There’s a post going around with the sentiment of like ‘you can tell when a gay character is written by a gay person bc the stereotypes are the right ones” and people keep adding what the ‘right’ gay stereotypes are with things like ‘always getting iced coffee’ or ‘having enamel pins’ and honestly….
Honestly, on a more serious note, the number of times in the past few years someone who was assumed to be straight wrote a gay storyline and loads of people kept talking about how they wrote their gay characters in a straight way because they were straight only for the author to end up publicly coming out due to all the pressure should probably lead at least some people to reevaluate whether their ‘straightdar for authors based on how they write gay people’ is truly always accurate lmao.
also it’s weird how commodified this supposed representation is. being lgbt becomes a list of things you buy. enamel pins, iced coffee, certain music. it’s a consumer identity and not a means of relating to other humans. :(
not to sound too adbusters, nor to imply that somehow being lgbt is a capitalist conspiracy (surprise: every identity can be commodified! we’re not special!). i love my stupid pins and my rainbow booty shorts and my ‘BE GAY DO CRIME’ shirt. but in the end this isn’t representation, it’s a grocery list. it does not threaten the status quo, and i think it would be a lot sexier if we were ungovernable U___U
Keying/graffiti-ing someones car is old news now if someone cheats we go at their wardrobe with a seam ripper
yknow what? Fuck you *unstitches all your shirts and jeans*
My mother did this to my father once. They got into an argument, my very pregnant and hormonal mother stormed off…except they lived in a tiny apartment so the only place to go was to shut herself into the closet for a good long sulk. And while she was sitting in there, fuming, she looked up and saw her sewing kit on the shelf, and all my father’s uniforms hanging right there.
So she picked one shirt and one pair of trousers, carefully, methodically ripped every third stitch out of every seam, and then hung them back up together so that he would be likely to pick them at the same time. This took her a couple hours, so by the time she was done, the anger had worn down. She came out, she and my father had a talk that ended in apologies, after which they were tired and went to bed. My mother swears up and down that she meant to warn my father about the sabotaged clothes in the morning, but he wore a different uniform set and they were both still feeling a little raw, so she didn’t want to bring up the fight again. She decided to tell him that night instead.
And then she forgot.
Anyway, about four days later, my father apparently came home roughly an hour after he left for work, his clothes slowly, gently shredding off his body, the most bewildered expression on his face. “Paula,” he said, his voice mildly shell-shocked. “Paula, my clothes are broken.”
My mother promptly burst out laughing so hard that she went into labor. And that’s the story of my birth, heralded by petty vengeance and utter confusion.
The whole “I wish I could be with a woman, but instead I’m stuck with my stupid, gross husband/boyfriend” sentiment I see repeated in bi circles is just the “progressive” queer version of the boomer “I hate my wife” jokes
if he’s stupid and gross you should leave him and if he isn’t you’re just being cruel for internet points and he should leave you
Reply/tag with the worst possible franchise that could be handed to Lin Manuel Miranda to be turned into a musical. My current frontrunner is Ready Player One.
Okay new front runners
Okay these two made me genuinely shudder in real life
I regret asking this question you people are too good at seeing into darker timelines
