I did not get dressed for you. I am not wandering around, lost and insecure, waiting for you to validate me. I am not an object awaiting your appraisal. You are not entitled to my body or my attention.
Stop cat-calling me. Stop leering at me. Do not look me up and down and mutter, “nice” halfway under your breath. Do not call me “sweetheart”, “baby”, “honey”, or “love”. You don’t know me. I am not obligated to “be polite” and engage you.
What do you expect to result from these interactions? Do you think that my body is negotiable, that this is a transaction? Are you trying to exert power over me through a twisted notion of masculinity? Do you think you can persuade me into dating or fucking you? Your comments are unsolicited and unwelcome. You are not being friendly; you are perpetuating rape culture.
If you genuinely want to compliment someone, approach them like they are person instead of a commodity; look into their eyes, and say something nice. Smile, be brief, and excuse yourself.
Stop treating people like objects. I manage to appreciate sexy men and women without gaping and making them feel uncomfortable or threatened. Man up and learn to do the same.
Kristina Salinovic, photographed by Steven Meisel
My band did a covered a song by another band. I sing & cello, my sweetheart guitars & drums & programs & mixes & produces. We both smash pots & pans around.
Last night they played in London and it made me so happy.
THEN DON’T BE RACIST
*usually followed by blatant racism
1883 Magazine Online by me
Got my hair cut to look like this. It was a very good decision.
A few weeks ago I stopped taking birth control hormones in favor of getting an IUD this week. The procedure is Wednesday and I’m nervous.
In the meantime I’ve been experiencing PMS without birth control to regulate my hormones for the first time since I was 14 — I just destroyed our wire clothes airier in a fit of rage because my sweetheart and I had a disagreement about punctuation (if you must know, he preferred the American style while I insisted on the British; we were both correct). My nipples are sore and I oscillate between beaming with joy and sobbing within minutes. I’m so bored of emotions.
[This is not my postcard, but it could be]
JD Samson, gender outlaw