E simplu rau sa faci matreata,
Doar stii si tu cum e:
Te speli de dimineata,
Si speri ca pana seara trece.
De burta, nici nu indraznesc sa zic,
E-asa usor, aproape natural:
Bagi tot in gura, de la sarma la mic,
Si speri ca nu ajungi de asta data la spital.
Dar stii ce-i tare greu, mai frate?
Sa-ti iei tu viata-n maini,
Sa faci de toate!
E mai usor sa faci nimic si sa amani,
Ca nu-i asa nevoie si de fapte…
Or Why Your Typical Hollywood Sexism Keeps Me from Giving You Money.
I was never a big DC fan, but I do follow up rather closely when it comes to some of the Marvel catalog. While I do not posses the knowledge to fully support my statement, I do understand one thing: both DC and Marvel have a habit to underplay their potential powerful female leads.
I’ll start with one of my favorite things ever: X-Men. You’ll say: „wait, but there are lots of girls and women in that universe!„. I have to agree with you, but only on a superficial level. There are almost three female characters that can be considered developed in X-Men. I’m talking about Mystique, of course, Jean Grey and Storm.
Each of these ladies grows and moves around the ethic scale with unease and each of these passages seems almost natural and real, if they weren’t so cringe worthy most of the times. However, none of them is allowed to step into the limelight and steal the show. We always have Professor X and Magneto, Wolverine and Cyclops, Deadpool and Nightcrawler, and a lot of middle school brawls of pimply boys.
To be fair, their origin was appointed to a time and place when women were relegated to secondary places, such as love interest and sidekick statuses, so it’s understandable…
However, the new Mystique, portrayed by the awesome chameleon that is Jennifer Lawrence is not allowed to be the star of her own movie, even though with this it can truly transpire that her character is one cursed with issues and is the one that needs some focus, developmentally wise.
Fine, let’s admit that maybe a franchise focusing on tons of mutants, both male and female, is not quite what the boys paying the tickets want to transform into girls’ playground.
But there’s Batgirl, and Supergirl, and Wonder Woman! Even villainesses, such as Catwoman! They deserve some love, and at some point, someone was willing to give it to them. And it failed miserably, partly because the paying boys weren’t ready for this, but mostly because the men behind the cameras weren’t ready to WRITE proper female leads. What am I saying?! Characters, let’s do that before making them leads!
Fast forward a few years, until King of Nerds arrived, Mr. Joss Whedon himself.
A self proclaimed feminist, Whedon wrote one of my all time characters. Buffy. I have been a Buffy fan since the first time I saw it, while in middle school.
I have never seen such a beautifully crafted woman as was Buffy. Joss Whedon, ahead of his time, as usual, mastered the art of embroidering her with faults, including some regarding the scholar abilities of his lead, and managed to made her fierce, vulnerable, and awesome, while letting her enough time to explore herself, her friends, to experiment pain and loss and grief and despair, and allowed Buffy to grow into an awkward woman that has suffered along the way, made bad choices and stuck to her guns each and every time. Except for when she didn’t. Isn’t she beautiful like this? All human and REAL?!
Whedon also managed to create for his heroine a universe filled with powerful women, all given supernatural abilities, all given the responsibility of having to take care and help her grow, while growing up on their own. Don’t worry, boys, there are also men, equally beautifully crafted.
Buffy paved the way for the true heroine, now readily available and a sweet commodity, especially in the TV series. Lots of comediennes or, rather antithetic, drama queens, are piling up and taking over the cable. Some of these women, such as Tatiana Maslany‘s flock of clones, or Anna Silk‘s Lost Girl, or even Julie Benz‘s Amanda Rosewater or Gina Torres‘ Jessica Pearson (coincidentally, both actresses are Whedon alumni), prove there’s room and public willing to watch powerful women taking a stand.
People were ready for a woman fronted movie for years, and even applauded stuff like Erin Brokovich because it proved a point.
However, when it comes to the boys playground – the superhero comic book stand, a strong female centered movie is just not happening. No matter how special her abilities are, moviegoers just won’t see a Black Widow film anytime soon.
