Taylor. 23. I play piano; and also banjo, bass guitar by ear. I'm an apprentice piano technician and "upcoming" pianist. My blog usually consists of pianos, piano guts, musical stuff and anything I think is funny. I'm a nerd on the inside and country on the outside. So yeah I'm weird.
soooooo is no one going to say ANYTHING about how this woman is full of shit?
like oh, you needed a fat suit to learn that fat people aren’t treated well? OR HOW ABOUT YOU JUST LISTEN TO THE ENDLESS STORIES FROM ACTUAL FAT WOMEN WHO COULD HAVE TOLD YOU THIS IN TWO SECONDS
you needed a fat suit to show that people don’t like when people use “fake” images …. I GET IT THAT IT’S SUPPOSEDLY STILL THE SAME PERSON but i mean, this is why i keep my pics up to date, because i don’t want to put myself through this
I’d be just as displeased if some guy showed up looking 40 when he said he was 25 (has happened), so I mean, what is this experiment proving other than “people on dating sites expect you to look like your photo, regardless of what you look like/weigh”
and you couldn’t find an actually fat woman for this entirely POINTLESS “experiment”
my body is not your fucking costume
the struggles and hardships i face from a fatphobic society don’t come off at the end of the day. I can’t unzip my oppression and slide it off
l FUCKING HATE PEOPLE WHO PUT ON FAT SUITS BECAUSE THE EXPERIMENTS THEY DO ARE ALL FALSE RESULTS
Like oh, you felt bad because some guys left you while in a fat suit? But you KNOW you get to take it off later. You KNOW this isn’t something you’ve dealt with for 20+ years, and likely won’t have to ever experience once the suit is gone.
Wear that suit, EVERY DAY, even in the shower, for 20+ years, FROM CHILDHOOD, THEN fucking tell me what you’ve learned. Until then, get the fuck out of my face with this social experiment bullshit
reblogging for the last comment
Mini paintings on cedar by Cathy McMurray on Etsy
Whatever you now find weird, ugly, uncomfortable and nasty about a new medium will surely become its signature. CD distortion, the jitteriness of digital video, the crap sound of 8-bit - all of these will be cherished and emulated as soon as they can be avoided. It’s the sound of failure: so much modern art is the sound of things going out of control, of a medium pushing to its limits and breaking apart. The distorted guitar sound is the sound of something too loud for the medium supposed to carry it. The blues singer with the cracked voice is the sound of an emotional cry too powerful for the throat that releases it. The excitement of grainy film, of bleached-out black and white, is the excitement of witnessing events too momentous for the medium assigned to record them.