Miss MEW's Musings

Every single hairstyle worn by Prince since 1978

Every single hairstyle worn by Prince since 1978

'Dear White People' does not point the way toward a happy, huggy, post-racial future. Nor does it prophesy a revolutionary fire next time. And it does not pretend that “race” is a symmetrical problem to be solved by acts of reciprocal good will on both sides. This is in part a movie about racism, about how deeply white supremacy is still embedded in institutions that congratulate themselves on their diversity and tolerance. It is, in other words, about how the distance from a place like Winchester to a place like Ferguson, Mo., is not as great as some of us might wish or suppose.

—A.O. Scott, “Advanced Course in Diversity

I always get asked this question and I never really have a satisfactory answer. I don’t know what it feels like to be a sex symbol. And I woke up in the morning and saw the same face, you know what I mean? It doesn’t really.. um.. but I will say this and I’ve said this in the press before, man, you know…Black men, we’re never called sexy, you know what I mean? We’re not called sexy. We’re called athletic, and intense. We’re called-described as you know, being the strong type, the silent type, but you’re never really described as the sexy [type]. Well, I’m saying in general – there’s a real generalization to what I’m saying, but in general the word sexy doesn’t apply to black men in particular. Or in a script, they don’t say Sexy. They say a muscular black man, an intense black guy. Or good-looking, but they won’t say sexy.

-Idris Elba on being labeled a sex symbol

(Source: downye, via bitchcraftandwiggatry)


It’s easy to compartmentalize violence, to assume bad things are done by bad people lacking compassion and a moral compass. Nobody wants to believe the most dangerous people in their lives might be the ones they love.

Except that’s exactly what domestic abuse is, violence and psychological torment wrapped up in a blanket of seemingly earnest “I love you’s.

I’ve waited - sometimes patiently, sometimes in despair—for the story under pressure of concealment to reveal itself to me. I’ve been doing this work long enough to know that our feelings—that vast range of fear, joy, grief, sorrow, rage, you name it—are incoherent in the immediacy of the moment. It is only with distance that we are able to turn our powers of observation on ourselves, thus fashioning stories in which we are characters. There is no immediate gratification in this. No great digital crowd is “liking” what we do. We don’t experience the Pavlovian, addictive click and response of posting something that momentarily relieves the pressure inside of us, then being showered with emoticons.


Happy 53rd Birthday, Mr. President!

Happy 53rd Birthday, Mr. President!

With a self-esteem and imagination as shaky as their vibratos, R&B’s new guard is a group of misogynistic morons more concerned with being cool, than suave; with charting a momentary meme than a classic song; with mistreating and degrading hoes, rather than seducing, and loving women. Rhythm and blues has become rhythm and bash.