Here is a quick sketch of me buried beneath a pile of job applications. Fun!
I have some other cartoons on similar topics that I am eager to post, so I’ll get those uploaded soon.
Tag Archives: crap
More makeup blogging, I guess
[Image of Annaham, a young white woman with dark blond hair (worn in a bun) and blue eyes, sitting on a couch, wearing bright blue/teal eyeshadow that is exaggeratedly painted above her eyelids, nude-pink lipstick, and an orange scarf with white polka dots. She is looking up at something above the frame with a bemused expression.]
YET ANOTHER RIDICULOUS PHOTO OF YOURS TRULY, WITH MAKEUP.
This time, it’s Urban Decay’s Painkiller eyeshadow, available in the Show Pony Shadow Box (an excellent palette that has some good neutrals AND some lovely brighter colors; review from Temptalia here); Peace (from the Deluxe Shadow line, of which there is an entire palette, which I highly recommend if you want to try a lot of bright colors but are on a budget) is a fairly close dupe, although it’s a little more true blue than Painkiller. Lipstick (not really visible in this photo, but oh well) is MAC’s Sheen Supreme in Impressive (reviews and swatches); it’s a nice pink-nude color with a texture that is quite moisturizing on the lips, if you go for that sort of thing. Many lipsticks tend to be too drying for my lips, which probably explains why I have a lip gloss collection in the double-digits and (maybe) five or six lipsticks in total.
There are some people who believe that bright eyeshadows draw too much attention to the wearer and so should not be used, or should be used sparingly. You can probably guess why I think that is a load of hooey. This isn’t true for everybody, of course, but if some jackass is going to stare at me because I am moving through the world while being disabled and a woman and such, I might as well go out on some days with my bright eyeshadow on because it enhances something that I like about my appearance (that would be my eyes, for the curious), and I am thus less likely to care if some douche thinks I shouldn’t be out in public, or wants to ask me about my cane, or something.
Does this work every time? Nope. But some days, it keeps me from going over the edge or down a spiral of awful self-esteem (which has been a problem ever since I can remember) and, at times, very actively disliking myself. Sometimes, it’s the little things that get you through. Not always, but sometimes. I have had issues with my appearance for a long time, and wearing colorful makeup every so often has (weirdly) helped me move past some of these issues, or at least has shown me that I can (and do, even when I’m not wearing makeup) look fabulous. I was convinced for a long time that my face was weird-looking. Thanks in part to experimenting with bright makeup, I don’t feel that way anymore. I may not be conventionally “attractive,” but that is totally cool with me.
I probably should be wearing eyeliner or mascara here to make things look more “finished,” but it was pretty hot outside and I wanted to minimize time spent getting the makeup off my face after I was finished wearing it (and when I wash makeup off, it tends to run down the side of my goddamn face as well. AWESOME).
[Originally posted on Tumblr]
Detached
[Description: Line drawing of a woman in a bed, sitting up against the pillows as her eyes—popping out of her head—focus on her body parts, which have detached from their sockets and are floating around the room.]
OF COURSE it’s time for meds, if a rocketship crashes into your head
[Image description: A line drawing of a young woman with a quizzical facial expression who has a rocket embedded in the left side of her head. A thought bubble to her right reads, “It’s time for Vicodin.”]
Ink on paper, 2009.
Blast From the Past: This is Not My Type of Feminism
[Important note: New feature! “Blast From the Past” will feature past posts from my old blog that I think are worthy of inclusion on this one, mostly because I like ’em. This post is from May 2009, so it’s a bit old in blog-time, but I think most of the points made are still (sadly) relevant. I’ve changed some of the wording for clarification purposes.]
There are days when I question whether feminism, as a whole, is welcoming to people like me. Or to people who are not exactly like me, but are still part of groups that have historically been ignored, erased, marginalized, or plundered by mainstream feminism.
This absolute trainwreck of a “discussion”–on mental illness–happened over two weeks ago at Feministe, and I’m still thinking about it. Many (though not all) of the comments on that post are horrific displays of ableist tripe.
I do not understand why some find it so haaaaaard to grasp that disability and ableism are feminist issues, or that disability rights and the rights of people of all genders are connected; I find it equally difficult to understand why some are so dedicated to holding on to the last vestiges of their privilege, even as they give lip service to things like “inclusion” and “diversity.” Neither term holds meaning when used by a certain type “good” mainstream liberal/feminist/et al to describe just how awesome and progressive they themselves are; oftentimes, these words are used to make those in the mainstream feel better about themselves, their privilege(s), and their biases–some of which they just cannot let go.
Again and again, I see comments in several places online that suggest that disabled and other marginalized people, and their experiences, are only good for two things: enabling the “growth and development” of mainstream feminists, and providing abstract (at least to those who have that privilege) discussion fodder that allows various “concerned” fems to do their thing without questioning their own privilege. Both of these have the effect of depoliticizing any radical potential that those who are NOT het white cis upper-middle class able-bodied mentally “healthy” feminists may bring to the table. In a way, it’s kind of like using the ideas of radical women of color—without referencing where these ideas come from!–to make a point about your wedding, of all things.
It fucking hurts.
Anna Hamilton | Writer 