I think (hope) that in real life I come across as confident. I scold the girl at work for trying to cover her freckles, I tell people to trust their own judgement instead of seeking it in internet videos, I consistently annoy my flat mate with my opinions. I am generally a strong character who knows what she thinks and I don't like to stop people thinking what they think or change what they think. I comfortable in my own attitude.
But to be perfectly honest I'm quite sure I'm hideously over compensating. I have written before about over thinking both in published and unpublished posts because part of the over thinking is writing down every notion I have like my computer is interested. My neuroticism is heady and ridiculous, it pops up at the wrong time and has the worst ideas possible. It tells me that publishing a piece about walking home practicing a text I would send when I got home OUT LOUD would be a fantastic idea. It tells me that writing down every whim I possess is incredible and loveable and not irritating or distracting from every day life.
I'm pretty sure that everyone important in my life is more important to me than I am to them. This is not self deprecating, I am not fishing for compliments. I would tell you if I was fishing, because its obvious and I like compliments. But its true, I just don't think I'm all that important. I am one person's bestfriend but thats is just a title, he sees and loves people on a far more regular basis than me and I think he is more my best friend than I am his. I am absolutely without a doubt always on the out skirts of a group. When I was at school, the boys were the focus of our group. The girls were and remain brilliant but for some reason I always felt that I was neither part of the boys or the girls and that I was more interested in being one of the boys than I was being a part of the girls. When I was at college I was kind of a part of many groups, nerds, cool nerds, emos, I was in them all. But I was never an important part of them. For example, my friend Maggie was an intrinsic part of the close knit group that I was kind of an add on to. They all are fabulous human beings and I love them very much but I either weirded some of them out or some were just apathetic to me. At University I was party of a very small group of friends and was finally important. I had people who loved me and thought I was significant and found to my dismay that it is not the role for me. When I am important, I get power hungry and I screw people over without quite knowing it until its all over and I realise how horrific I have been. Apologies to both Kate and Sophie who felt the brunt of this and I still think about when I feel like I should be more important to people.
I know this boy. He will definitely read this. I'm in two minds about writing what I am clearly going to but he was the one who gave me the half a wine glass of gin that got me writing again so lets get to it. We met in a place where I'd never think of meeting someone and I don't think I ever will again. H ehas become a really good friend of mine in a way that the people you've only known for 3 months can. We were mutually confused by each other's intentions for like a month and a half. He thought I wanted him to be my boyfriend and so consequently didn't speak to me for a fortnight at a time. I thought he wanted to be my friend so was completely baffled by this behaviour. So we got drunk, on my bed. I told him that I didn't want a boyfriend, we both agreed however that we wanted to bone each other. I'm drinking more gin now, so I get to use bone as an adjective. We had sex and then a week later, drunk on my bed, he tells me he's not going to have sex with me. His reasons were perfectly valid and I agreed to the new terms of our weird friendship but now I am... confused? No, pensive. I'm pretty sure now, about a month later, that he no longer wants to have sex with me and that he is no longer sexually attracted to me. Now in some ways this is good, it avoids the outcome he was trying to avoid. The issue: I'd still like to have sex with him.
Just as aside, I'm definitely thinking about not posting this now.
I was never scared of what he was scared of and I enjoyed having someone actively interested in having sex with me. I'd say the issue may be 40% ego. I enjoyed having a plutonic friend who thought I was sexy and now I'm pretty sure I don't have that and it kind of smarts. This is the kind of neurotic nonsense that means I text most of the male friends I have asking them if they think I'm sexy.
I'm definitely everyone's favourite friend.
The biggy though, the most debilitating and horrendous neuroses of all is what if I'm not good at writing any more? I have been putting off and putting off coming back to the blog because I've been tired and over emotional and unable to have the kind of fire that usually fuels this thing but most of all I'm terrified that the people who tell me I'm good or the people who tell me I'm funny are humouring me. I'm terrified of being tolerated and that is most prevalent in my writing because this is something I think I'm good at and if I'm not then what the fuck do I have?
