As if being woken up early by the burglar alarm in my house, getting stuck in stupid traffic on the way to the city, arguing with the lady in the Admissions office, being made fun of by the lady at Daytona, and having to run errands on very little sleep in the cold and disgusting slush wasn’t enough, the fire alarm in the dorm went off just as I was about to finally start my work. Now I’m cold, tired (living on the 11th floor = not fun), and my creative flow has been disrupted.
[I could have sworn that I had posted a previous rant on here detailing my grievances with Mood Fabrics, but I can’t find it. Maybe I’m hallucinating. (Or am I just fat?)] So, I’ll start off with a quick recap- I get an anxiety attack every time I have to go to Mood, because no one is willing to help me. If I need swatches, even if it’s just one or two, the salespeople will tell me they’re too busy with paying customers and can’t help me right now. It’s gotten so bad that last time I went in there, actually looking to BUY something, I couldn’t get anyone to help me, because as soon as they saw my student ID, they assumed I just wanted swatches. I spent about 45 minutes looking for what I needed on my own, but couldn’t find it. Every time I asked a salesperson where I could find it, they would either tell me to ask someone else, or point me in some general direction, which varied from person to person. I got so frustrated that I left emptyhanded and took my business elsewhere. However, as soon as I went in with my list written on Betsey Johnson stationary, they all rushed over to help me, gave me a very detailed swatch card with colorchips and prices, and were extremely nice and helpful.
However, today’s rant is dedicated to Daytona Trimmings. I was looking for “organza rattail cord”, which I had never heard of, but since that’s how it was written on the supply list, I figured I’d go see if they had it. Upon asking the saleslady if they had any, she immediately laughed in my face and told me that didn’t exist, and that all rattail was satin. I told her that I’d never heard of it either but that’s how it was written on the supply list. She then asked to see my supply list, and I told her I didn’t have it with me, since there were only 3 things on the list and I already had 2 of them. She rolled her eyes and said there’s no way that the supply list said that, and I wasn’t going to make it very far in this industry if I continued to forget to bring my lists with me. For the record, this is a screencap from the email sent by the professor-
She then asked me if I was a first semester student, and when I told her that I was 6th, she laughed in my face again, said there was no way I could have gotten that far, and mockingly asked if I was planning on graduating. She even went so far as to get other customers involved so they could laugh at my “ignorance” as well.
It’s never ok for anyone to be rude for no reason, but especially not salespeople in stores like these. They have no idea which confused student that they mock or ignore could grow up to be an extremely successful designer who will no doubt be needing lots of fabrics and trims, and will not want to do business with places that hindered them when they were first starting out.
tl;dr- Congratulations Daytona, you have just lost another customer. From now on I’ll be taking my business to the much friendlier and more helpful trim store a few doors down.
I almost never remember my dreams, but when I do, they're incredibly bizarre.
Last night I dreamed that I was heading out to do some supply shopping and I ran into Johnny Weir. He said he was living around the corner from my dorm because he was going to FIT. (which I heard rumors was actually happening, but no idea if it was ever confirmed) He then complemented me on the corset I was wearing (because clearly that’s what everyone wears to run errands), and asked if he could try it on. We then had a discussion about tightlacing, and then he invited me to come hang out with his friends. Then, he and I, plus a bunch of random fabulous people, were sitting crammed in this tiny elevator eating chinese food, and the elevator was glass and on the outside of the building so we could see the city, and the elevator just kept going up and up….
….and then I was rudely awakened by my house’s burglar alarm going off because the phone lines randomly went dead.
Sexism in 2011 is a different, more subtle beast, which shows itself in insidious ways: it is there when a man shouts out a sexualised comment as you pass in the street; it is there when your male colleague makes a joke about it being your time of the month; and it is there when you are called a slag, a bitch, a whore or told you are not as good at map-reading or driving or any of those other quintessentially “male” skills you are deemed too dim to master.
And, as Boycott points out, if a woman objects to any of this – even if it makes her feel uncomfortable – she is somehow seen as po-faced or not a good sport.
I hate that I can't do anything over-the-top anymore without someone telling me I'm trying to be Lady Gaga. I was doing this before anyone knew who she was, and I'm not going to stop just because she's popular.
