Deviant, Defiant, Non-Compliant

Just a heads up, this post is only nominally about cosmetics, so if you're here for shiny polishes you might disappointed.

If you follow me on Twitter, you might have noticed I've put out a huge glut of new designs for my Etsy over the last week, but there are two that  I wanted to talk about, because they really mean quite a lot to me. They're the distillation of a lot of thoughts I've been having about feminism, and generally the experience of being a woman, These designs were specifically inspired by a dear friend who despite being much younger than me, inspires me every day.

Deviant!

This is the first design I want to talk about - a fairly simple one, just a cute little banner that says "Deviant" over my signature indie polish background. (If you're interested, the polish is a discontinued one from Darling Diva called Erotic City) But the meanings I think you can take from this simple word are rather complex.

Women's behavior, and in particular women's sexuality, has always been a minefield of do's and don't. So many unspoken, invisible walls around every action, and stepping over these lines, even if we didn't know they were there until we'd crossed them, defines us as "deviant".

George Romney - Lady Hamilton as Medea

This idea that women's sexual pleasure is something bad or wrong can be traced back all the way to the Greeks, where "good" noble Greek women were expected to be matronly and chaste. Kept cloistered until they were married as young virgins, they were expected to produce heirs but the idea of women actually enjoying the process was unheard of. Women in mythology who succumbed to passion were deemed "evil" (See Medea, among many other examples), and women in society who were caught committing adultery were entirely excommunicated from Greek society, unable to even attend sacrifices. At the same time male sexuality, while nominally expected to be enjoyed in moderation, was allowed rather more leeway for expression.

The Victorian Era was famously repressive of sexuality, but again rather more so of female sexuality than male. The only orgasm a Victorian woman could expect was at the hands of a doctor should she be diagnosed with "hysteria" - a practice which, on the upside, brought us the basis for the modern vibrator.

Even now, after the Sexual Revolution of the 60's, female sexuality is still widely expected to come second to male sexuality. Women's magazines are full of tips to enjoy sex more, but the number of tips devoted to his pleasure rather than hers underlines the idea that women's enjoyment should never come at the cost of male enjoyment. Women are now largely taught that being sexual is okay - thank goodness - but there still remains the idea that there is such a thing as being TOO sexual. Have sex, but not too much. Explore the dating landscape, but don't sleep with too many people. Get kinky every now and then, but only in a way that straight men find hot.

Graphic by Definatalie

But it's not just our sexuality that gets women labelled as "deviant" - if I've learned anything from the Fat Acceptance movement it's how horrifying some people find the idea of women simply being larger than is "acceptable". Don't even get me started on the endless struggle that is trying to enact the simple idea of "No Diet Talk" in the average office. Now THERE'S a deviant concept.
Speaking of talking, even though women talk almost the exact same amount as men in everyday settings, we're still labelled chatterboxes, gossips, and nags. Hell, even a woman daring to be taller than the average man can get some people clutching their pearls in horror that a dainty, delicate woman could dare to take up so much space.

All these unspoken, invisible walls, trying to hem women into a tiny little box of "acceptable." Acceptably sized, acceptably quiet, acceptably sexual, and acceptably small. Well balls to that.

Defiant!

And that's where this second design comes in. (For the polish nerds, the background I used for this is Exhilaration from Powder Perfect) As much as I would like to encourage every woman to trample the invisible maze that surrounds us with reckless abandon, I can't. There are consequences still to being deviant. In the awesome comic Bitch Planet, women deemed "non compliant" are disappeared to a prison planet for the rest of their lives - while we're not quite there yet, the fact that there are consequences for non-compliance is undeniable. In an example from my own life, politely asking my co-workers not to comment on what I was or was not having for lunch led to complaints to management about my "attitude". Bigger actions can lead to bigger consequences.

I really can't recommend Bitch Planet enough. Make sure to view this full size to see the wonderful fake ads!

But it's not hopeless! There are things you can do, things you can say, every day to try and push at those walls that surround us. It can be as simple as ignoring that socially implanted voice in your head that tells you to shush at parties, because you don't want to be seen as the loud, deviant woman.
Try not to be ashamed of your sexuality - there's no such thing as too sexual, and so long as all parties are consenting adults no kink is too weird. There are great groups out there like Twisted Sisters in Sydney who are more than happy to help you find your way!