K
Wednesday, 28 August 2013
Friday, 26 July 2013
Why Gok Wan hates you. (originally published on The Quail Pipe)
I have recently started working with fashion again. I haven't in a long long time. I have been discussing Sony vs. Samsung and to be honest Samsung vs. everyone for too long. I have been teaching people how to use their computer as if I were teaching them how to use a nuclear bomb that could also help them make perfect toast. It has been an odd couple of years. But now I am back in Fashion, as the least important manager you have ever met. I fold clothes, decide the days that me and the one 19 year old girl who owes me nothing work and stare at stuff that I don't know how it works yet. I did that last one in my last job too.
I also, several times a day, get told what Gok Wan thinks.
I have very little interest in what anyone thinks about the way I dress. This is a lie of course but I wouldn't change what I wear because someone said they didn't like what I wore. I have had many opinions about my appearance offered to me over the years; there was a myth at my Junior school that I put my head in the microwave to get my trademark frizz. If I wasn't going to listen to those 11 year old bitches (and 11 year old girls are bitches, I was one) I don't quite understand what a man who advertises yoghurt that makes you poo has to say about the shape of my body. But there are women who I tai to every day who live their lives wearing what Gok Wan wants them to. Would you like to know a secret?
Gok Wan hates you.
This is the only explanation for the way he treats women. He has pushed the liberation of women's fashion back to where we matched handbags and dresses. He gives us a uniform, he tells us that unless we wear what he tells us to we will not look good and even worse that we won't feel good about ourselves. He works on the understanding that a women's self esteem is based on not wearing the correct clothes, that if a girl who has been throwing her guts up for some dumb hopeless pursuit of happiness just hasn't been wearing the right cut of jeans.
In an interview with Women & Home* he states that he 'divides women into eight categories of body shape' and goes on to give them crude names designed to make women feel sexy because of course thats all self esteem is. To a man, gay or otherwise, a women's sense of self is based in how fuckable she is. He has rules for how these 8 women should dress. Having watched How To Look Good Naked (spoiler alert: it's strategically hide behind a velvet curtain in a stately home) he tells hourglass figured girls (me) to wear wrap dresses and skinny jeans. Wrap dresses are fine, I have no qualms with this. It is the notion that a person that claims to know anything about women's bodies thinks that a woman with an hour glass figure can find a pair of skinny jeans that fit her. I bought a pair of size 18 jeans to fit my hips and I have to wear the tightest belt possible to get anywhere near look like I'm wearing a normal pair of jeans. Mine is the least stressful story I know about a girl of my shape buying jeans and I almost cried the first time I wore them. That is the minimum stress Gok Wan, you sadistic fuck, how dare you tell me to wear skinny jeans.
He also, and this is what really gets me, seems to make it ok to objectify women on television. He grabs boobs and bums like he's drowning and somehow nobody notices that he's touching up a woman on primetime telly. It is a disservice to the fragile and overall pleasant women who take part in his shows that we think that just because he's not getting a sexual thrill from touching a woman's breasts that its alright. A woman's body should be respected for the awesome, ridiculous and cruel miracle that it is not felt up by a camp guy on channel 4.
AND WE FUCKING TAKE IT.
I talk to women who tell me what Gok says because they think whatever he says must be true. I met a woman who said that she bought a bra because his face was on the packaging, this isn't healthy or natural behaviour. We shouldn't be putting our self esteem and our opinion of ourselves in the hands of anyone else but ourselves let alone a man who thinks calling your tits 'knockers' and your ass 'fierce' is going to solve your body dysmorphia.
*http://www.womanandhome.com/fashion/291128/gok-wan-s-fashion-advice
NB. Original publication, here.
I also, several times a day, get told what Gok Wan thinks.
I have very little interest in what anyone thinks about the way I dress. This is a lie of course but I wouldn't change what I wear because someone said they didn't like what I wore. I have had many opinions about my appearance offered to me over the years; there was a myth at my Junior school that I put my head in the microwave to get my trademark frizz. If I wasn't going to listen to those 11 year old bitches (and 11 year old girls are bitches, I was one) I don't quite understand what a man who advertises yoghurt that makes you poo has to say about the shape of my body. But there are women who I tai to every day who live their lives wearing what Gok Wan wants them to. Would you like to know a secret?
Gok Wan hates you.
This is the only explanation for the way he treats women. He has pushed the liberation of women's fashion back to where we matched handbags and dresses. He gives us a uniform, he tells us that unless we wear what he tells us to we will not look good and even worse that we won't feel good about ourselves. He works on the understanding that a women's self esteem is based on not wearing the correct clothes, that if a girl who has been throwing her guts up for some dumb hopeless pursuit of happiness just hasn't been wearing the right cut of jeans.
