We’re Gonna Need A Bigger Hamster

Sometimes, in moments of deep reflection, I wonder… just what delusional depths can the typical American woman plumb? I thought I’ve seen it all… attack lawyers bitching off the shoulder of sensitive niceguys… I watched cockblocks glower in the bar near the target babe. All those delusions will be spun in time, like hamsters on wheels. Time to self-deceive.

But now I see there is more out there. A bigger, better, faster hamster. A rodent so enormous on a wheel spinning so violently it creates its own black hole of irrationality, sucking in logic, reason and common sense to an event horizon doom.

Behold: The Hamster of Hamsters. The Mother of All Rodents. The MOAR you know… the more you despair that America is in the grips of a virulent, and wholly undeserved, narcissism determined to sink the nation ship with the utmost alacrity.

The beast hungers:

In that sense, vanity is yet another stick with which people are beaten — because women are told, constantly and without any real deviation from the message, that they have to look a certain way to be worthwhile, to be of value. To be REAL, in some sense.

This is, of course, utter bullshit. Because any woman who identifies as a woman is a real woman. There’s a lot of different ways that can look and they are all valid.

“Because any woman who identifies as a woman is a real woman.” Is this the ur-tautology? Or just the usual gibberish from the usual losers unable to cope with the revelations from clear thinking?

Leaving aside for the moment any presumption this particular breed of hamster vessel knows what she means by the word “valid”, it is absolute falsehood that all women have value no matter what they look like. A morbidly obese land whale has almost zero romantic value to nearly all men. A woman who is so disgustingly fat she ceases to retain even the merest shimmer of womanly shape is a female of very low physical value.

Her post seems melancholy to me in some ways, caught and struggling in the web of the social expectations that are thrust upon women.

Expectations exist because we are biological machines with biologically-based desires that react to specific body types. When those body types deviate from the desirous norm, we recoil as if we have seen a monstrous creature of the nightmare world.

if you are fat and you accept your body as it is, you are often bombarded with “Your fat!” (they never get the “you’re” right)  [ed: female humor] in email and comments and sometimes in person, as though you need the reminder because you’ve risen above your station.

If you accept your fatness, then you wouldn’t be bothered by people calling you fat. Is Donald Trump bothered when people say to him “You’re rich!”?

One of the best things I ever did for myself was to consciously make an effort not to judge people’s bodies.

Here comes the patented feminist self-contradiction within two sentences…

I do not care if your hipbones stick out.

But you noticed, didn’t you, Judgy McJudgemytwoextrabeefpattiesonasesameseedbunfueledwideloadass? The “hipbones stick out” descriptive excess is classic fatgirl speak for healthy weight, slender women, hidden under an obfuscating layer of plausible deniability that she “does not care” about those skinny girls and their jutting hipbones. Fat shits just love their propaganda that the world is about to be overrun with thin women on the verge of mortal anorexia.

Your body is awesome.

Yes it is.

I do not care how many chins you are packing.

Men do. And that’s what matters.

Your body is awesome.

No it’s not.

So is mine.

I’ll be the judge of that.

Awesome, indeed. Awesomely rotund.

“So is mine.”

It’s like listening to a small child argue. The mind on display here is underdeveloped like a child’s, but at least children have the excuse that their brains are still a work in progress. This is an adult woman talking like this. Acting out like a petulant brat that reality is what she says it is, and so there!

“There’s no place like my body. There’s no place like my body. There’s no place like my body. Yay, I’m happy with myself again!”

If you wish for it hard enough… well, you’re still a fat crap.

My vanity — when I am not compromised by my own intrinsic self-doubt (two days before my period, like CLOCKWORK) — is of the traditional form. My vanity is in thinking that I am absolutely worth being looked at, absolutely worth being seen. Absolutely worth thinking of myself as talented.