There are things you can do that don't even require talking to other people! Read awesome female created comics like Bitch Planet, and  Lumberjanes, and Gotham Academy;go see awesome female directed movies like A Girl Walks Home Alone At Night. Buy from indie jewelers doing cool subversive things like Fancy Lady Industries! Support female creators doing cool stuff with your money, and help them to say the things you feel you can't say!

So how about you, dear readers? Are you deviant and/or defiant? What are things you do to show your defiance, big or small?

My Blogger Confessions

I recently started trawling the interwebs for bloggers who write about nerdy fashion, in order to get some ideas on how to promote my jewellery. Among a veritable treasure trove of awesome people, I came across The Nerdy Girlie, a very fun US blogger. She started a fun little game where she encouraged bloggers to make a confession post, and I figured I might as well join in. To be honest, there's not a lot I hold back from you guys, but I managed to come up with a few things that might count as Blogger Confessions of note.

I'm A Bad Fatty and I Don't Care - Brainy Femme Repost

This post originally appeared on Brainy Femme - I'm going to be reposting particularly relevant posts from Brainy Femme over here from time to time. 


I have a confession to make, and you might want to sit down for this because it’s kind of shocking. I a fat woman - that much is clear from any picture ever taken of me. But I’m also a fat woman who has no interest in losing weight. I am a “bad fatty”.

"Glutton" by the amaing Natalie Perkins,
available as a print from Fancy Lady Industries

If you’re not familiar with the terminology, this is the best primer I’ve seen on the subject.* Even if you’ve never heard the phrase “good fatty” before, if you’re even a little aware of the unwinnable weight war that woman can get locked in, you’re guaranteed to be familiar with the assumptions this terminology describes. Fat people, and especially fat women, are supposed to be ashamed of their fat. We’re supposed to be aware of, and acknowledge, that our fat is a failing - of willpower, of morality, of character. We’re supposed to be either constantly willing to explain in depth, to anyone who asks, our excuse for being fat; or alternatively if we have no “acceptable” excuse, we’re supposed to be doing everything in our power to become a more “acceptable” size.

Me, I don’t have an excuse for the size of my arse, acceptable or not.  I don’t have any medical conditions that I’m aware of that prevent me from losing weight. The women on my mother’s side of the family do tend to be bottom heavy, but my mother is tiny, so it’s not like my genetics are inescapable. I’m not an athlete, so I can’t attribute any of my kilos to muscle. I mean, I’m sure there’s some in there, and I’ve always had big muscular horsey thighs, but I would be seriously reaching to attribute any significant proportion of my weight to muscle.

Put On Your War Paint - Girl Gang Makeup Tutorial

I sadly lost a friend very recently, and I'm still working through a lot of how I feel about that. You can read more about all the sad and painful parts of it over here, but in this post I want to do something a bit different and celebrate one of the really positive aspects of my friendship with Chloe, rather than just mourning her loss.

You see, Chloe and I both had a tendency to get a bit...angry. Okay, that's a total understatement. Even when talking across the world, we could wind each other up to an absolute frenzy of delighted ferocity, so I can only imagine what would have happened if we'd ever been in the same place at the same time. Chloe had far more reason to react violently to people that pissed her off than I did; she'd been through an absolute fuckton of shit, and comparatively nothing particularly bad has ever really happened to me. But we both got the same fierce joy from the idea of punching out the teeth of people who deserve it, and I took a lot of comfort from her acceptance of my burning desire to break some faces when I got angry. I always felt like that urge, that desire for violence was something to be denied at all costs, and hidden at all times. But Chloe not only accepted that part of me, she actively encouraged me to get it out and explore it - intellectually at least, since the fact is I would be a dreadful physical fighter. We agreed that should we ever get into a physical fight together, I could do the kicking because of my powerful horse thighs, but she would have to do all the punching because I'd be sure to break my hand. One day, while complaining about people we wanted to punch that we weren't allowed to punch, and imagining what we might do about it if we could, we came up with the idea of starting a girl gang.

This image created by BabsBabsBabs

Not just any girl gang - the punkest, femmest, most misandrist girl gang ever. We were going to ride into town on bright pink, bedazzled, loud as fuck motorbikes, and start fights with sexist assholes. We were going to kick in teeth, break arms, and punch the wind out of people until they understood that women are not to be trifled with. We were going to have jackets, like The Pink Ladies, but way more punk, in pink denim with studs and dripping letters and artfully tattered edges. We were going to have tattoos across our knuckles that spelled out MISANDRY.* There would be No Boys Allowed, and it was going to be BAD ASS.

