Tag Archives: women

Real vs. Not

I’m supposed to be working. When I hit a rough patch, that’s generally the cue to open another browser and look through tumblr. This is a bad idea, no productivity has ever come from browsing tumblr, but it’s irresistible when you’re supposed to be making progress. What’s there not to like, an endless stream of pretty boys, porn, pretty girls, more porn, art, puppies, kittens, unicorns and for whatever reason, the following image. It has come up several times the last few days, and the fourth or so time it came up, I thought. Okay. This is god telling you something moof. Don’t fight the inner dolphin. Let him swim free.

According to Dove’s mid 2000′s campaign, this is what real women look like.

This rant will take a while to unfold, but just roll with me–I am hoping that like Brie cheese, if I let this fester at room temperature for a bit, it will get creamy soon.

Please complete the following sentence.

Every woman has a _____.

I don’t know about you dear reader, but I cannot complete that sentence. There is no word I can find that goes in there that is true for all women, all the time. (Not even every woman has two x chromosomes, because there are chromosomal abnormalities and the such… I know not every woman has a vagina either… ) That is to say, I cannot think of one physical characteristic that everyone who calls herself a woman shares.

Now, I understand that the fashion industry’s current standard of beauty, insofar as an average woman is concerned, is fucked up.  Still, stuff like the Dove campaign above annoys me so much, I could puke. Excuse me, Dove, but can you please stop pooping all over my intelligence?! Yes, those women are all real.

In fact, EVERY woman is real. A 500 pound woman is real. A woman with a beard is real. A woman without breasts because she had them removed is real. A woman who has given birth to 20 kids is real. A woman who has had her tubes tied and never intends to give birth is also real. No matter how unusual or how commonplace, they occupy a place in space–they have a mass and girth.

A stripper with triple G breasts is not a fake woman. She is a real woman who has fake breasts.

A Victoria Secret supermodel is not a fake woman. She is a real woman who is most likely  underweight and has to exercise/starve like hell to look like that. Whatever. Dancers are also underweight. Gymansts are also underweight. Other women are possibly extremely overweight.

And they are all real.

Yes, on one level, I am sick of all these pale, wraith-thin, doll-faced, doll haired chicks being the only marketable form of beauty right now. Don’t get me wrong, I’m part of the wicked and I believe they are beautiful. But I also find many other types beautiful  and if a  fashion label/beauty product wants to try to turn the tides by featuring women who deviate from that standard, wonderful. I will applaud them for their courage and support their product.

But please don’t act like the words ‘real’ and ‘ordinary’ mean the same thing. They don’t.

If Victoria’s Secret launched a similar ad, with a gaggle of supermodels and called it a campaign for ‘real women’, they would be lynched. People would scream ‘You can pray on our fantasies and our insecurities, but you DO NOT get to appropriate what constitutes a real woman!’ But because Dove uses ordinary women who can be found in your office or your class room, they can?

News flash: Every person who says I am a woman, I feel like a woman, I identify as a woman, whether or not she dyes her hair, is severely overweight, shaves her armpits, has fake breasts, has a dick, or still has her uterus in her body is a woman and she is fucking real.

‘k Dove? ^^ Ok, rant over. Whoo, I feel better…

There Were Girls Without Clothes and I Drew Them

My weekend looked like this.

I’m too tired to come up with a more euphemistic title for this post.

Dear moofs, what’s good?

Me, well I’m so tired, I literally spent all weekend drawing hot, naked babes. ALL WEEKEND.

W and I took workshop with bondage cuties totally normal models with an artist friend of his who is also a teacher–I drew so much that my hand hurts–I had about 30 cups of coffee over the two days and my nose is now permanently filled with that weird sicksweet sweaty smell ateliers seem to always possess. All in all, it was a productive, fun weekend with W, Stefan H. and the gang–

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Yay, more girls… I dedicate this picture to Michael B., my WP figure drawing friend.

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If I was king, this guy would have been required to be one of our models too.

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RIP II – Hair practice– [I drew this out of sheer happiness because I finally got the balls up to contact one of my art heroes who I've been admiring from afar for months and he's been such a nice guy =)

All right moofs, nothing more to see here. Thanks for dropping into my lair and have a great week ^^

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Kawabata wrote a story about a house where men could go and sleep next to beautiful drugged women to get their jollies….This drawing reminds me of that story a bit. It’s a short post, moofs. No pra pra. Just a quick ink sketch pic for a WP friend who’s very talented at drawing the b00bX0rs. He said a few posts back:

How about two women together?

For you MB, not two girlies but three ~_~

Youch, Yaoi!

A short lesson.

This is NOT yaoi - this is yuri (girl (love) study). Brown paper, acrylic, coffee, W, Amy Winehouse

Yaoi is frustrating.
Yaoi is ridiculous.
Yaoi is stupid and erotic.

Yaoi is the stuff I translate weekly to make some extra moolah. I just translated an episode of it today. It’s not gay. Even if it is Japanese cartoons/animated shows depicting idealized homoromantic relationships between beautiful men. (God, I love the word ‘homoromantic’. I wish there were more opportunities to use it in every day life. This apple is so juicy and homoromantic.) Did I mention yaoi’s not gay? Insofar as it is not produced to make a gay man horny or wistful. (That would be bara, or geikomi, gay comics.) Yaoi is made for fujoshi. I know, all these vocab words!  (Don’t worry, you won’t be tested later!) What is a fujoshi? Well, she is a woman who enjoys looking at yaoi. Why a fujoshi would enjoy watching the romantic exploits of two or more men in the world who’s cocks will never point towards her is beyond me.

Just because I am a fujoshi does not mean that I understand their erratic, delicate ways.

Y’all know that poem by Keats, Ode to a Grecian Urn?

…Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave
Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare;
Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss….

Yup, he was writing about a lot of things, and one of them was yaoi. How’s that for writing poetry before your time?? This is a genre entirely devoted to unrequited love, to  never reaching satisfaction, to (maybe) kissing, but never ever saying ‘I love you’.  Ya. O. I.

Japanese acronym for YAma nashi, Ochi nashi–Imi nashi.
Climax–none. Plot–zilch. Meaning–zero.

(Some people say the term comes from Yamete, oshiri ga itai! -Stop, my ass hurts!… But I don’t think so.)

Stock yaoi has two stock characters yearn the fuck out of each other, sometimes, they even fuck each other, but nothing ever gets resolved. One of these stock characters is the seme, from the Japanese verb ‘semeru’ (to give it in the ass). The seme looks like a handsome woman with short hair and very broad shoulders. Then there is the uke, from the Japanese verb ‘ukeru’ (to receive in the ass). The uke looks like a cute, big eyed girl with longish short hair and broad shoulders. There are a lot of farcical Shakespearean misunderstandings in yaoi and a lot of Dickensian coincidences, generally resolved with tender makeup sex that we never get to see. Butt sex with the lights off. In the missionary position. Seme on top, of course!! If you have a sexually poor imagination, such as YT, this can get extremely frustrating. You find yourself drawing diagrams later for closure.

Some consider the term ‘yaoi’ to have become a bit too catch-all–too westernized–even tongue in cheek. So in Japan, the genre is now called Boy’s Love.  Don’t worry though; it doesn’t actually feature love between boys. This is because there are no pedophiles in Japan. That’s right. Not even one.

Sometimes, my boy’s love show, called ‘The Only One in the World’ does get me down. Ritsu Onodera is an adorable 25 year old boyyyyy who longs to make it on his own in the publishing industry. Wanting to step out of his successful father’s shadow, he quits the literature business and goes into girls comic publishing instead, and who should he discover his boss to be, that fateful first day? Well, the editor-in-chief at Marukawa Publishing is none other than the handsome senior who broke Ritsu’s heart almost a decade ago, in high-school. Ritsu had just confessed his love to Takano after they’d had sex when Takano got an unfortunate throat cramp. Interpreting his spasmodic cough as a laugh, Ritsu ran mortified from his arms (and his room, and their school), only to find himself as Takano’s underling almost ten years later!

Spoiler: The spark is still there.

And if all that heat passing between their finger tips while they hand each other storyboards and manuscripts wasn’t bad enough, Ritsu discovers that his new boss and old lover is also… his new neighbor! Sweet. That means even more opportunities to slip and fall on Takano’s dick and then run away the next day when he asks about Ritsu’s feelings. I swear, half of the dialogue is so:

Takano: Onodera. I love you. How do you feel about me?
Ritsu: Look at that sweet kitty!
Takano: Do you love me, or just my body?
Ritsu: Boy, you know what  I do love? Cheese! It’s so creamy.
Takano: Onodera, will I ever be anything but a hard cock to you?
Ritsu: Mr. Takano, did you say something?
Moof: AHHGHGHGHGHG I can’t take it anymore!!!
[Apparently, this is the point where Takano can't either. ]
Ritsu: Mr. Takano, stop that! Mr. Takano, what are you doing?!
Have you gone out of your mind?! I’m a man and you’re a man!!
Moof: Boys, can you at least keep the lights on this time? Pleeeeez?
Takano: [turns light off]
Moof: sigggghghghhhhhhh

Smash cut to waking up in bed with the birds twittering outside the window and the uke looking all embarrassed and blushy, because despite his coy lazer being on hell yeah, the seme’s managed to get him on the tip of his dick. Again.

Takano: Good morning, Ritsu. Do you love me now?
Moof: ……………………………………………….
Youch yaoi.