Namaste, Selfie Police

The Greek God Narcissus was a beautiful man whose parents ensured that in order for him to live to a ripe old age he must “never know his own true self”. Thus denying him to ever see or know his own reflection. One day, Narcissus was walking in the woods when a mountain nymph named Echo saw him, fell deeply in love upon the sight of him, and followed. Narcissus grew irritated being followed by an unknown and shouted: "Who's there?". Echo repeated: "Who's there?". Echo revealed herself and tried to embrace him. He stepped away and demanded she leave him alone. Heartbroken, Echo spent the rest of her life in the solitary hills until nothing but an echo sound remained of her. Nemesis, the goddess of revenge, heard about the incident and decided to punish Narcissus by luring him to a pool where he saw his own reflection. Narcissus didn't realize it was only an image and fell in love with it. When he realized that his love for himself could not come to life, he committed suicide.

...Or so the legend goes. I’ve heard other versions. But where am I going with this?

Oh yes, Narcissism.

A person who is excessively preoccupied with personal adequacy, power, prestige and vanity and who is cut off from shared emotional life suffers from Narcissistic Personality Disorder. 

Narcissism is NOT the same as healthy self-love, it’s not the same as self-esteem and it’s not the same as enhancing one’s own joie de vivre.

It’s a very misunderstood term and (*) FUCK (*) does this term ever get thrown around a lot.

Mostly by the patriarchy. Mostly towards women. Mostly on social media.

Notice the "voice" of each. Men are condemning. Women are the condemned.

It seems these days, people like to hate on people who take Selfies for being "narcissistic, braggy, slutty, too sexy, crying out for help, seeking out validation" or sadly used as yet another way for women to judge each other.

Yes, the hatred of selfies is about misogyny. The reaction to Selfies is an eye-opening crash course in sexism, but most significantly, it teaches people (particularly girls/women) to always expect and even accept a certain degree of misogyny.

And it’s a very methodical, slow erosion of women’s sense of autonomy.

And since when is liking what you see a problem?

Comparing a woman to Narcissus - Ha! -- I doubt any woman has immediately fallen in love with their reflection so much that they’ll die to have it. For me, it took years to love and accept my body, and to unlearn everything I have ever been shown about what “beauty” is, thank you, patriarchy.

Loving yourself and feeling good about yourself is NOT a problem. The problem is that if we all start loving ourselves they won't have any more shit to sell us. 

This is sexist and misogynist. How are these two scenarios even comparable? Someone created this meme to degrade and put down women, plain and simple. We don’t know that woman’s occupation or passions in life. Who gets to decide how many photos a specific gender gets to take and for what reason? He went to the moon? She just passed her bar exam.

Girls are taught from an early age that they can only feel good about themselves through the approval of everyone else, especially men. And for some reason, if a person senses this vulnerability in women, they are taught to respond by pulling out an arsenal of shame and ridicule.

Hugely popular songs like One Directions' What makes you beautiful,  Ne-Yo's Let Me Love You, and Bruno Mars' Just the way you are romanticize self-loathing in young women as an indicator of extreme virtue. Girls who have low self-esteem are allegedly desirable because they’re vulnerable. (read: don't worry, you may not love yourself but you can find a man and HE will love you.)

And if a person is posting selfies to receive external validation, well, that's their prerogative. That's their issue to work out, and besides, seeking validation from external factors isn't exactly a new phenomenon.

People who construct all the "rules" for how you should behave are not free.  I have personally been guilty of judging the fuck out of someone's behaviour and it feels shitty being a condemner. It feels tight and it feels emotionally enslaved. In my humble opinion, true clinical narcissists running amongst us are NOT the ones posting selfies, anyways. Narcissists cause harm. Your selfies are not causing harm.

Before the modern-day Selfie you paid a guy to come to your home and paint
a portrait of yourself surrounded by all your fancy processions.

You do not have to apologize for being here, for taking up space, for believing you look and feel good today. Never feel guilty for announcing your presence. Your body belongs to you. So go ahead, honey, post your Selfie.

Woman takes Selfie. Same woman gives birth to two children.

Man-made sculptures in art history were for the male gaze. This photo had a phone Photoshopped to it and suddenly she was seen as vain and conceited. That’s why I’m 100% for selfie culture because apparently men can appreciate a women's beauty but when we realize how beautiful we are, suddenly we're a narcissistic asshole.

