If you have seen any American movie or TV show over the past, say, fifty years or so, you are probably aware of the formal dance/gathering/ritual known colloquially as “prom.” Hollywood is obsessed with high school like, as a whole, and almost every single high school-centric movie seems to culminate in prom, whether it involves a Cinderella-esque transformation, a life-changing romantic connection, or a casual dousing of pig’s blood. But, just as the average high school experience as a whole is pretty different from the way it’s portrayed in the movies, prom is actually way, way different IRL than its media portrayal.
At this point, I think we can all agree that, for most of us, the line between being online and offline has basically become more or less impossible to distinguish. Where once there was a clear divide between ”URL” and “IRL,” there is now nothing, really, that creates a barrier between the two–for most people, everything that happens in real life is basically just curation. You know, trying to figure out how to make what’s happening in your actuallife a means of becoming 100% popping in your online life–Snapchatting everything, Insta-ing all of your brunches in the hopes that, one day, you might become a veritable Viral Meme (don’t believe me? Just ask Damn Daniel).
Women always orgasming from penetration alone? Yeah. No.
Race seems like a simple thing. He’s black. She’s white. Ze’s latina. They’re mixed. But race is so much more complex than skin. It’s coded with meaning socially, systematically, and culturally.And that’s part of what makes it interesting.
It’s also what makes it somewhat confusing. Maybe you sometimes find yourself asking, “Wait, is that racist?” Well, if you’ve ever had that moment, this is for you. Here’s answers to your 5 most common questions on racism.
This is to you. To the girl who still cuts herself. Maybe in a way I’m writing this for myself, too. Because I was you. Somedays, I still am you. Somedays, I want to cut so bad that it’s almost unbearable. Almost. But I don’t. And here’s why you shouldn’t either.
My left arm is full of tiny, delicate raised lines that gently remind me of how much life once burned. My left thigh tells a harsher story of a girl who wanted to dig deeper. It’s the story of a girl who was her own enemy. Every single day.
This is my deepest secret. This is my shame. But I need to share it with you...