Shameless Crosspromotion

Just a quick little note to let you all know that the lovely people at Kiki and Tea have graciously published a rather serious, sad, and personal piece of mine about loss, regret, and painting.

If you want to trundle over and take a look, it's right here: All That You Can't Get Back

Why are Women the Marshalls of Fun?

This post is going to be one big long rant about heterosexual people problems, so if that's not something you're interested in, consider yourself warned.

The marketing team behind Xbox have been working their little butts off lately, attempting to completely blanket all and every media with the glorious news that the new console is nearly here, OMG, let's set off fireworks etc etc. At first, the only thing I found annoying about the campaign was how totally comprehensive it was - I am perfectly aware the new console is coming out, and would really like it if I could stop reading out it now. However, considering this is from a company that are pretty notorious for making sexism related PR bungles, over saturation is a pretty small niggle. I actually even saw an ad for the new Xbox that I liked! They released a cute little ad called "His and Hers" that depicts a hot girl demanding her boyfriend turn off the soccer so she can kill some zombies, and while it's a little pandering, it's also pretty fun.

I don't think my hair has ever been this perfectly styled, but otherwise this is a pretty
accurate depiction of a girl gaming.

Then I came this charming little customisable letter put out by Xbox (and very swiftly redacted) as part of the promotional effort for their new console. If you click on this to view it full size you should be able to read the text.

You Can't Take My Selfies from Me

I usually don't blog about internet activism events, but there was a hashtag going around this morning that gave me way too many thoughts to confine it to Twitter, where I usually do my most impassioned ranting.  Basically, Jezebel published an article condemning selfies on feminist grounds, and a large portion of Twitter reacted by posting endless selfies with the hashtag #feministselfie. Personally, I love this kind of immediate, groundswell response - it's one of my favourite things about being on Twitter. The way ideas bounce from one person to the next, to the next, and on in ever expanding ripples is something I find deeply fascinating, and I always love watching an idea sprout into a "thing", spreading seeds across the wilds of the internet.

ANYWAY, I have a lot of thoughts about this particular event, and for once I decided to jump on the bandwagon and dash something off before the zeitgeist rushes past. So let's talk about this Jezebel article. I don't actually read Jezebel a lot these days, because a lot of the articles they post make me really angry and I just don't need extra angry making things most days. However, a lot of people do read it, and a lot of people are influenced by it, so I feel like it's worth examining at least some of the problematic things they publish.

I'm going to start with this little gem here;

"Selfies aren't empowering; they're a high tech reflection of the fucked up way society teaches women that their most important quality is their physical attractiveness" 

Community College

I know I said I was going to continue this the day after my last post, but..well...I say a lot of things.

As I said in my last post, for a long time I was without a community, as such. I had friends, of varying numbers and degrees, but after exiting the Goth community in my great Interstate Flounce and returning to Sydney a couple of years later, I never really found anything to replace it. 
At one stage, I dabbled in the local Sydney poly scene, but never really got properly involved. I met a few nice people, and one or two great people, but an awful lot of dickheads as well. I had some really interesting conversations, but also had WAY too many arguments with people about why polyamory isn't actually the One True Way of the world - to be honest, I just had way too many conversations about polyamory full stop. The poly people were (on the whole) lovely, and fun, but I was going to tear my eyes out if I got into another round table discussion of how best to negotiate sleepovers.After a while it started feeling really....well, small. And not just because there are only about 50 people in the Sydney poly scene. The types of people in it are also very likeminded, and not just about relationship configurations. I think this is what made the scene start to feel stale and small so quickly - we were all of a similar age, similar financial circumstances, mostly cis, almost entirely white. A lot of the guys had beards, and a lot of the girls had long hair and a fondness for corsets. There's nothing wrong with any of these things on their own - but the sameness of the community left me feeling uninspired.

One of the symbols used to indicate polyamory: while I
have infinite love, it turns out I do not have infinite patience

 .

Space Oddity

I've been reading The Beheld again, which means inevitably, I have far too many thoughts running around in response to Autumn's most recent post to fit in a comment field - which means you guys get them all, you lucky things!