Why?
Because the big shots don’t think it’s the best thing ever… For their pockets.
Other related articles: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10.
Even though the TV managed to squeeze some female characters with both brains and beauty, as well as weapon savvy and tech know-it-alls, series like Mad Men continue to rule the world from the shadows. Even though we have Agent Carter, and Tina Fey, and Fat Amy, the sidekick curse is still in bloom, and until someone decides to take a stand and make a movie (NOT A TV SHOW!) with a capable woman with both strengths and weaknesses, I decided to boycott whatever super-hero movie available.
I’m sick of the damsel in distress bit, a concept so old and overused that it’s beyond annoying to keep getting annoyed by it, so I figured it’s best I avoid any meeting that has Norse gods, men who can’t seem to manage their anger, bureaucrats way too cocky for their own good or sidekicks relegated to long-distance weaponry status. Even though this hot mess bears the name of my Lord and Savior, Mr. Whedon.
At this point, we can only hope that DC steps up and hands us what we want. At least, maybe this way, Marvel will start creating a supply for great female characters, and not let the demand waste itself away.
Pic.
Strange, sensuous noise comes from up above. Like clockwork, devious, yet kind, warm and fuzzy, the mystery of that feeling is tingling inside me, as soon as I close my eyes, as soon as I start whispering sweet nothings to myself.
From beneath me, dark matter once ridden with boots and heels and shoes that maybe won’t fit your feet properly is vehemently hellish, molding itself underneath my body. Everything sparks and aches at the same time, and I only wonder where you are.
I’m standing here, in between these worlds. Those plans that bear with me, so little, yet so important, so fearful, yet so loud – I love those plans. Mostly because they have sounds and colors, they have warmth and cold, they have terror and hope.
They also have you.
Pic.
For long now, I have defined myself as un-feminist. I’m not sure right now that I still am what I preached, but it seems that we, as women, are breaking boundaries that are, at least in theory, politically correct. And for me, this has started with Jemima Kirke’s stance on abortion and such.
Here, in Romania, the abortion tidbit tends to get swept under a rug filled with shame and misogyny, and it has such a stigma on the person admitting the fault (and by fault, I mean abortion) that no one ever claims it. Not the mothers of the daughters that do it, not the women experiencing first hand. There isn’t even the classical game of „a friend of a friend” involved in this.
And it’s a bit sad, because abortion usually means control over one’s body, while political correctness means control over one’s opinion and choice of words. Or at least, that’s how I see it. Two forms of control, and I’m unsure which one is better, if at all. It’s sad that one is valued as a principle, yet used in the most unprincipled way, to hyper-avoid discrimination, when in fact, it’s just perpetuating anti-discrimination, while discriminating the anti-discriminator, as well as playing down already known traits of personality of a certain group or minority.
Abortion does not offer that luxury. The simple dropping of the A-bomb will, without a doubt, leave you friendless or family-less. Or they will at least judge you from the shadows, for the harlot that you are.
However, I can’t seem to help but feeling empowered by the raging estrogen in the media right now. With comediennes like Amy Poehler and Tina Fey, pushing further the simplicity of embracing femininity and diversity, and geniuses like Shonda Rhimes, feminists can rejoice. They can claim badassery without fear of it being translated into PMS or bitchiness, and with bold moves from Jemima Kirke and Chelsea Handler into admitting their own limits for choosing to have (or not) a baby at a certain point in their life, women can claim more liberties without being over the top misandrists that hate on men unequivocally.
Just as women chose to have babies outside marriages, or though modern means only (this means no sexy time involved, just sperm donated by great, generous men), is just as fair to let them decide whether to stay pregnant or terminate the pregnancy, whether to raise their baby themselves or give it for adoption. On one condition, of course – always assume your decisions! Always!
