Molly McIsaac

theuppitynegras:

love it. love everything about it

So, my dog is an “accessory” in a fashion show tonight. One of the models (@AngelineOliver) just sent me this.

fat-feminist:

thesebootsaremadeforstalkin:

sskypages:

n-1d-forever-directioner:

cogsworthhasenteredthebuilding:

the-girl-who—lived:

whensocietykills:

ladymaxwell:

mulletsmakememoist:

never not reblog this ever

The one time Fox News does something okay.

This has to be on my blog a good 15 times. I regret nothing.

What a sassy republican.

reblogigng for the sass and only the sass

the only news post on Tumblr that doesn’t make me feel ostracized hashtag republican swag  

Yeah but republicans are terrible and you should still feel bad.

I need these, tell me where to get these.

rosalarian:

Angelina Jolie had a double mastectomy, in case you hadn’t heard. How dare she remove those ticking time bombs from her chest, amiright? Like, hasn’t she learned by now that her body is public domain and we all get to vote on what she does with it? Sheesh, how selfish can ya get.

I’m so obsessed with them I can’t even function.

This is the story of how cosplay made me love myself.

Eat. Hate myself.
Skip the gym because I had a rough day. Hate myself.
Stare at photographs of myself. Hate myself.
Starve myself for a day. Hate myself.
Eat. Hate myself.
Wash, rinse, repeat.

I’ve never had a good relationship with my body. I used to lay in bed at night and wish, wish, WISH - please, please let me wake up in the morning with a different body. In college I wouldn’t leave the house for a week because I was so terrified of people seeing me - of JUDGING me and policing the way I looked.

I keep clothes around that are much too small for me. I look at them and murmur: “someday…”

I stare in the mirror and I pinch my fat. Tears roll down my cheeks when I see the squishiness of my thighs. I collapse on my closet floor when trying to compile outfits because I JUST DON’T LOOK RIGHT. I JUST DON’T FEEL RIGHT.

This has been my life. It didn’t matter if I was at my lowest weight of 125lbs or my highest of 180lbs: No matter what, I look in the mirror and I feel that the woman staring back at me isn’t what she should be.

I compare myself to my skinnier, prettier friends. I push the fat on my inner thighs aside to see what I would look like with a gap in between my legs. I suck my stomach in and touch my ribs: “There, that’s beautiful.”

About five years ago I started to cosplay for the first time. At first, it was difficult for me. I thrived on the attention that cosplaying brought, but I felt that with this excuse for people to look at me - after all, I was representing characters that were so unreal - that everyone was thinking to themselves: “Ugh, look at her. Look at that fat, disgusting girl trying to cosplay. That’s cute. *eyeroll*”

I picked costumes that were long and modest. I hid under the folds of fabric. I hid behind my own camera. I’d bring costumes to conventions, only to break down when I looked at myself in the mirror and take them off again, mercilessly throwing them into a heap in the corner of my hotel room.

Four years ago I was pushed beyond my comfort levels by agreeing to cosplay Knockout from the Female Furies in a group of empowered, beautiful women. Knockout wears a leotard with a thong. The biggest issue I have with myself is my hips and thighs - “they’d look okay on a black woman, but on a white girl they’re not okay!” says society. I thought that agreeing to cosplay Knockout would push myself to work out and finally lose weight.

I did. I ran and biked and lived on smoothies for months. Barely anything changed. I was still as curvy as always. But I couldn’t back out. I couldn’t let these women down. So I packed up my costume and I changed into it, stricken with terror. I walked around San Diego Comic-con in a thong leotard.

At first I felt the need to hide. Behind other people. Behind fellow cosplayers. Behind my purse. But then I felt myself opening up, like a flower in the spring. I felt the eyes on me - not judging and appraising, but admiring and approving. What a wondrous feeling it was! To feel empowered, beautiful, and sexy. To feel like I was okay in my own skin.

Thus began my journey to self acceptance via cosplay - and while I admit I still have a long way to go, I feel happier and healthier every time I put on spandex. I can eat now without getting panic attacks. I wear dresses that are tight as a glove and show my curves - my imperfections. At times I still feel like I am drowning in my own insecurities, but I recall back to those hours of being a superhero and suddenly I’m okay again.

So for anyone guilty of body policing cosplayers, for accusing us of merely doing it for attention, for objectifying us and ridiculing us - it goes deeper than what you see on the surface. For some of it, it’s integral to our identity and well being.

My Princess Neptune cosplay from Sailor Moon.

THIS IS THE BEST COSPLAY OF ALL TIME YOUR ARGUMENT IS INVALID

Maleficent cosplay in all of her drag queen glory.

Cosplayed by Beckinbits.

mechamelissa:

“The Girl Who Stole Reality” by Cody Vrosh

Ugh Cody Vrosh is too perfect.

It’s really hard to stick your tongue out without it touching your lips.

tokyo-fashion:

Transparent studded neon handbags & vertical stripes at Spinns Harajuku.

Welp, off to buy a transparent handbag on ebay.

My friends and I are the most beautiful and delicate flowers. @sarahhiraki

I’d let this Tuxedo Mask prey upon my 14 year old self any day. Wait…

WHY AM I ALLERGIC TO BUNNIES LIFE IS CRUEL

Swimming anime cosplay at Sakura-con. HNNNNNGGGG

mechamelissa:

Museum of Sex adventures with @jillpantozzi @mollymcisaac and @superspacechick! <3