lion Heart is the stronger video in terms of styling and fashion, even if You Think remains the fiercer and more memorable tune. Minus the odd attempt at a plot and the furry madness, Lion Heart is a pretty solid music video production, and the song itself, while nothing particurally *special*, is enough. Is is SNSD's best comeback effort? No. Is it missing something? Yes, in a sense, a very notable component is missing from the group, that a lot of people find difficulty adjusting to. Jessica's departure has weakened SNSD in a sense indefinitely, even if they have come out with decent songs thereafter, most are used to OT9, thinking that SNSD would always be 9. the absence of her vocals and presence is a weird thing indeed. With SNSD being a notable girlgroup with what was once a solid, cohesive lineup, many have taken Jessica's departure as a detriment to SNSD, and to an extent, it has been.

Unfortunately, the Lion Heart album and title songs are flopping on certain charts, compared to their past releases, proving that even the top singers in K-pop can eventually be dethroned by their "adoring" public. I think the girls can still go strong, despite recent controversy. They are not in their "Gee" days anymore, it is no longer their viral hayday, but they still have the capability to perform. And their stages for this era have been good. Bitches can suck my ass. I like this era quite a bit, lol.

Ok, now it's Time for Taeyeon!

Saturday, August 29, 2015

This Week in Hell: Addendum

I just found out my cat is very emaciated and on the verge of dying. More DEATH. GREAT.

This Week, in Hell:

My week has been both simultaneously uneventful and eventful. *deep sigh*

Letting the summary of hell commence…

1. School begins again. I'm a nineteen year old retard who went to a place that didn't give me work and let me run rampant. I fucked up and spent two years fucking around. It has been my most regretful "choice", or arguably, series of choices in life. So I'm stuck in high school for another year, and if I don't graduate, I'm snatching that GED. I'm not the only nineteen year old crammed into this hell, obviously, I'm just the most immature, retarded one who won't be able to mentally handle one more year of juvenile bull.

2. The saving grace of high school is this year, I'm friends with a group of girls who are not exactly juvenile, they're fun loving but not necessarily childish. So I start off the year on a better social note than the last.

3. Unfortunately, the closest thing I had to a "boyfriend" at one time is going to college.

 he'll get nabbed by some stupid sophomore or fellow freshman slut who is a looooot more experienced than I am. That makes me very angry because above all I know it's probable and very likely to happen unless he's one of those straight arrows who wants to deal wit me and my PsychoBitchAss, because I'm some pure little angel who somehow trumps the hot, beautiful, college girls throwing themselves at him.

The truth is that I'm very sexually and physically frustrated and I just want to make out with him to loud rock music.

Unfortunately he's dealt with his share this summer and I'm pretty sure that is brought him to an emotional low. And I think he just doesn't wanna show his emotions to anyone right now.

Guys don't like to show their emotions to women because of the vulnerability factor and the asshole mindset some have that additionaly deters them from doing so (that "men who show their emotions are weak", fuck off, all of you). I didn't even know what to say when I found out the kind of shit he was dealing with and it took me forever to respond because I'm a fuckin asshole who's dealing with my mental issues, so I guess that makes me a shit "friend".

He responded to me earlier this week before going on an ignore spree. I think he's goddamn mad and honestly, he has a right to be. I feel a bit dead at this. No, I feel angry. Mainly at myself. I lipsynced and thrust myself around the apartment trippng over shit while dancing in the most awkward and painfully sad way. Like I'm just done with myself.

Men are hard to read. I'm probably wrong. I have a feeling this whatever this is, its screwed. I can try buying concert tix and he'll probably still say no. I can do whatever and I'll still end up right where I am currently. That's what I feel.

But I care about this hopeless cause and hopeless case that's about to hang itself by a fucking noose. I care way too much. You don't just stop caring overnight about someone. You just don't. Men can get over shit easier than I can. They always do. Most people do. I toss myself into a deep ravine and expect to come out uninjured, every time. It's bullshit. I dedicate myself so much to people thinking it's going to last. Does it ever? Rarely. And you know what sucks? This is the first time in a long time I've felt like this and it's just gonna end in the same shit way because it took me five plus months to come out of the closet about caring.

