2 AM more like all the time
Festival Dressing 101: Put a hat on it.
Minnie Cushing photographed by Gianni Penati, Vogue, March 1, 1966
Find all of our lessons in festival dressing in the Vogue archives.
Watch Childish Gambino’s offical “Sweatpants” video, with a snippet from the song “Urn”.
but, like, really, though, right?
I was unsure of my stance on being called “babe”. The word used to disgust me because I associated it with talking pigs (related to the movie and to couples who call each other “babe”). Whenever I heard “babe” used as a pet name, it was done by misogynist buttholes who blame the government for all their troubles and hate America because blah blah blah. These “babe” couples always seemed to get into tiffs, always seemed to be in some kind of drama. In short, I associated “babe” with negative coupling, with a misogynistic creep and a naive weakling.
I’ve always been underestimated and thought to be weak. I vowed to never be someone’s “babe”. And yet, when a guy I’m attracted to calls me “babe”, it makes me feel a little happy inside. I get this weird ball of condensed happiness in my chest, surrounded by all of this confusion. I’m supposed to abhor being called “babe” and yet I like it? Who am I? Am I weak? Am I naive?
It’s just a silly term. I shouldn’t give so much meaning to such an unimportant word. Even though I associated “babe” with negativity before, it doesn’t mean I have to stick by that. I mean, is calling someone “moonpie” or “lil butthole” any better? (I use those terms affectionately). Like anything else in your world, you can change its meaning.
But if “babe” is ever used to infer that I’m inferior to someone else, you better believe there won’t be any affection going on. It’s like when someone I’m waiting on calls me “Sweetheart”. I get offended, so I call them sweetheart in reply and more than not, I will get an apology from them once they realize how rude they’re being.
"Could you grab me another bud light whenever you’re not busy? Thanks, sweetheart.”
ugh, that’s a whole other blog post
"I’ve stopped being sorry for all my soft. I won’t apologise because I miss you, or because I said it, or because I text you first, or again. I think everyone spends too much time trying to close themselves off. I don’t want to be cool or indifferent, I want to be honest. If I love you at 5AM, I’d damn well rather that you know I felt it. If I love you two hours later, I’ll tell you then too. Listen, I won’t wait double the time it takes for you to text me back because I don’t want to. I don’t care enough to be patient with you. I’m happy, you made me feel that way, don’t you want to know? So that’s how it’s going to be. I’m going to leave myself as open as a church door. And I’m going to wake you up before the crack of dawn to tell you that I’m fucking joyful, no pretending, not from me, not ever. Would you like some coffee, would you please kiss me? Here, these are my hands, this is my mouth, it is all yours."Azra.T, Don’t Wait Three Days to Text First (via fuckinq)
Easter’s coming up soon, guise
flower feet up your ass
The first time I held a human brain in Anatomy Lab I was completely speechless. I looked at my classmates expecting a similar reaction and they looked back at me confused like…”dude let’s start identifying the structures.” I had to take a step back and let it process…in my hands was someone’s entire life. From start to finish, every memory, every emotion, every bodily control…was right there in my hands.
that’s both beautiful and incredibly saddening