(Incidentally, if you're not reading The Beheld, you really should. It doesn't update as often as it used to because the author is in the middle of writing a book, but it's always worth a look. I don't always agree with Autumn's point of view, but she has the most delicious brains and over thinks everything in the most delightful way)

Autumn's most recent post was about her experiences moving in with a partner; how that's effected her perception of public and private space, and how that in turn has effected her beauty regime. You can read all her thoughts over at the blog, but my thoughts and experiences are so different I felt like they really deserved their own post. I totally agree with her observations that the amount of primping and "beauty work" women do in various spaces is very closely connected to how public or private we consider that space to be. If you're headed somewhere you consider to be public, you're much more likely to, for example, stop and put your hair up or change your shirt. If you're somewhere you consider private, you're less likely to be concerned about how what you're wearing looks, and just go with what's most comfortable.

Of course all women look this cute just bumming around at home.

Hide And Seek

When I started this blog, I intended to do more outfit posts. I'd looked at some of the stuff people were putting up, and while a lot of them were WAY more stylish than anything I ever put together, it seemed simple enough. Put on some nice clothes, take some pictures, list where you got everything, boom, a whole post! Even better, just by being the size I am and putting pictures of my body on the internet, I felt like I was striking a little itty bitty blow for body acceptance every time I did it. I figured even if the pictures that came out weren't the most flattering of me ever taken, that was okay, because I was still contributing to a diversity of image available for women to look at when trying to determine if their body is "okay". Yes, my head told me. This is a Good Thing, and an Easy Thing, and let's do it.

Suicidal Tendencies

This is a brutally honest post, with a great deal of raw emotion exposed, so please proceed with caution. I will be discussing points in time when I was suicidal, and talking to other people about their suicide plans, so if this is triggering you might want to stop now.

Here's a corgi puppy taking a nap to make you smile before you go

Still here? Cool, let's get into this then.

Pool Party!! Pretty Serious Party by The Pool Review

Here in my Australian corner of the world Summer has arrived with a great big bang! Most years we get a nice, slow transition from a cold, damp winter to the scorching humidity of summer, but this year it's gone straight from coat weather to t-shirt weather. I'm trying not to sulk about this too hard - I love winter and LOATHE summer - by brightening up my wardrobe and trying to put on a happy face beneath the sweat. While pawing through my untried polish pile (it's under control, I swear) I noticed this beautiful peacock blue jelly polish from Pretty Serious called Party by The Pool, and decided that this was where my Summerfication should begin.

Image courtesy of the Pretty Serious website

While not as uber-sparkly as more recent releases like Cybernetic, there is still a lot of sparkle swimming around in the squishy jelly base. As with every single Pretty Serious polish I've tried so far, I have nothing but effusive praise for the formula. Perfect consistency, perfect coverage -  the almost unbelievable consistency of this brand is one of my favourite things about it. Because it's a jelly base, it will remain a teeny bit transparent unless you layer it, so I put two coats over a base of Ulta 3 Get Teal.

In the glorious sunshine! One good thing about summer, plenty of sun for swatch photos.

Manic Pixie Dream Girls: Not So Fun Actually

Just a note before we begin - it's been pointed out to me that not everyone inhales pop culture commentary like I do, and many of you haven't actually heard of the Manic Pixie Dream Girl trope before. It's an old stereotype, but the name is relatively recent, so if you want to read more about what I mean when I use it there are good introductions on both Wikipedia and TV Tropes.

The stereotype of the Manic Pixie Dream Girl is one that annoys the fuck out of me. This single trope has completely ruined Before Sunrise, and countless other films like it for me. My boyfriend watches Before Sunrise, and all he sees is an incredibly romantic movie. I watch it, and all I can see is a magical girl who shows up with no history and no future, and helps the male protagonist realise what’s truly important to him in life over the course of a night, only to conveniently disappear the next day. And then I start ranting, and things go kind of red tinted, and then I wake up and my boyfriend is suggesting we never watch Before Sunrise again.

"Tell me your problems scruffy man, and I shall solve them in a sultry French accent!"

I’m sure it comes as no surprise then that  I was very interested to read Laurie Penny’s essay I Was A Manic Pixie Dream Girl, and enjoyed it thoroughly. She brilliantly summarises one of the things that bothers me about this stereotype the most; the prevailing assumption that all Manic Pixie Dream Girl’s only exist in order to help a poor, lost man discover something wonderful about life and love, without any goals or ambitions of their own. I absolutely agree with Penny that this trope encourages women to put their male partner’s dreams and ambitions before theirs, and I know that I’ve done this myself. To be honest though, it’s not what really gets under my skin and fires up my fury at this stereotype. I’ve never felt particularly compelled to be a hero, of anyone’s story. I like to help – it’s what I like to do, and what I do best, but I’m not a leader. There are women that could be leaders though, and SHOULD be leaders, that are being held back by this idea that quirky, interesting women only exist to make men more interesting, and I think THAT is fucking bullshit.

Meditations on Manicures

I mentioned to a friend the other day that I painted, and almost immediately felt the need to qualify that statement - like my relationship to my love of things femme, I've always had an uneasy relationship with the idea of myself as any kind of artist. I've been sculpting and painting for years - probably as long as I've been writing, when I really think about it, and I've finally conceded that I could possibly be called a writer. But an artist? The idea makes me squirm. Art is certainly a thing that I do - but I've never considered myself an artist. Not really. Nowadays the vast majority of my artistic efforts go into my nail art, and I haven't actually thought about my discomfort at being called an "artist" for a while because of this. See, nail art isn't "real" art. When I painted, I always felt like I SHOULD be calling myself an artist, or at least a painter. But now it's not even a question - even though I'm utilising exactly the same skills creating nail art as I did every painting I ever made. I'm just into nail art - it's a much less challenging, much more comfortable title.

This might sound like a massive leap, but thinking about my paintings and my nail art and my motivations for both these hobbies has really crystallised a lot of things about how my brain works now compared to how it used to work, and my relationship to art in general.

( I'm going somewhere with this, I promise)

Don't Owe You A Thang

This is one of those super serious posts I do every once in a while - if you're triggered by mentions of sexual violence, or violence in general, especially against trans people, you're probably going to want to give this one a miss. I try to stay away from topics that I think will be too upsetting for too many people, but in this instance it's precisely because the whole thing is so upsetting that I feel the need to write it.

I want to talk about trans* people, and how cisgendered people treat them.

You might not be familiar with these terms, so let me do some quick definitions for you. I like to use the term trans*, because the asterisk indicates it refers to a wide variety of identities under the "trans umbrella".

 

Put A Ring On It

I got this ring from Etsy a little while ago, and I've been wearing it quite a bit. It's lovely, much more comfortable than you would think from the size, and also quite significant - because it's not significant at all.

I'm 32 dang years old, and this is the first ring I've worn for any period of time that isn't emotionally significant.

Waving, but Drowing a Little Too

Firstly, can I just say I hate being all "woe is me" to the great gaping maw of the internet? I'm bad enough at this sort of thing with people I'm close to. But part of the whole deal where you pay attention to my ramblings is that I feel like I should be as honest as I can be with y'all. Besides, enforced sharing is good for me.

Public Service Announcement

You might have noticed my posting has slowed down considerably of late - or maybe you didn't, maybe I'm the only one who keeps track. Anyway, since so many of you have been so kind as to sign up to follow my ramblings on a regular basis, I thought I owed you a little bit of an explaination.

The slowdown has been caused in part by simple burnout - I was writing too many things for too many people, to too many deadlines, and it's done my head in. I am so very grateful for everyone who has been willing to publish my work elsewhere, but I think I need to rein that in a little in order to make sure SOMETHING comes out, rather than ending up back in this frozen state of panic again. I got a bit too caught up in the excitement of realizing that people were listening, and people wanted to hear what I had to say, and I think I've burst something because I just feel flat and deflated now.

It's also partially been caused by a general downturn in my work environment - one too many people have derisively called me their secretary, one too many people have demanded I do something they could easily do for themselves just because it makes them feel more powerful to make me do it, one too many people have looked right past me without so much as a hello when I open the door for them. It's hard to keep up the feminist rage when you're being treated like a particularly useful piece of furniture for so much of the day, and as much as I wish it didn't, it does get me down.

This isn't a "poor me, pity me and tell me I'm awesome" post - I just wanted to let you all know where I'm at, so you don't think this blog is going to disappear like so many do. I still want to keep going, and I will - I just need to slow down a little bit to make sure I can make it for the long haul. There will still be posts, and I will most likely take the next week or so to catch up some of my low brain, picture heavy ideas. So if you signed on for the rants, rest assured, they will be back - just in a week or so. Hopefully, you can all be patient with me for a little while, and soon we will be able to get our ranty pants back on and rage in style.