“You painted a naked woman because you enjoyed looking at her, put a mirror in her hand and you called the painting “Vanity,” thus morally condemning the woman whose nakedness you had depicted for you own pleasure.” ― John Berger, Ways of Seeing

I once heard an alternate version of the Greek myth that goes like this: Narcissus tries to embrace and kiss the beautiful mountain nymph (Echo) who confronts him in the water but Narcissus instead sees his own reflection. "Narcissus recognized himself and lay gazing enraptured into the pool, hour after hour. Narcissus rejoices in his torments: knowing at least that his own self would remain true to him, whatever happened". But hey, maybe I got it all wrong.

And now enjoy the tune where Lily echoes my sentiments exactly.

Paper Bags and Bums

As a child growing up in the 80’s, my copy of Robert Munsch’s The Paper Bag Princess, shared officially with my twin sister was more mine than hers and I would lay in bed studying every word and picture, no doubt with my dirty feet pressed up against the wall leaving marks, and my finger up my nose.

It also happens to be my youngest son’s first official book that is truly his -- not from the book collection passed down from his older brother. My 9 year-old and 4 year-old sons and I occasionally read it before bed if the mood is right, with our fingers up our noses.

Unlike traditional fairy tales that model gender roles in which female characters are passive princesses waiting to be rescued, cared for, and protected by men, The Paper Bag Princess is radically alternative with a feminist-spin.

The Radical, Feminist Plot

Princess Elizabeth is a beautiful, rich, pre-pubescent princess with fine clothes and is set to marry the equally pristine Prince Ronald. A dragon burns down her castle, including her clothes and carries off the Prince. Elizabeth puts on a basic brown paper bag, chases down the dragon, outsmarts the beast, and rescues the Prince. The Prince upon being rescued takes one look at her and tells her to “Come back when you are dressed like a real princess”. Elizabeth calls him a bum and walks off. And they don’t get married.

He thinks she's a disgrace...she thinks he's a Bum

I may have been young, but Munschs’ themes and metaphors opened the floodgate thereon in for my habit of “reading into things”. The very basic concept of a princess, *gasp*, SAVING a prince was so radical, it’s being blogged about right now at this very moment for the purpose of reminding ya’ll that this type of fairy tale is still considered “alternative”.

The herstory of the idea for Princess Elizabeth goes like this: At a daycare in Ontario, Munsch came across a young girl called Elizabeth who would walk in and throw her coat on the floor expecting someone to hang it up for her because she had a slew of brothers who did everything for her. Her nickname amongst staff was “Princess”. Sexist perhaps, but I digress. Robert Munsch told two stories each day to the children, and he often changed the plots of stories each time and was “doing a bunch of dragon stories” with a prince always saving the princess. His wife Ann, who was the director at the center pointed out that most of the women who brought their kids to daycare were single moms and most children did not have princely role models at home. Ann asked, “Why can’t the princess ever save the prince, Bob?” So he obliged. It became “a story that the MOTHERS liked,” explained Munsch, “and it stopped changing and became a story that was asked for again and again.”

stunned and shirtless, Elizabeth is still a princess

As a child, and now, I love that the princess raises above vanity -- a theme that is THE focal point of every single fairy tale forced down my throat as a young girl. I love that she was drawn shirtless with an un-sexualized body. I love the symbolism of the charred, mutilated crown that remained on her head throughout her journey. I love the air of dignity and industriousness of the paper bag.

She finds herself in a post-apocalyptic situation where etiquette and expectations are tossed out the window and we watch her make her own choices. I love how her parents are nowhere in sight. I love that in each beautifuly-drawn illustration by Michael Martchenko her face captures the true emotions of a girl - the anger, the disappointment, the confidence, the smugness, the victory, the adoration, the joy.

pleased princess and out-of-puff dragon

When faced with the intimidating dragon, Princess Elizabeth uses her brain and cleverness as opposed to her beauty/sexuality to problem-solve. I LOVED the reverse gender roles, I loved seeing Elizabeth standing next to a defeated dragon, staring up at the caged, vulnerable prince. In my childhood this was the ONLY fairy tale where a girl wasn't depicted as irrelevant, dim, passive, stagnant and stuck indoors!

Elizabeth rescues Ronald

I asked one of my parents if it was possible that Ronald was mean to her not because he really meant those cruel words but because he was shaken by being saved by a girl. They called this being emasculated and it was “a terrible thing”. I decided that day that masculinity wasn't just a privilege for the boys, but something girls deserve to feel too.