Correction: You’re not worth being looked at, you’re not worth being seen, and goshdarnit, you’re absolutely not worth thinking of yourself as an alternative and equally worthy female form. And this fact will not change no matter how much you lie to yourself otherwise. It will never change until you change the fact itself, by losing weight and slimming down to a reasonable facsimile of a sexy woman. In your case, the fact itself looks to weigh about 100 unnecessary pounds.

Vanity is distasteful in people who at least can claim some justification for feeling vain; we may not like it but we understand. In contrast, vanity is farcical delusion in people who don’t possess a scintilla of real world evidence to justify their bloated self-regard. The vanity untethered from reality is a joke; it’s Generation Lookatme! on uppers, their heaving bulk held aloft by a helium-filled entitlement complex. The best thing for society would be to have these BubbleBoars disabused of their fanciful self-delusions. Of course, it might take more than a few stabs with the soulkilling shiv until they get the message. There’s a lot of ego blubber to cut through.

I wouldn’t call that inflated. I wouldn’t call that undue. I’d call that actually having a pretty good grasp on being confident that I am, in fact, a worthwhile human being.

A person’s actual worth is inversely proportional to the efforts she takes to convince herself of her worth.

Other than the death fatness and the blue hair, I’m actually pretty conventional in my appearance, according to the social beauty imperative: I am white, I have a clear complexion (mostly), I have thick curly hair on my head but little body hair. I have an hourglassy shape.

You’d have to be sober-ish to think she’s hourglassy. Hey, I thought all body types are worthwhile? She shouldn’t preen about her clear complexion and hourglassy shape. Is there something wrong with hirsute women?

I am still going to advocate for everyone being at least a little vain though. Because “pretty” should not be the sole criterion for “worth being seen.” Because “pretty” is actually kind of a bullshit narrow construct.

The hamster has gone suborbital.

In fact, when people who do not fit into the effing oppressive beauty standard that is going on in America are vain as hell, I love it.

“I am a beautiful, healthy woman. Fuck you, dad!”

I think it’s powerful and subversive and political and awesome.

No, it’s just retarded and transparent and silly and self-defeating.

Because fuck those folks who think you don’t deserve to be seen.

The problem is that there’s too much of you to see.

It’s worth clarifying as well — not only is no one required to participate in beauty culture,

No one is required to participate in breathing oxygen, either, but there are consequences if you choose non-participation.

you are still awesome and worth being seen [for the degenerate freak show you are] if you reject beauty culture entirely.

ftfy.

If vanity is about excessive pride in our appearance, well, let’s just say I’ll be damned before I look in a mirror and hate what I see just to avoid being vain.

Interesting reasoning. I didn’t know the opposite of vanity was self-hatred.

My only caveat regarding the awesomeness of vanity? Your intense and concentrated awesomeness does not mean other people are not also awesome.

I bet she doesn’t think Todd Akin is awesome.

Jane and the xoEditors actually have a whole new project in the works that will celebrate all things VAIN. It’s pretty hella exciting.

I used to think that setting these insipid behemoths straight would require nothing more than ignoring them. The sexual market is cruelly indifferent to one’s constructed vanity, and fat shits would find in short order how unloved they were by men with options. But now, I dunno… cold indifference doesn’t seem to be doing the trick. Pointing and ridiculing is the next step in the campaign against raging American female egotism, and if that doesn’t work, well, there’s always diabetes, chopped feet, and early death.

Why do I put crazed egomaniacs like this woman on the breaking wheel? What’s the point of being so mean to someone who is probably nice to puppies when she isn’t eating them? I do it to set an example for the others. To push back against evil ideologies that infect innocent minds. And make no mistake, this woman’s message is evil. If other women who had not yet ruined their bodies by blowing up to her repulsive dimensions took her words to heart, they might feel entitled to let themselves go, figuring that their body is beautiful no matter what it looks like, and shame on you for saying differently.

And then the world would be a little bit sadder, a lotta bit uglier, and a hella lot fatter. And that would be decidedly un-awesome.

1 comment / Add your comment below

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *