Here are all the things I know about my body: My angular face no longer gains weight at the same rate that the rest of my body does, so when I gain weight my head looks smaller even though everything else looks about right in ratio to each other. I have proportionately very large thighs, and specifically proportionately very large quadriceps. My hamstrings and calves aren’t as developed. My ankles are likewise really wide. I have splayed breasts and my nipples don’t point quite forward. My rib cage is just about as wide as my hips. My hips are very wide. My butt has a pretty round shape but it doesn’t sit very high and I still don’t know if that can change via infinite squats (or if I care?). I have thin fingers but knobby knuckles. I have wide shoulders. My upper arms have some heft, so when they’re flat to my sides they splay out a little. My toes curl into each other. The tops of my feet are kind of hairy. I have a genuinely big-boned frame. The way I carry fat on my body has changed significantly in the last 10 years. I bloat up the week before my period. My skin never tans, it just gets sort of burnished. My legs are short for my height. I’m 70 inches tall, I weigh 176 pounds, and I have 24 percent body fat.
None of these things are criticisms — well, none of them are criticisms anymore. I spent the larger part of my life avoiding looking in the mirror, and when I did, I would only catch glances. It’d be a glance here at my legs, a glance there at my arms. It was always part of a subconscious effort to compare a part of my body to a part of someone else’s body — not just celebrities, but women I’d see walking down the street. So I only knew about my body the things that didn’t match up to someone else. Keep reading »
When my feminist friends and I began our communal Facebook message thread, we envisioned a no-holds-barred place to discuss careers, gender politics, and the gospel of Beyoncé. But ever since soccer season took the Internet by storm, our only mentions of “Flawless” have concerned abs. In the past week alone, my “progressive” peers and I shared 10 “World Cup Hottie” listicles, 18 winky faces, and too many Netherlands-based puns to count.
As over-the-top as our behavior was, we were never ashamed. There was an implicit empowerment to our objectification, like a hard-earned reward for eons of inequality. Even when I read our conversation (and watched a video of Ronaldo slow-motion jogging) in a very public, very crowded coffee shop, I didn’t bother to turn down my laptop brightness. If anyone saw my screen, I trusted they would be impressed: I wasn’t some creepy guy browsing Google images of Megan Fox — I was a proud woman, flaunting the sex drive to which I was entitled! Keep reading »
How often do our partners — the good ones, anyway — attempt to convince us they find our bodies, flaws and all, sexy as hell? But sadly, most women struggle with insecurities about their bodies, which affects their confidence in life and their relationships. We want the lights off during sex, cover certain body parts we’re ashamed of, or don’t even want to get intimate at all.
This was what inspired photographer Rachel Castillero, who, with several of her talented girlfriends, came up with a twist on the classic boudoir photos: Fox Sessions. Read more on Tres Sugar…
Fact: We get by with a little help from our friends, but we get off with a little help from sex toys. We’re here to help you out with that last part… Keep reading »
Vaginas are not meant to be storage units. They are not meant to be purses. They are not meant to be secret hiding places. You are not supposed to put unsterilized foreign objects in them. Most of us understand these rules. But apparently Jennifer Renee Crosby of Wabasso, Florida (OBVIOUSLY), did not get the memo. Crosby was arrested for possession of crack cocaine which she had hidden inside her, you guessed it, vagina. Crosby was a passenger in a vehicle that pulled over during a routine traffic stop and when the police officers discovered the driver did not have a license, both were asked to get out of the vehicle. Crosby was visibly shaking, which alerted the cops to suspect something was amiss, and sure enough, Crosby spilled the beans.
“I have drugs inside my vagina,” she confessed. They asked her to remove the drugs, which apparently caused Crosby some discomfort. “Ouch,” she said, removing a foil-wrapped packet of crack cocaine worth $100. “The foil is hurting the inside of my vagina.” I suppose if you’re going to shove crack in your vag, it’s wise to wrap it in something, but now we all know foil is not ideal. [The Smoking Gun]
Crosby is not alone. Some women cannot be stopped from violating the terms and conditions of their vaginas. If you dare, click through to see the weirdest things women have stashed in their kitties, the poor things.
I just started having sex and all of my friends tell me I have to pee after. They say that if I don’t pee I can get a UTI. The problem is that I never have to go. I try every time – I run to the bathroom and sit there but nothing ever happens. Is that bad? Do you HAVE to go after? Is there something wrong with me that I can’t go? Read more on College Candy…