The general reception to this story at the time was confusing, apparently. Bronwyn Davies, Feminist scholar and author, did some research on the impact of this story (she was provoked to search for alternative children’s stories to read to her own daughter for role models to combat the materialistic and highly-sexualized consumer culture that surrounded girls). Davies discovered that children viewed Princess Elizabeth as "bad once she stepped out of her female place” and her findings illustrate the 1980s as a time of changing gender roles in society. Davies found that children who had a mother working outside the home and who had a father who shared in the housework were able to grasp the feminist message of the story.

What does Elizabeth walk away with at the end of the story? Not the prince, not a trophy, not a new status or an elevated hierarchy, not a new outfit or tangible object. 

Aside from feminism, the message of self-love may be the most important concept to discuss with your kids -- boys and girls.

Twins! (Wendy & Hayley)

What I love most about the paperbag princess, is that she makes me think of my twin sister, Hayley, who every single time we went tobogganing during those long Winnipeg winters would pull me in the sled the whole 2 blocks to the hill and the whole 2 blocks home, our parents nowhere in sight. She marched to the beat of her own drum, is both perfectly resilient and perfectly vulnerable and taught me how to stand up for myself. Hayley's a dragon-slayer, but she's a generous and compassionate one. And things that I could never really understand, she always had a way of explaining them to me. 

And I have, like I’m sure every girl has, fallen for that deceptively beautiful man who turned out to be someone who took advantage of my one-sided devoted adoration. Reading the simple last lines from Elizabeth always brings me back to basics:

The Paper Bag Princess is NOT an anti-male sentiment, It simply highlights that unkind, disrespectful behavior from a partner, any partner, is sometimes just unacceptable.

According to Munsch, the moral of the story is: “there are a lot of bums out there and you don’t want to marry one.”

***

Other Readings:

The Princess Who Saves Herself
(as per the book’s Kickstarter): The story of an awesome kid who lives with her pet snake and plays rock ‘n’ roll all day to the huge annoyance of the classical guitarist witch who lives down the road. Hijinks, conflicts, and a fun reconciliation ensue, all showcasing determination, bravery, and understanding.

Frogs and Snails and Feminist Tales: Preschool Children and Gender
(as per Google Reads description:) How and why do children become masculine or feminine? The way in which gender is constructed in our society means that in learning to be good people, to be members of our society, children must learn the way maleness and femaleness is done and they must get it right. Gender is a public rather than private category, and children recognize that they are not free as individuals to vary the way gender is taken up. Using children's play, their conversation, and their responses to feminist stories, this study provides both detail of the gendered world of childhood and new insights into the social construction of gender. This revised edition includes the addition of a chapter reflecting on the methodology, as well as detailed textual improvements.

Cinderella Ate My Daughter: Dispatches from the Front Lines of the New Girlie-Girl Culture:
(Wikipedia): The book explores the phenomenon of princess culture and in particular how the concept is marketed to young girls. It expands on the theme set out in the article, incorporating child beauty pageants, American Girl stores, and a Miley Cyrus concert. Orenstein concerns herself with young girls' self-esteem and the sexualization of girlhood.

How to Host a Badass Clothing Swap

People + Clothes!

Right-on. That's basically all you need to hold a successful clothing swap. The guests don't even need to be friends. But chances are most of them will be by the end of the night.

Hostess Sarma who happens to live in a beautiful, spacious, well-located abode on Queen street East wanted to host this event with the help of her sassy friend Tessa and they asked me to throw in my flair and no-nonsense approach.

Hosted by Tessa, Sarma & Wendy (aka: Girls In Your Closet)

We set up our event using Facebook and invited a shitload of people: People with bodies of all shapes and sizes. People who wear clothes. People who like to be with other people. Outside of the obvious "women you are friends with", I recommend inviting men, teenage daughters, your mother, your mother's friends, and people you don't know very well.

  

To draw interest I made up a poster using Picassa and found random Facebook pics of potential guests wearing, you guessed it -- clothes! (leaving out everyone's faces)

Our event started at 7 pm on a Friday night and the guests arrived to Sangria, wine, sushi and desserts. We urged guests to bring as many items of clothing as they wanted, plus additional snacks and booze to keep costs down.

raw fish...maple popcorn....honey balls

Here is the methodology for a badass clothing swap:

• Arrange separate tables or stations for TOPS, BOTTOMS, DRESSES, SHOES, PURSES

Shoes go HERE

• When each guest arrives ask them to count their items and put them at the appropriate station.

• Supply a roll of raffle tickets and a few pens; ask each guest to take the number of tickets per items they brought and have them write their name on the back of each ticket.

Daisy brought 26 items. She gets 26 tickets. She writes her name on the back of each. 

She holds on to the tickets for awhile.

Make sure to try stuff on and provide swappers with plenty of mirrors

• The number rule is simply this: Help yourself to as many items as you have tickets.... Now start hunting!

Labels-Shmables! Everything from Joe to Marc Jacobs at this swap

Your trash is my treasure


Our clothing swap had fantastic ambiance; the vastness of Sarma's apartment was a huge asset, great music, outdoor balcony for smokin', if that's your thing, and the group happened to be a lovely, adventurous murder of women!

• If more than one person has their eye on the same item call the ref! This is the fun part. The individuals need to try it on, strut their stuff and the group decides who it looks best on. Muah!

Jude and daughter Mika go home full-bagged

A party ain't a party without GoGo

Actors/artists Tracy and Shay pick up anything colourful

Anjali has experience with clothing swaps and she deems ours badass

• When everyone has found their desired number of items I suggest you blow a whistle for the end of round one. Close the tables. Guests sort through their piles, putting back any discards. Then round two begins and it's a free-for-all. Take as many as you like. The host doesn't want to be left with a big pile of clothes at the end of the night to dispose of.

This Wendy enjoyed her night out sans kids and contributed some well-appreciated items

This Wendy added a few macho items to her wardrobe: genuine leather Deisel fanny pack and faux-leather Forever 21 jacket

Not sure who ended up taking this skirt home -- GoGo or Shay?

Cinderella....(finally!) These killer heels went to a good home

She found this dress and they look very happy together

• Now, what was the point of those raffle tickets with our names on the back? We tossed them all in a hat and drew a name for a prize at the end of the night.

Shannon wins the bottle of Tequila!

All the best at your next Clothing Swap event....signed, the FeministBuddhist.

Ticking the Boxes

I reactivated my OKCupid account recently -- this time around I'm on as a woman looking for a woman.

As a straight girl on the dating site a few years back, I'd seen every kind of creepy to every kind of awesome and typically speaking, it's a woman's game, receiving over 150 messages a week from men. But my taste in men is particular; roughly 3 out of every 100 were attractive to me. I went out on dates with a few handfuls of men and formed an attachment to exactly three which remains to this day. But Internet dating wasn't really for me at the time, so I stepped off.

My current profile states I'm not into polyamory, not typically into casual sex, not looking to fuck your girl to spice up your bedroom antics, or for a hetero fantasy. Please, no men, no couples.

For the most part, I am a mostly-heterosexual-sometimes-queer-macho-femme-monogamous-woman.

It takes courage to check a box. And it takes courage to run up to those boxes and kick them so hard they go flailing through the air.

A wise woman once said courage starts by simply showing up.

Got that? All you have to do is show up. Show yourself. Show your true self.

No fake smile, no stiff upper lip, no brave face, no keep calm and carry on, no put-on voice, no puffed-out chest, no shirt, no shoes if you don't got 'em. Wear lipstick if you want, but please not for amour.

This particular dating site's browsing feature works like this: you scroll through a banner of people and in order to move to the next one you either have to give them an X or a Star. If you want to know more, click on their profile but they'll see that you did. If two people have mutually "starred" each other, the system lets us know it's a match, thus a message at this point is really the only savvy way to open the gate to fuck-town.

My lesbian friend warns me in Non-Straight Ville -- population me and thousands of gay, queer, trans, demi's, heteroflexible, homoflexible, pansexual, sapiosexual or questioning people --  things are a lot different than Boy-Meets-Girl World, so she gives me some tips:

Don’t say anything too forward about how they look, it’s creepy.

Keep your messages short. 

Don’t treat it like a candy-store. 

Read their profile, see if you're actually compatible - women care about that stuff. 

The ones you lust for because they look like Beiber (yeah, I’m that girl) are usually fucking cray-cray.

My friend is optimistic for my success:
"You’ll do so well with the lesbians." she says
"I hope I do as well as I do with the men." I retort.

My friend envies me slightly for being into men too-- she finds women terribly difficult to date and wishes she could enjoy the proverbial banana and the tree attached. She believes men are easier and more simple to relate to.