In a day and age where we feel more than inadequate because of what we look like, we find it even harder to support ourselves and others, we find it harder to embrace the truth and the life experiences that make us what we are, we jab at ourselves and at our sisters, competing for imaginary boyfriends that don’t want to settle – they just want to grope or throw a punch, if rejected. And those who want to settle, are stuck in some weird friendzone near the Giselle Bundchen of the group, because she’s aiming for someone better. And that, my friends, is a never ending spiral of shame, self-loathe and misery. Why add abortion, above all else, to feel guilty about?
It’s a man’s world, indeed, but it’s time we fight the world, and not the man. It’s time to chose as weapons the same freedoms they employ – control over one’s body and mind and principles.
Ce faci, tati? N-am mai vorbit de mult. Bine, noi oricum nu prea vorbim, dar m-am gândit că poate ar fi frumos să te mai întreb diverse. Mai mult de complezență.
Nu-mi place că mă simt vinovată pentru faptul că nu simt mai nimic pentru tine. Mai simt, ocazional, recunoștință și mândrie pentru genele bune, dar cam atâta tot. Simt, ocazional, spinul de gelozie pentru familiile întregi, și tot ocazional simt lipsa unei discuții ca-ntre băieți, de genul pe care le aveam când ne mai vedeam.
Nu-mi place că nu găsesc nimic bun la tine, altceva decât niște chestii pentru care nu ești responsabil, și pe care, din fericire, mi le-ai pasat și mie. Da, sunt chestii bune, dar niciunul din noi nu e sursa lor, așa că e ca și cum m-aș bucura că e soare afară. Not my fault, not yours either.
Cel mai tare mă macină gândul că poate o să ajung ca tine. Dezinteresată și singură, urâtă de toți. Nu e un lucru frumos de gândit, nici despre tine, nici despre mine, dar așa simt când o iau razna și încep să mă sabotez singură.
Nu știu, tati, cum să fac cu binele. Când e bine, e mai greu decât atunci când e rău, că nu știu cum să reacționez. Am senzația că nu-l merit, și mă simt prost dacă mă bucur de el. Încerc să-l alung, să caut crăpături unde nu sunt, să mă simt bine când găsesc o potențială chestie care ar putea să meargă rău.
Pentru că, vezi tu, n-am avut parte de prea mult bine, ba dimpotrivă. Am avut parte de dezamăgiri și minciună. Am învățat, e drept, să mă bazez doar pe mine, dar am învățat, din pacate, să mă bazez doar pe mine. Am învățat să privesc lumea ca pe un străin ciudat, când eu eram străinul ciudat. Și nu m-am lăsat să am loc în ea, și acum lumea nu mă mai primește în ea.
Ce mă fac, tati? Poți să-mi spui o minciună frumoasă, măcar acum? Una în care să-mi promiți că va fi bine?
Mulțumesc anticipat.
Cu stimă,
A ta fiică
M-am lasat asteptata,
Am stat pe pietre cocotata,
Am impletit amaruri si durere,
Fara soare si fara de placere.
M-am lasat pierduta,
Prin poteci, nepriceputa,
Am disparut de sub stele
Si-am aparut din nou sub ele.
M-am lasat coplesita
De negru si amar, si-acum, spasita,
Ma-ntorc la tine, sa te ating,
Sa ma aprind, si sa ma sting.
M-am lasat uitata,
Dar tu nu m-ai lasat aproape niciodata
Sa calc gresit, aiurea, langa tine.
Acum e soare si e bine.
Eu n-am plecat la timp candva,
si de atunci tot stau la panda
sa vad daca se-apropie ceasul si, cumva,
sa fac ceva sa nu-mi mai cer osanda.
De-atunci ma uit mereu in zare,
si din ce spui aleg amarul,
pentru ca e mai simplu sa gandesc in departare,
soarta sa fie mai aleatoare ca zarul.
Si c-un picior voi fi mereu pe usa,
pentru ca mi-e frica de ce poate sa ma tina.
Nu vreau sa fiu mama, sora sau matusa,
cei care-s impotriva sa se-abtina.
Mi-e frica de ce n-am avut atunci si-acum
nu vreau sa ma arunc, si stau pe margini,
pentru ca nu stiu sa traiesc – nu mai stiu cum.
Viata mea are doar albe pagini.