My school didn't have a prom last year. Or a dance. Or a homecoming. We had shit funding and no takers. I wish there was a way I could've. Then maybe I wouldn't have spent months pondering. Perhaps there would've been something that ignited some excitement in me, that urged me to confess. My love for the whimsical, dumb shit known as prom, if you go with the right person, knows no bounds.

I tried on a prom dress at the end of last year when the event was long past. It was a long flowing frock, a beautiful perwinkle color. Whenever I look at the picture in question I want to cry. I wanted even one night that wasn't graduation. I didn't get jack. But I did this to myself. This is all me. Hell. Hell. Hell!!!!!

4. General mood hell. Kind of mentioned above. I'm in my own mental funk. I stopped taking my proper prescriptions or started halving them to avoid having to eat more again, to avoid heightened appetite, which is basically regressing back to myself in 2013-2014, it's a very poor decision and yet, I dont feel myself regretting it physically. What's really affecting me is lack of sleep. I'm super moody and lackadaisical mainly because of the fact that I've been averaging four hours or less per night. 

The only day I got more than five hours under my belt was Thursday/Friday, when I was out cold by eight, and woke up at five thirty the next morning, feeling the giddiest I'd felt in what felt like a month, having finally obtained a fair amount of rest in comparison to my dismal track record. I was so fucking happy. I sent my "friend" a selfie, shockingly got no reply, I went through school literally vibrating with excitement and glee, got out early and drove with one of my new friends (who seems sweet, but I have my hesitance) like a madman to the mall.

The rapture of course didn't totally last. Once she was out of the car, I began to feel tears bubbling up for no particular reason other then the fact that I was once again by myself. Alone. And then my brain sneered at me that that would always be the case. That poor poor pitiful audrey will mostly be alone. Thanks, brain. And I cranked up the radio to drown out those sounds, I pretty much tried to bust my eardrums so I couldn't hear my own godawful sniveling noises. I engulfed myself in sound just to numb it all away. It was exasperating how it took me so long to keep up the happiness before my feelings collapsed on top of me like a damn skyscraper.

It never fully gets better does it?

Always feeling like people are using you, out to get you, to hurt you, to pity you and toss you out. It's the same bullshit paranoia and I don't know, just when it seemed like it was diminishing it came back with hellish resurgence.

Nobody in my life is helping me. They're all too caught up in their own hell. I've been through six out of seven fucking circles of it in the last twelve years. 

I wish I could especially tell the dude who I'm trying to communicate with, that very fact. Like, "look, man, my mother hurt me and mentally scarred me, I live with all these inherent mental issues and people used to bully me to attempted suicide, among other things, but I'm still here!!! You don't have to live through your hell alone!!! You don't!!!"

If I don't change my anti anxiety medication my meds won't be able to fully help me anymore either. The buspar has lost its charm and I've rendered it near useless at this point. Doesn't work like it used to. Doesn't provide me the proper energy. Doesn't fuckin' work effectively anymore. And they won't give me Xanax even though I've had small dosages before for panic attacks / bad days on my record and have NEVER shown signs of being addicted to it. There has to be something stronger. Upping my SSRIs makes me fat AND doesn't work.

5. Whilst shopping with my friend I bought a couple shirts. Pretty pedestrian and mundane hot topic shit because I love men's shirts, band shirts, snark shirts, and pop culture shirts. The last TPR shirt they had in stock was an XL, so I went for a Doors shirt (one of the many band shirts I didn't own til yesterday; and there's still more to collect! I want that Who t-shirt, ya hear?), and a Sam shirt (from SPN, because Jared is a big puppy who makes me feel better, albeit temporarily). Then a skirt from that Charlotte Whatever store, which WAS selling ONE, ONE of those button up denim skirt styles I've been looking for (unfortunately not in the preferred color, but that can be slightly forgiven) and unfortunately not in a fitting size, they had sizes 6-12 without a 0-4 in sight… I ended up buying the aforementioned ten dollar black maxi skirt from the clearance section that looks like something Fiona Goode would approve of. And that was that. I seemed fun on the outside but on the inside there was a slight pained tingle.
Maybe it was just thinking too much about it all at once.

I spilled some to my friend but I thought unloading all the contents of my head onto her, especially as someone rather new to me, would not exactly be optimal. Even so, by the end of that day, I felt like I was choking, I got home and began lipsyncing to furious rock music.