My account has been active for over a week and all I can hear are crickets. Still, so far I can say there are more than 3 out of every 100 who pique my interest. I like these odds.

The silence and stillness is deafening. One woman looks at my profile four times in 3 days. Another looks at my profile twice in the last 4 hours. I click on hers. She clicks on mine. I click on hers. She clicks on mine. Still silence.

My friend warns me my profile has some heavy strikes against me -- I've got kids, which is cool with most guys who just want to bang, but women, well, they're a little more sensitive to the implications of that situation. 

The biggest turn-off is that I bluntly state I am severely allergic to cats and I just cannot be around cats. She suggests I retract my motherhood status and keep mum about not being cat-cool.  I refuse.

"Most single women have cats. A lot of lesbians have cats." she reminds me.

Noted. I begin to crack a joke about pussy but stop myself - the branch is far too low-hanging. 

It's been over a week and I'm stuck in quiet-ville without a single message. I cannot help but judge that the influence of social gender roles has a lot to do with this. Simply put; men are told to GO FOR IT. Women, gay or straight are raised to be careful...to hold back....better to be safe than sorry.

Well, I say, taking my hands out of my pants, someone’s got to do it and it may as well as be me. I’m not here for window shopping, isn't reaching out kind of the point of this whole thing?

I start firing messages off to all the fine women who make me happy I'm not staring at a man's profile:

You’re cute. I like your hair. What part of England are you from?
and...
Your dog looks like an accountant I once hired.

and...
You sound so honest. Hey, I'm interested in feminist film too.
and...
Your cat is named Lloyd?! That's my son's name! :)

In a two-week span I send 15-20 messages.

None of them reply. Zero. Most of them block me. 

***

I meet my friend Rudiger for drinks and spill the beans about my shitty timeshare in Rejection City.

"What are you saying to these women?? You fucking creep." he exclaims.

I show him the messages on my phone to prove I've been nothing short of a gentleman. He cocks his head to one said “Aw, you’re sweet. These girls don’t know what they’re missing.”

He's convinced he knows women who won't reject me and offers to go to the lesbian bar and be my gay sidekick. 

"Really? You’d do that for me?" I say.

He nods and jokes that he's hoping it will result in me, him and some woman having a threesome.
"You know sex with me is on the table. Like literally on the table." he says, "No, seriously, lift your napkin, my dick is on the table.” 

My buddy Rudiger is the best and this may be a friendship that will last a lifetime.

He cheers me up by telling me about his own sexual escapades; He tells me about the group sex, the casual sex, the polyamourous sex, the trans-sex, the oral-sex, the shut-up-and-put-out sex, the open sex, the shy sex, the monogamous sex, the meaningful sex, the meaningless sex.

"Why are you looking for a woman anyways? What about that special guy you've been seeing?"

I fall quiet for a minute and secretly hope we've opened the gate to love-talk.

I ask Rudiger how you know when you’re falling in love. He rolls his eyes at me and gives me a look of combined pity and dubiety: 

“Well, gee, the great philosophers and poets from the beginning of time have been pondering the question but yeah, I’ll give it a try." He takes his eyes off the game and speaks to me:

"You get butterflies in your stomach, you think about them all the time. You want to know how they’re doing. If they’re okay. You want that connection to be with them, like a thread pulling you two together. You miss them when they're not around. You want to to know more about them. You think about the possibilities together as a couple --"

I interject:

-- "You can't stop feeling this way no matter how you try to talk yourself out of it.
You feel it even if they don’t feel it back. And it feels so good.”

He interjects:

“Plus you want to lick their butt.” 

I nod in agreement. But warn him that unlike him, and despite that I am a mostly-heterosexual-sometimes-queer-macho-femme-monogamous-woman. I've got behaviour patterns of a type checkmarked: dismissive-avoidant attachment.

The qualities are these: keeping my life separate and private, feeling love but not telling them, pining after an ex I had an impossible future with, two-timing, pulling away when things are going well, keeping secrets and leaving details foggy (to maintain my feelings of independence), inability to reach out and make plans, fearing commitment means "losing myself", maintaining my self-sufficiency and disregard for mutual support.

There have been a few profound times when I have kicked that attachment-style label and sent it flailing in the air, raising above and showing true vulnerability and courage and it's been worth it -- even if I didn't get the results I was seeking.

Trouble is I always fall back to my check-mark-boxed pattern.

Whether we're operating in the real world or in a virtual one; we all seem to be having a lot of trouble with being vulnerable. 

Vulnerability has a twisted reputation -- what it means is the ability to be comfortable with uncertainty, to take emotional risks, and to expose ourselves emotionally. One doesn't necessary need another's consent or permission to be vulnerable.  Remember, you're doing this for you -- not for them.

Sending a message to a stranger on a dating site is hardly the kind of risk I should be boasting about and checking off the box marked "vulnerability conquered" -- I've got to fess up to the feelings I'm running from right now. Fess up to the feelings this man -- my heterosexual lover -- brings out in me every time we're together.

And when we're apart.

***

The next day I log on to OKCupid and I see I have finally received my first message.

Hey :) How's it going ? . Ur hair looks soo stylish and pretty :) u must be a hair dresser :) are you ??? ,,, hmm i reallllly apologize for being soo random . I am just wondering if u knew any nice cute manly looking gay or bi guys ??....thank u sooo much for ur help ..and I hope my message wasn't too awkward :S lol... have a wonderful day :) thanksssss

Greeeeeeeeaaaaaaat.
Just great.

***

Eventually a real message comes in from a real woman. She is blonde, thin, not attractive to me, and quite young. She states simply: I love your eyes.

I want to respond immediately, so she doesn’t fall into lesbian letter-limbo-land like I have so experienced.

I write back with honesty: “Thanks, you’re cute but not my type.”
She actually responds:  “Ummm...k...lol….what’s your type?”

I sit back in my chair and ponder the appropriate response that will cater her ego and mine. I decide to tell the truth -- after all, it’s been choking me up for months. But I decide to keep it on a level of purely aesthetics:

“Big brown eyes....beautiful smell.... great laugh….amazing kisser….beautiful body….soothing voice... touchable skin.....warm…...six-foot-two....beard.”

I delete the words I’ve typed out and send nothing.
I log off and shut it all down.

All I can think about is him. All I can think about when I think about love, when I think about sparks flying, when I think about naked bodies, when I think about intimacy, when I think about practicing vulnerability -- is him.

I'm wise enough to know this is nature's way of telling me it's time to quiet the mind. 

And so I do. 

As I drift along for a few days, light on thoughts and heavy on feeling, I discover:

Right now I don't want anyone else but him. I don’t want to do anyone but him. Plus, I want to lick his butt.

This kind of love is not a box I can tick, and it's certainly not a hard hit from cupid’s arrow -- it’s fluid, infinite, evolving. I believe Cupid’s arrow is bent, soft as marshmallows and ejaculates glitter upon impact. 

I want him not because he’s of a box marked straight and not because I am a mostly-heterosexual-sometimes-queer-macho-femme-monogamous-woman, but because he's who he is -- and he gets to be him and I get to be me. As two eager stars maybe all we need to do right now to keep this thing going is just keep showing up.

***

To learn more about what a wise woman has got to say about vulnerability, check this out: http://www.ted.com/talks/brene_brown_on_vulnerability

Coming Out

Oh no, she’s coming out as feminist
better lock up your cocks
lock up the misandrists, the misogynists, the patriarch, the matriarch
pro-butch, pro-femme,
pro lipstick-wearing-lesbian

shaving my legs and shaving my head
pro masculine, pro dick, love men, giving head
i dunno if you know i like pussy, i dunno know if straight is straight
but challenge the men who run this place, hell yeah
damn straight

you don’t wanna fuck doogie
well I don’t wanna fuck a kardashian
but how ‘bout I be doogie
and you be kim
and we see how that feels
now wait – which one of us is him

my lover is a hairy straight man who wears a suit and a tie
but he fucks me like i want it, like we both get to be the guy
he treats me like a lady, says baby you got a gift
i’m so good to him,
i treat him like one too

pop songs on the radio, yeah that taylor swift
that shit's catchy, you just change the he's to she's, the me's to you's
and you got yourself a powerful story
i get to be james dean and i get to be red lip classic too

i won’t judge you for how many holes you got,
don’t got
what you use ‘em for, which one’s kept closed
makeup, tattoos, mustache, ponytail, strut in ‘yo high heels
we all know it’s just drag
we call each other baby, punk, dyke, fag

i’m coming out
you listen to me
i listen to you

coming out, coming out, coming out
c'mon, someone before me started this 
now i'll be a leader and follow
Now calm the fuck down – we’re all gonna be friends.