In an interview with Women & Home* he states that he 'divides women into eight categories of body shape' and goes on to give them crude names designed to make women feel sexy because of course thats all self esteem is. To a man, gay or otherwise, a women's sense of self is based in how fuckable she is. He has rules for how these 8 women should dress. Having watched How To Look Good Naked (spoiler alert: it's strategically hide behind a velvet curtain in a stately home) he tells hourglass figured girls (me) to wear wrap dresses and skinny jeans. Wrap dresses are fine, I have no qualms with this. It is the notion that a person that claims to know anything about women's bodies thinks that a woman with an hour glass figure can find a pair of skinny jeans that fit her. I bought a pair of size 18 jeans to fit my hips and I have to wear the tightest belt possible to get anywhere near look like I'm wearing a normal pair of jeans. Mine is the least stressful story I know about a girl of my shape buying jeans and I almost cried the first time I wore them. That is the minimum stress Gok Wan, you sadistic fuck, how dare you tell me to wear skinny jeans.
He also, and this is what really gets me, seems to make it ok to objectify women on television. He grabs boobs and bums like he's drowning and somehow nobody notices that he's touching up a woman on primetime telly. It is a disservice to the fragile and overall pleasant women who take part in his shows that we think that just because he's not getting a sexual thrill from touching a woman's breasts that its alright. A woman's body should be respected for the awesome, ridiculous and cruel miracle that it is not felt up by a camp guy on channel 4.
AND WE FUCKING TAKE IT.
I talk to women who tell me what Gok says because they think whatever he says must be true. I met a woman who said that she bought a bra because his face was on the packaging, this isn't healthy or natural behaviour. We shouldn't be putting our self esteem and our opinion of ourselves in the hands of anyone else but ourselves let alone a man who thinks calling your tits 'knockers' and your ass 'fierce' is going to solve your body dysmorphia.
*http://www.womanandhome.com/fashion/291128/gok-wan-s-fashion-advice
NB. Original publication, here.
Call me pretty, I really like it.
So lately I've been thinking about appearances. On wednesday I had my hair cut off and lets not beat around the bush - I look fucking cute. I loved how I looked before and I love it now but my main hang up has been I really really would like other people to think I'm hot.
Its something I've always thought strange that no matter how content I am with how I look and how I think I look, I've always liked compliments. Other people thinking I look nice is a thing I like.
I don't think its just me. We post pictures of ourselves all over the internet everyday. It probably averages out as more than that, I mean there are days where I post 2 or 3 selfies on Instagram alone. We are bombarding people with pictures of ourselves and it can't just be because we want to or that satisfies us or there would be a pre-computer equivalent. Nobody took pictures of themselves and just posted them to everyone they knew, no one sane anyway. This is purely post-2011 phenomena and it is without a doubt my favourite and most hated thing. I think in the back of my mind I want every picture of myself to be followed by compliments. I want people to tell me I'm pretty.
I really like people telling me I'm pretty.
I think compliments have become this thing that we instantly disagree with to the point that we don't even absorb them anymore. Someone calls us pretty, or handsome (boys are kind of worse than girls in this aspect), and we instantly give them a reason that they are wrong. If I tell a friend that they look nice or that they look different, I don't want them to disagree - just fucking take it. I especially dislike this reaction because its in me, in my head, everywhere. I was called sexy this week by a legitimate source and although I enjoyed the compliment, my brain still refuted it. I didn't say anything out loud but there was a small vice (and everyone knows they're fucking bitches, those small voices) that told me he was lying.
Can't we just be complimented? Accept that other people may think something positive about our appearance or our personality? We are lovely human beings; beautiful, effervescent and exciting people that other people love and enjoy on a daily basis. People love us. We are cherished by those around us as part of their lives and we shouldn't dismiss or belittle that adoration or acceptance by disagreeing or doubting their brilliant and worshipping friendship. We all love our friends and family so dear, see their beauty and fantastic minds like they are. We see each other so clearly but are forced by our own nature and the nurture that we've forced upon ourself to have such a cloudy vision of ourselves.
My friend Diasy once had a driving instructor who told her to name three things she loved about herself. I found this easy to do, I could find three things I love about Daisy. I could find 3 things I love about me. But I don't think I cold even fathom 3 things that anyone else could appreciate about me.
Which is fucking terrifying.
K
NB. Jeans & Jumper, French Connection. Shirt, ASOS.
Friday, 21 June 2013
over thinkers anonymous
Addiction is a strange thing. It affects some people and not others, it is brought on by some things and not others. If 'My Strange Addiction' is to be believed you can be addicted to literally anything. Having sex with blow up beach animals, eating cotton wool, drinking blood and (my favourite) licking the fur off a cat. So I don't find it too surprising that I am addicted to over-thinking every single decision I make. It probably stems from my theory that if you think something is going to happen then it definitely will not happen. If I think that the worst case scenario and then everything leading up to that is definitely going to happen, if I think about every detail and every possibility - it won't happen. This also works in reverse, that if I think something really good is going to happen if I plan what I will do because of how brilliant this thing that takes place will be - it won't happen.
You should know that I know exactly how mental I am.
Times in my life where this theory has come into fruition are plenty, I wouldn't have admitted this to all tens of you if I didn't have evidence. For example when I wrote the piece about Taylor Swift being the best role model young girls have I didn't think I would be arguing with a girl on Tumblr about whether I was racist or not when I compared Taylor Swift to Rihanna. I was arguing that I wasn't racist, should I make that clear? But I also didn't think that I would be getting a new brilliant job when I found myself unemployed 4 weeks ago but I do. My point is that life is a fucking bitch and is trying to trip you up everywhere you go. Which causes me, to be pretty shitting neurotic.
When I text you, I have though about what sounds appropriate? Should I be hilarious? Or silly? Or concerned? Or caring? Should I start with 'Hi' or just go right into it? Which words sound good? Do I sound irritated or sarcastic? Should I sound irritated or sarcastic? What if they think I'm being a bitch? What if they hate me? What if they secretly hate me and are only texting me to keep me sweet? What if I wasn't meant to text them back? What if they are only tolerating me and only texting me to humour me because I text them first and the subtext of this text is leave me the hell alone?
Or and don't get me started if I'm texting someone I 'like'.
Do they think I'm attractive? Do they think I'm sexy? Do they think I'm cute? How do I put across in one text message that I am attractive, sexy and cute but also that I'm intelligent and brilliant and that they are a fool for not making a move? Should I ask a question so t he to text me back? Or should I make a statement that means I know what I want, I know what I think and this is it, deal with it? Am I coming on too strong? Should I care that I might be coming on too strong? What if this text is so outlandishly repulsive that all my chances with them are dashed?
You're getting my drift, aren't you?
Its not just with texting but as you can see if I can think that many things about something that small, when I should or shouldn't leave to be on time for a train or a bus takes up a lot of brain power, so does ignoring a charity collector or replying to emails. Its all a big thinking mess.
I do absolutely love it though. I seem more intelligent because of the amount I think, I think so much about what my opinion is and what I actually think that I am very sure on what those things are. It makes me better at writing. I think about every word, every comma and every paragraph to what I think is funny and brilliant and smart. I think constantly about what I would want to read, what I would want someone to say to me. When I read other people's work, especially in snippets or sparkling fantastic exceptional prose that someone has put on Reddit or Tumblr I feel this buzz, it makes me want to make other people feel like that.
To be honest, thats all Tumblr, Twitter or Reddit is. Its Over-Thinkers Anonymous, we all think and post and think and post and think and reblog and think and think and think. We all turn up, every day to see what the other person has thought, to find out the opinion of people we don't know and to think about it more and more. We both cure and feed each other.
Hi, my name is Katherine and I'm an over-thinker.
You should know that I know exactly how mental I am.
Times in my life where this theory has come into fruition are plenty, I wouldn't have admitted this to all tens of you if I didn't have evidence. For example when I wrote the piece about Taylor Swift being the best role model young girls have I didn't think I would be arguing with a girl on Tumblr about whether I was racist or not when I compared Taylor Swift to Rihanna. I was arguing that I wasn't racist, should I make that clear? But I also didn't think that I would be getting a new brilliant job when I found myself unemployed 4 weeks ago but I do. My point is that life is a fucking bitch and is trying to trip you up everywhere you go. Which causes me, to be pretty shitting neurotic.