I hear so much on the news, read so much in the paper and online, about how “our” little children (i’m sorry, i’ve heard it takes a village to raise a child, but—please!—-someone else’s children are nothing to do with me, a young, free and single twentysomething. I reserve a special hatred for the collective guilt-mongering thrust of that rhetoric) are being exposed to so much SEX AND VIOLENCE and it’s RUINING THEM. Particularly so for “our” little girls. Scarcely does a day pass without someone somewhere commenting on how one or more of the following is actively harming the minds and/or bodies of today’s children:
The Gay Agenda
But what it boils down to, what it always boils down to, is sex. A few weeks ago i blogged about a post over at BoingBoing, entitled “Pedocouture”, in which the editors of French Vogue were decried as monsters for featuring a shoot in which little girls were wearing haute couture dresses and too-big-for-them-shoes. BoingBoing called the children “sex vixens” and said it was “messed up”, “wrong” and “totally wrong”. Of course, the only thing wrong about it—you can see pictures of the fully clothed, non-provocative, utterly non-sexual children here—was BoingBoing calling six years olds “sex vixens”. And perhaps the exploitation of children, but that would be the same if the kids were photographed for Vogue or for a toy catalogue—though i would imagine they would be better paid for this shoot than for a Toys R Us shoot.
You know what sexualises kids? No, it’s not high heels, or short skirts, or makeup. No, it’s not two-piece swimsuits (or, gasp, a six year old going topless on the beach!) or the Pussycat Dolls. It’s us. It’s society.
I’m going to refer here to the children i saw in Channel Four’s documentary series, Big Fat Gypsy Weddings—which i highly recommend (available on 4od and YouTube). These little girls, some aged eight or younger, dress in short skirts and high heels and they act and dance it what i would say is a much more gregarious manner than most primary school-aged little girls in the UK. The interesting thing, though, is that these girls also adhere much more closely to the “traditional” “family values” that assholes in The Daily Mail, or wherever, harp on about, than do more “demure” children who aren’t so “sexualised”. Travellers, unlike most people today, do not have sex or live together before marriage.
(The super-shitty bit is that The Daily Mail and other “news”papers don’t take every opportunity they can to sully my culture, despite the fact that i and all my friends have had sex before marriage and plenty have had babies outside of marriage, too. But antiziganism persists.)
These girls dress in short skirts and heels and wear makeup and dance “provocatively”, yet their moral code has not gone to ruin. So it simply can’t be that fashion makes children into “sex vixens”.
God, it doesn’t even make sense—HOW can a child be sex vixen? When i look at a child, i see a child. Regardless of costume. Dressed like Mary Poppins or dressed like Britney Spears, a kid is a kid! If you see something sexual, the problem is with you.
[updated editor’s note, 2012-this was written before I was really educated on this subject and didn’t really have any idea what I was talking about or how to describe/categorize certain things, but I’m leaving it here anyway for documentation’s sake]
[editor’s note…this has been in my drafts since I wrote it at 5am Monday night. I’ve been unsure whether or not to post it because it probably doesn’t make any sense, but I figured I’d just go for it.]
For the record, I wasn’t joking in that other post when I said I felt like a drag queen trapped in a girl’s body. While watching RuPaul’s Drag Race, I kept going “Wow, I really wish I could be a drag queen…” and it got me thinking. (That, combined with following several “trans*”, “nonbinary”, and general “gender studies” themed blogs on here. In the past few months I’ve learned about so many gender subsets I had no idea existed that I think it’s messing with my head. I’ve always identified as a straight cisfemale, but now I’m not so sure.) Either I’m onto something important about my gender and social identity, or I’m just insane and babbling, but either way I needed to get all of this out to see if I or anyone else can make sense of it. So, here we go….
Drag queens are supposedly “female impersonators.” However, how many females do you know that wear clothes or makeup like that? It’s so overexaggerated that it’s almost not feminine anymore and sort of takes on its own identity. That’s how I feel.
I spent a week catching up on sleep, a week and a half in Florida, 2 weeks being too sick to do anything, a week and a half being too depressed to do anything, half a week being sick again, and now have to spend the last few days scrambling to finish the assignments that I was supposed to be working on the whole time but couldn’t bring myself to do.
However, in other news, for first time in 2 1/2 years, I am keeping the same room/roommate for two semesters in a row, so that’s exciting.