6. For schoolwork itself, it's disgusting, atrocious, and just plain annoying. One of my half credits last year was displaced and even though I did a half semester of English, it's not appearing in the system, so I have to redo. Government is an actual threatening, ugly, in your face BEAR, and the only person who I WANT to help me with it is in some kind of despair or busy busy about to start college hell, both I guess. My teacher also refuses to tell me when the FUCK we're gonna get chemistry books, I NEED to finish the last half of it, but no one seems to understand that enough to hurry the fuck UP about getting said books!!!! In other words, it's a pretty damn disjointed mess.

Sunday, August 23, 2015

Japanese Fashion Magazines: The Bad and the Ugly

For the second part of my Japanese magajiin feature, we're going to focus on the cons, or the relatively bad parts of Japanese fashion magazines, this will mainly rely on vanity related things and the fact that the magazines dedicate, and designate, entire 20+ page sections to "beautify yourself by practicing our diets, and you too can look like our models" crap.

 The Bad

Japan is known for its absurd standards of beauty. Asia in general is known for being slimmer than the rest of the Fat World by a landslide with obesity percentiles affecting about 5% of the population. Japan is a very appearance conscious society, and that is reflected in the fact that:

The models are extremely skinny.

If you ever thought yourself a skinny white girl, in a land of American landwhales, prepare to have your confidence squandered by the girls in Japanese fashion magazines. 

So you think 25 inches is the slim size for a waist, how about 24? Or 23? Or 21, even? Good, because that's the Japanese model "norm". 25 is now fat. Get the fuck out, fatty!

Now, understand this. Japan is a "smaller" society. 

so there's no saying, that if you moved there yourself, as a westerner - and exercised as much as they did merely through foot transport- you would not lose weight yourself. But also don't go prancing around the fact that the girls are absurdly skinny. Don't go skirting around it, understand it's fashion standard, but don't go prancing around it. 

In particular I think the most exemplary girl in J-fashion magazines to use for the "absurdly fucking skinny" example is Kawakita Mayuko, whose legs look like fucking this.

 Let's check her measurements.


Women can be that naturally skinny in only rare cases, but it makes them look quite sickly to those around them, Japanese girls are smaller, but not usually that small. And that's even putting into question that these statistics are true, considering she's probably shorter than that and even slimmer. I've seen ridiculous fucking 39 kilogram weights put for 155 cm models, and sighed, because ohgod that's unhealthy too, but 162? Bro, this is just too much.

my sister was near exact height and weight that Mayuko is, but as a thirteen year old girl. Thirteen. THIRTEEN!

She is now 5'7" and weighs more than I do, and I'm 110 lbs! 84 lbs? That is the size of a child! A child!!! A child! Even if you are short, that is still very small.

Mayuko is the model I look at and I kind of have to suppress the urge NOT to stare at the twigs that are her legs. Mayuko is the kind of girl who gets my visceral urge to start downing laxatives again going. Mayuko is just a bad, bad, bad, bad bad example, and even in the fashion industry I think using her is a bit far fetched. And they still photoshop the FUCK out of her.

She's merely the worst example Vivi and other magazines provide to young and influential, stupid girls, who think that they can just get by on a cracker a day tryin' to look like that. Just because they have pretty faces doesn't mean they're not hurting their bodies as models, girls, the one thing models won't ever admit until their career is over is that they hurt themselves modeling, that they suffered from eating disorders, etc. Some models are naturally thin, but many more struggle by with miniscule portions and excessive exercise just to satisfy their photographers, editors, and agencies by the end of the day. It's not a glamorous job.

Point more taken, it's not something to aspire to be.

But when a young Japanese girl sees attractive clothing ON a very small model, what do you think they think?

Well, it looks good on her, but will it flatter me? 

And as she keeps flipping...
Oh, they're all really skinny....
How many pounds do I need to lose....
I look so fat....

A diet section??!!!!