Light It Up Blue! Autism Awareness Month

Like a lot of people who haven't been directly affected by it, for a long time I didn't know much about Autism Spectrum Disorder. I'd heard a bit about it, and seen Aspergers in particular used as an excuse for bad behavior by people who had diagnosed themselves over the internet without actually consulting a doctor of any kind. I was was aware it was some kind of mental condition, but that was about it, until I moved in with a housemate who was doing volunteer work at a respite home for children with various behavioral problems. The stories she came home with were shocking - she was dealing with children who were far more affected by ASD than anyone I'd ever come across, and I was horrified to realise just how severe the condition should be. But the part of her experience that has really stuck with me is the stories of the occasional child who was abandoned at the respite home. Parents who would drop their kids off for a weekend, and just never come back, because they simply couldn't deal anymore. They didn't have the support, they didn't have the resources, they just didn't have it in them to take care of their children any more, and the ida that both parents and children were so lost and alone broke my heart.

I think increased awareness can make a huge difference in the lives of people with ASD. The amount of hostility they can be subjected to is just shocking, and this hostility often comes from a place of confusion. The more you understand something like ASD, the easier it is to see the person behind the condition, and hopefully treat them with the dignity and compassion they deserve. In aid of this cause, it's World Autism Awareness Day today.  The theme is "Light It Up Blue", and all sorts of groups are doing activities to get the message out there by making anything and everything they can blue. In an awesome display of the sort of solidarity I've talked about here before, the nail community is getting together to do a couple of really great things to contribute to the cause.

First up there is an awareness campaign being co-ordinated from Facebook where people both in and out of the nail community are painting their nails blue for today, this week, or the whole month if they can, in order to bring attention to autism and the challenges facing people with autism. There are some really touching, and some really rage making stories being shared there, mostly from the point of view of parents trying to support their children in a culture that isn't particularly interested in making room for people who work differently. This group is also organising an upcoming charity auction, where several indie polish makers are donating a custom polish, and the proceeds are all going to ASPECT, a fantastic Australian autism support organisation. They offer an enormous change of services to the autistic community, as well as their parents and carers, including diagnostic assessments, early intervention programs, and a network of autism specific schools and satellite classes. From what I've heard, they're doing some amazing work, and I'll be keeping an eye out for details of the this auction supporting them as they're released.

On a smaller scale, but also on a beautifully personal level, the owner of Loki's Lacquer is holding a blue nails competition on the Loki's Lacquer Facebook page all this month. The winner will get a custom polish of their choosing from Loki's Lacquer, and the winner will be chosen by her daughter, who has ASD and has inspired her Mum to get so involved in this cause.

Finally, there are a ton of Instagram tags being used to tag blue manicures for autism awareness. #bluenailsforautism, #autismawarenessmonth,#paintitblue and #lightitupblue are all in use currently, and I'll be making an effort to add as many blue manicures as I can to the pile over the coming month.

But in the meantime, here is my initial effort; Elevation Polish in Azure Caverns, with Alanna Renee Pacific layered over the top.

Hey Girl...

I’m always scouting around for new places to be published, and a very kind Twitter acquaintance offered me the details of someone looking for same sex attracted female writers to blog for a prominent local queer publication. Exciting right?

Well, yes and no. I am definitely same sex attracted. Women are GREAT. But there is also a great fear I have of being rejected for not being queer ENOUGH – the same fear that stops me from attending local queer events. I’m afraid that I won’t really have anything of relevance to say on the subject, because while I AM queer, I’m not particularly active about that queerness right now. For all the time I spend ogling pretty ladies like a fifteen year old boy, I haven’t actually done anything with a woman for AGES (like a fifteen year old boy), and haven’t ever had a long term relationship with another woman as such (like a fifteen year old boy). I’m failing pretty badly at queer right now. Incidentally, this is largely why I haven’t written more specifically about my queerness here, and generally limit my discussions of sexuality to heterosexual relationships. It’s not that I don’t have squishy feelings about women, and don’t wonder how the things I write about relate to same sex interactions - I just don’t have a great deal of experience with same sex relationships, and so I feel self-conscious talking about it.