When I text you, I have though about what sounds appropriate? Should I be hilarious? Or silly? Or concerned? Or caring? Should I start with 'Hi' or just go right into it? Which words sound good? Do I sound irritated or sarcastic? Should I sound irritated or sarcastic? What if they think I'm being a bitch? What if they hate me? What if they secretly hate me and are only texting me to keep me sweet? What if I wasn't meant to text them back? What if they are only tolerating me and only texting me to humour me because I text them first and the subtext of this text is leave me the hell alone?
Or and don't get me started if I'm texting someone I 'like'.
Do they think I'm attractive? Do they think I'm sexy? Do they think I'm cute? How do I put across in one text message that I am attractive, sexy and cute but also that I'm intelligent and brilliant and that they are a fool for not making a move? Should I ask a question so t he to text me back? Or should I make a statement that means I know what I want, I know what I think and this is it, deal with it? Am I coming on too strong? Should I care that I might be coming on too strong? What if this text is so outlandishly repulsive that all my chances with them are dashed?
You're getting my drift, aren't you?
Its not just with texting but as you can see if I can think that many things about something that small, when I should or shouldn't leave to be on time for a train or a bus takes up a lot of brain power, so does ignoring a charity collector or replying to emails. Its all a big thinking mess.
I do absolutely love it though. I seem more intelligent because of the amount I think, I think so much about what my opinion is and what I actually think that I am very sure on what those things are. It makes me better at writing. I think about every word, every comma and every paragraph to what I think is funny and brilliant and smart. I think constantly about what I would want to read, what I would want someone to say to me. When I read other people's work, especially in snippets or sparkling fantastic exceptional prose that someone has put on Reddit or Tumblr I feel this buzz, it makes me want to make other people feel like that.
To be honest, thats all Tumblr, Twitter or Reddit is. Its Over-Thinkers Anonymous, we all think and post and think and post and think and reblog and think and think and think. We all turn up, every day to see what the other person has thought, to find out the opinion of people we don't know and to think about it more and more. We both cure and feed each other.
Hi, my name is Katherine and I'm an over-thinker.
Thursday, 13 June 2013
i clicked the link for the liberty sale and its all your fault.
Oh fucking bollocking shit.
I'm not even going to say anything, I'm just going to leave you with my pipe dreams.
I'm not even going to say anything, I'm just going to leave you with my pipe dreams.
House of Hackney, Navy Hackney Empire Day Dress, Was £255 Now £135
Anglomania by Vivienne Westwood, Grey Daisy Floral Print Dress, Was £410 Now £287
Stella McCartney, Black Pleated Panel Jersey Dress, Was £445 Now £222.50
Antipodium, Blue Lounge Lover Double Digits Print Silk Blouse, Was £195 Now £97.50
Acne, Pink Micah Wool Blend Jumper, Was £170 Now £102
Marc by Marc Jacobs, Red Miranda Tweed Skirt, Was £260 Now £156
Alexander McQueen, Medium Beige Enamel Skull Bangle, Was £155 Now £77.50
BOOM.
Fuck I'm poor.
K
Wednesday, 12 June 2013
my womb is a traitor
Its about to get real menstrual up in here. You've been warned.
Its science time.
By the time you reach 30 a woman has already lost half of her baby making eggs. During their monthly leap to freedom they are sacrificing them to the cause of the reproductive cycle, they are committing tiny suicides that in the end leave you without the ability to create life. But when you're 22, you not only have a significant number of eggs but they are at their most fertile. Those eggs are champions, brilliant eggs that know how to trap a sperm and make a healthy beautiful baby.
Fucking bitches.
Because this is where biology just becomes vicious, because you are at your baby making prime between the ages of 21 and 24, your body wants you to have babies. You are three times more likely to get pregnant at this time in your life than you are at any other time but thats not just because your eggs are all perfect its because your brain and our body are working together to trick you into getting pregnant. The hormones that are circuiting your body at full power are telling you to have a baby. You are more likely to forget to take your pill when in this state and less likely to have an abortion; for three years your uterus is Pro Life.
I want a baby.
But of course I don't want a baby, they need stuff and they have different opinions on how much gin I should drink than I do. I am still afraid of the fucking dark, how the shit am I supposed to bring up a child? With a kid, there is a human in the world that completely and unequivocally relies upon you - I killed 3 separate Tamigochis in my time not to mention the goldfish. Holy shit should I not be given a kid. But I want one really bad. My entire body is screaming at me to get fermenting, it doesn't care what kind of baby. It doesn't care how little money I have or the fact that I live with two other people neither of which would be the other parent to it's child. It just really wants a baby.
This whole feeling comes to a ridiculous conclusion when I see handsome men holding babies. Its both sexy and hormonal at the same time. It feels like my ovaries are crying.
Have I mentioned before that being a woman is fucking incredible?
I don't actually have a conclusion or witty response to the ridiculousness that is the female body other than these pictures of various handsome men holding babies.
Its science time.
By the time you reach 30 a woman has already lost half of her baby making eggs. During their monthly leap to freedom they are sacrificing them to the cause of the reproductive cycle, they are committing tiny suicides that in the end leave you without the ability to create life. But when you're 22, you not only have a significant number of eggs but they are at their most fertile. Those eggs are champions, brilliant eggs that know how to trap a sperm and make a healthy beautiful baby.
Fucking bitches.
Because this is where biology just becomes vicious, because you are at your baby making prime between the ages of 21 and 24, your body wants you to have babies. You are three times more likely to get pregnant at this time in your life than you are at any other time but thats not just because your eggs are all perfect its because your brain and our body are working together to trick you into getting pregnant. The hormones that are circuiting your body at full power are telling you to have a baby. You are more likely to forget to take your pill when in this state and less likely to have an abortion; for three years your uterus is Pro Life.
I want a baby.
But of course I don't want a baby, they need stuff and they have different opinions on how much gin I should drink than I do. I am still afraid of the fucking dark, how the shit am I supposed to bring up a child? With a kid, there is a human in the world that completely and unequivocally relies upon you - I killed 3 separate Tamigochis in my time not to mention the goldfish. Holy shit should I not be given a kid. But I want one really bad. My entire body is screaming at me to get fermenting, it doesn't care what kind of baby. It doesn't care how little money I have or the fact that I live with two other people neither of which would be the other parent to it's child. It just really wants a baby.
This whole feeling comes to a ridiculous conclusion when I see handsome men holding babies. Its both sexy and hormonal at the same time. It feels like my ovaries are crying.
Have I mentioned before that being a woman is fucking incredible?
I don't actually have a conclusion or witty response to the ridiculousness that is the female body other than these pictures of various handsome men holding babies.
Never EVER Google 'handsome man holding baby', its not worth your time or tears.
K
Saturday, 8 June 2013
my top 5 things that I currently dislike about myself.
In my second post of confessional self-depricating 'humour' and neurosis here is a quick look at my particularly personal and current brand of self hatred.
1. I pop Immodium like they're sweets to stop myself from being sick because I'm allergic to a lot of food and I'm not careful.
2. I have no clue of the appropriate amount of times to text someone so I will just text and text until I get a reply. This gets progressively worse the more alcohol I consume.
3. I really like affection. Holding hands, cuddling, the lot. I will just take them without concern for personal space or preference.
4. I am getting increasingly more 'in' to Tumblr.
5. I recently described homosexuality as a 'preference' and now I keep remembering that I've done that and hating myself. I feel it was important to express just how inebriated I was when I did this.
I'd like to make it very clear however that my hair has been looking incredible lately and that also someone whose opinion is very important at the moment told me I had nice eyes.
You win, you lose.
K
1. I pop Immodium like they're sweets to stop myself from being sick because I'm allergic to a lot of food and I'm not careful.
2. I have no clue of the appropriate amount of times to text someone so I will just text and text until I get a reply. This gets progressively worse the more alcohol I consume.
3. I really like affection. Holding hands, cuddling, the lot. I will just take them without concern for personal space or preference.
4. I am getting increasingly more 'in' to Tumblr.
5. I recently described homosexuality as a 'preference' and now I keep remembering that I've done that and hating myself. I feel it was important to express just how inebriated I was when I did this.
I'd like to make it very clear however that my hair has been looking incredible lately and that also someone whose opinion is very important at the moment told me I had nice eyes.
You win, you lose.
K
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