That's right, ladies and gentleman, in a land where there's already an extreme expectation for slimness, in a magazine that's supposed to bolster the self esteem of girls by making them want really cute clothes, there is a DIET SECTION. Popteen, in fact, the main gyaru magazine, released a full DIET BOOK. Japan's eating disorders are on the rise, and yet, here we are, still expecting these young, probably already skinny Japanese girls to get down to 40 fuckin kilos to satisfy the ever growing trend of making clothing smaller. 50 isn't FAT, 50 isn't even remotely fat, I weigh 50 and I think that's lucky considering how much SHIT I down per day in soda calories. And even on a shorter girl, they can carry 50 just fine, so why is THIS a thing?

The model in question in Popteen's "diet book" inset, is Kumicky. Kumicky weighed an absurdly small 43 kilograms already, she looked actually pretty good at that weight, small, but with some extra pounds on her teeny frame, she was nowhere NEAR fat. The diet book says she went down to 38.....
of course, it gets worse when she's depicted in a teeny bikini.

 An already skinny girl like Kumicky didn't need that weight loss, and neither do most Japanese girls. Most Japanese girls are pretty damn small compared to westerners that I've seen, but I can't believe the magazine even stresses absurdity such as this, that you'll somehow make a mark on the world by being 83 lbs, as if it's a desirable weight that won't affect your health whatsoever and you'll feel better or some shit. That is eating disorder influencing talk, right there. It's gross. Just plain gross. Stop that. STOPTHAT!

I wouldn't be so irked by this if it weren't lying out in front of me in black and white, on the pages, even in Japanese. I wouldn't be so irked if it didn't span as many pages as it did. The sheer dedication to vanity, and feeding girls' minds unhealthy thoughts, unhealthy thoughts that they are likely to follow as young girls, is just plain terrible.

 As fashion styles keep getting smaller and smaller and Japan's deniability grows that they do have a problem with unobtainable fuckin' beauty standards, more girls fall pray to the ideology they praise that diet pills, quickie starvation, massive calorie reduction, and even starvation, are the way to go, and though they don't suggest this outright, it's subtly crept in there. It's subtle in the way that they basically know how to worm their way into a female subconscious, the writers, to try and get people to buy their clothes, but no, they can't be fat or ugly, so they decide to place diet sections in the middle of the mag to encourage the readers to drop enough weight that they resemble the models in question. 

And it's just not fucking healthy, I say this especially for 13 year olds reading the magazines, to be telling a girl that her vanity is her biggest prize, even in an appearance conscious society, that's pretty fuckin' warped. Guess what? The models are gorgeous, and if you're not a model, that's ok! If you're over 50 kg, good for you, you don't have to weigh 40! You never see that in these magazines. All you see is diet diet diet, clothes clothes clothes, boys boys boys, and it's all stressed 10x worse than the american adaptions of these types of mags. I had my time on diet pills and starvation, I for one now know that I can't ever obtain Japanese model ideal unless I basically kill myself, but the lot of girls reading these in Japan don't.  

I was admittedly raised by a narcissit, she didn't always tell me outright that she found me to be sloppy, ugly, or unkempt looking, or fat, but I could see it in her eyes. My mother shitted on me from the time I was a child for not taking care of my looks according to her narcissistic standards and I grew into a very insecure, sick teenager because of that. I think while young girls should read magazines freely as they please, they shouldn't take them to heart, and they certainly shouldn't go overboard. Even if their parents beg them to go on a diet, they shouldn't follow others whims just to meet Japan's ridiculous societal standard of beauty. If they choose to lose weight, they should do it for themselves on their own fuckin' accord. And these magazines aren't helping what with their "our model was underweight and now she looks like a concentration camp victim!" crap.

Fuck the 60 cm waist ideal, young Japanese ladies, eat as much ice cream as you fucking want, and flaunt the fashion shown on the pages of those fashion magazines as you are.

We can't all be Sasaki.

Not that I'd want to be.

 Nor can we be Mayuko.

Japanese Fashion Magazines: The Good (Long, image heavy)

In my short time reading and looking at Japanese fashion magazines as an admitted n00b (to the full "experience", looking at particular spreads on Tumblr doesn't count), considering my favoritism towards Asian fashion, Japanese in particular (because let's face it, Glorious Nihongo (hahahahahahahahahha i can't believe i just typed that) has better taste than us Filthy Westerners, I have learned a few things. 

Staring at a few issues of Vivi, Popteen, and Non-no don't grant me some diploma or even full expertise, but as a nugu, I have made many observations, that i have camped into pros and cons for conveniences' sake.


The Good

Japanese fashion is cute.

Though it obviously contains some western staples, still capitalizing on things like crop tops, it does so differently and BETTER than the western fashion magazines do. The majority of the styling in the spreads, is done in a very flattering, cute way, and though there is definitely no guarantee that I wouldn't look like a landwhale in what Japanese girls wear, I want their outfits... soo oooo bad.

the polka dot top is very cute, does it come in a size that doesn't show midriff? 

cutesy girly dresses, if only I had a date to wear them to.
*begins crying about how men don't find my 12 year old looking face attractive*

i have a top like that, actually. kind of.

In addition to that, they also outfit them in the cutest little skirts, most of which I have only been able to find at American Apparel online (for absurd prices too, unlike the one I own, because it's not the factory outlet site, boo fuckin' hoo), like the white skirt I wore here, and an array of other styles that I haven't been able to find in any of the stores that I shop at. 

where art thou, denim miniskirt? where art thou????? besides american fucking apparel where you cost over thirty bucks?

Then again, I'm maybe just looking in the wrong place, but it doesn't seem like anyone sells denim, high waisted skirts anymore.... or denim skirts at all. It's probably the wrong season to be asking why retailers aren't carrying them, since everyone is focused on winter season clothing, even though here, it's the last thing we need.

Context, Texas weather fluctuates between mildly warm and lobster broiling, "I want to die because it's one hundred degrees out", hot. 

Every other year or so, we will get snow during the winter, but more often we get ice, and all the schools close promptly to avoid the consequences of dealing with paternal backlash, as nobody here knows how to fuckin' drive on ice without skidding and colliding with something.

So in other words, when I see bitches in the mall sellin' parkas...


In comparison to American magazines, JP fashion magazines rely a HELL of a lot more on muted colors or pastels, which is a breath of fresh air over the ugly ass neon I see in west fashion spreads. They don't have excess vibrancy, they don't look like they could be seen from a thousand feet away, the coloring is very subtly done without being one hundred percent SHOVED IN YOUR FACE. Let me put it this way, while Japanese fashion is some guy screaming at the top of his lungs - "LOOK AT ME EVERYBODY, COME LOOK AT ME, NEON NEON NEON", JP fashion coloring is a very subtle, slow, come hither look, it gets your attention but it doesn't overwhelm. When they do use more vibrant clothes, they at least make sure they correspond well with the other articles.

Here's an example of them using base colors.

I don't know what the fuck is with whoever did the hats here, but I like the clothes, looks like AHS Coven vomited all over them. Fiona Goode, you put it best.

 The left reminds me of my old school uniform back when I was enrolled in private school. They were actually kind of cute in hindsight. Actually, what sucks is that the uniform skirts got even cuter during high school, but I left long before. The issue was, they weren't made of light and airy material like this, they were fucking "sweltering woolish type shit, heats up to a thousand degrees in the blazing Texas sun". That I do not miss.

Hafu Models

Hafu, translated as literally, half, is a word used to describe someone who is half Japanese and half another ethnicity. 

In hafu couplings the father more often is the foreign parent while the mother is the Japanese parent, lots of hafu children were born with United States or other countries' military personnel for fathers, and a naturalized Japanese mother. Apparently JP woman crave the 'murican dick, probably because even small 'murican dick is a vast improvement over the teeny azn d.

The Japanese are very testy about the one / two base/s left in Japan because they don't want Filthy Westerners imposing on their land. 

moreover, the lot of older Japanese are just plain xenophobic / racist, living in a primarily homogeneous society like Japan, that tends to happen. Anyway...

Hafus have become more prevalent in the Japanese entertainment industry in Japan, you see hafu singers in Japan, actors, actresses, but more often than the former, you see hafu models. Hafu are kind of a fetish in Japan. Despite the older gen's griping, the younger gen tends to LOVE them.

They combine the prized and sought after white western features Japan tried so hard to emulate with their giant circle lens, porcelain pale skin, knobby little bodies, and the dark and beautiful Asian features together, creating what many younger Japanese find to be super kawaiiiiiieh. Vivi in particular has a variety of hafu models, such as:

Rola is actually only a quarter Japanese, her mother is a hafu (Russian and Japanese), while her father is of Bangladeshi descent, but the lot still qualify her under the hafu umbrella. She has graced many a Vivi cover. 

Rola is not considered a full fledged "exclusive model" for Vivi, but she frequents the cover and the contents inside. She speaks Japanese, English, and Bengali. 

In addition to being multilingual, Rola also worked as a tarento. Worked, past tense.

Like the haul of hafu tarentos, she was cast out to the same realm as Becky because she got 2old4thenihongodes.

Hafu tarentos can be seen as either a lasting novelty or a one trick pony, but all lasting novelties eventually become one trick ponies as they age past their prime and into what as well might be obscurity, if their "talent" starts to become boring and doesn't keep them afloat.
Oh, Becky.

I particularly like Rola's features a little over the other girls, though Fuji Lena almost beats her, because the others are pale as hell, but Rola actually has some color to her skin, despite the fact that they try to whitewash the hell out of it. Her eyes also have a very pretty tint to them, almost greenish, not sure whether that's the circle lenses or not. Being only a quarter, she is significantly more "exotic" than her fellow models.

Tamashiro Tina
Tina is one of the youngest Vivi models, at only seventeen years old, and has a very distinctive look to her.
Despite the fact that she's still got that glassy eyed, not-quite-human doll-eyed look to her that many JP models do, there's something about her that's just so damn adorable!
She doesn't smile a lot, but she still exudes some sort of weird cuteness. Her mother is Japanese, while her father is an American. She's got a good balance of both Western and Asian features, and she rocks a bob.

Maggy (formerly Natsuki Margaret)
Maggy is another hafu, and like Rola, multilingual, speaking Japanese and English. 

Her father, Ian Gibb, is a Scotsman from Canada, while her mother is Japanese. 

Maggy is, in my humble opinion, the most "white looking" model of the hafu bunch, she can't escape those thick brows and reddish hair, but that really doesn't discount any of her adorableness compared to the rest.

In fact, her eyebrow game's top notch. She has a way of looking far more European than the rest of her cohorts, but not overly European, if that makes sense. Despite looking quite Caucasian, she still has a tinge of Asian features about her, but they're nowhere near as "balanced" as Tina's.

Emma, stylized as emma, is another one of ViVi's hafu models. Her father is British, and her mother is Japanese.

Emma is actually older than youngest model by over three years, but has the appearance of someone much younger. Not to say she's not adorable, but like Tina, i feel a bit creepy looking at them both, and that's coming from someone who looks twelve. Like, "excuse me, who let you out of middle school to wear those crop tops, go back and change, young lady!"

She also has a good balance of Caucasian and Asian features, similarly to Tina.

4. The styling; the makeup, the hair, and the presentation of the clothes

The way the scenes are photographed for JP fashion mags are done very nicely, despite the copious photoshopping that clearly plagues the pages. There's a lot of alterations between outdoor and indoor setting, which makes for some nice scenery changes.

Each model has their own sort of niche, you never really see Tina or emma smile, and if they do show expression, it's usually in the form of a pout or a tongue sticking, Trindl always seems to be more peppy looking than the others, Kawakita's job is basically looking like she's about to snap in half, blah blah blah blaaaaaaaaah. The other models are a bit meh, not as good looking as the hafus, perhaps save for Miyagi and Kawakita.

Overall, though, Japanese fashion magazines tend to do a better job with layouts, design, and presentation compared to their American sisters. They present their fashion in a way that won't get girls banned from class, usually, without showing excess midriff, they present themselves very nicely, in a way that isn't going to get a girl designated or deemed a slut or whore, and Japanese fashion is a definite breath of fresh air from the weird crazes like harem pants sweeping America. If only I could find some that would fit.


The "good" parts of Japanese fashion magazines may vary from person to person, many find their issues with the styles featured based on personal preference, I alternate between dressing like a slob and dressing like a pseudo cutesy girly girl, while simultaneously trying to accommodate the fact that shirts are never long enough for my giraffe torso, but I'm quite pleased with the cute styles featured therein. The photography gets the job done, and the layout is decent as well, it's not perfect, 100%, but I still think the editing is better than the American fashion magazines'. Now, onto the bad.