You want to say Hi to the cute girl on the subway. How will she react? Fortunately, I can tell you with some certainty, because she’s already sending messages to you. Looking out the window, reading a book, working on a computer, arms folded across chest, body away from you = do not disturb. So, y’know, don’t disturb her. Really. Even to say that you like her hair, shoes, or book. A compliment is not always a reason for women to smile and say thank you. You are a threat, remember? You are Schrödinger’s Rapist. Don’t assume that whatever you have to say will win her over with charm or flattery. Believe what she’s signaling, and back off.

If you speak, and she responds in a monosyllabic way without looking at you, she’s saying, “I don’t want to be rude, but please leave me alone.” You don’t know why. It could be “Please leave me alone because I am trying to memorize Beowulf.” It could be “Please leave me alone because you are a scary, scary man with breath like a water buffalo.” It could be “Please leave me alone because I am planning my assassination of a major geopolitical figure and I will have to kill you if you are able to recognize me and blow my cover.”

On the other hand, if she is turned towards you, making eye contact, and she responds in a friendly and talkative manner when you speak to her, you are getting a green light. You can continue the conversation until you start getting signals to back off.

The fourth point: If you fail to respect what women say, you label yourself a problem.

There’s a man with whom I went out on a single date—afternoon coffee, for one hour by the clock—on July 25th. In the two days after the date, he sent me about fifteen e-mails, scolding me for non-responsiveness. I e-mailed him back, saying, “Look, this is a disproportionate response to a single date. You are making me uncomfortable. Do not contact me again.” It is now October 7th. Does he still e-mail?

Yeah. He does. About every two weeks.

This man scores higher on the threat level scale than Man with the Cockroach Tattoos. (Who, after all, is guilty of nothing more than terrifying bad taste.) You see, Mr. E-mail has made it clear that he ignores what I say when he wants something from me. Now, I don’t know if he is an actual rapist, and I sincerely hope he’s not. But he is certainly Schrödinger’s Rapist, and this particular Schrödinger’s Rapist has a probability ratio greater than one in sixty. Because a man who ignores a woman’s NO in a non-sexual setting is more likely to ignore NO in a sexual setting, as well.

So if you speak to a woman who is otherwise occupied, you’re sending a subtle message. It is that your desire to interact trumps her right to be left alone. If you pursue a conversation when she’s tried to cut it off, you send a message. It is that your desire to speak trumps her right to be left alone. And each of those messages indicates that you believe your desires are a legitimate reason to override her rights.

For women, who are watching you very closely to determine how much of a threat you are, this is an important piece of data.

an excerpt from Phaedra Starling’s “Schrödinger’s Rapist: or a guy’s guide to approaching strange women without being maced” (via lostgrrrls)

HOLY FUCK THE TRUTH.

Can every one of my male followers read this? And please, before you get defensive (“I would never rape anyone!”) keep in mind, women being afraid of Shrodinger’s Rapists (oh my god i still can’t get over the encompassing brilliance of this phrase) is a conditioned, learned response from being immersed in rape culture and the evolution of sexism and sexual violence in our society from the day we’re born. And unfortunately, it’s very difficult to unlearn without the efforts of all genders to dismantle it. Which is where you come in.

(via lil-ith)

It’s also just rude and disrespectful to patently ignore what someone has told you regarding their personal space, body, and time. Get a clue.

(via geekdomme)

I will always reblog this. Always.

(via myherocomplex)

So if you speak to a woman who is otherwise occupied, you’re sending a subtle message. It is that your desire to interact trumps her right to be left alone.

(via alamaris)

Oh my lord, everything in this.

(via littlelull)

(Source: lostgrrrls)

whynowifi:

pokeabagel:

danger-mouz:

calirosegold:

patronustrip:

tootsienoodles:

freackthehopeful:

skylarghost:

weasleyrocksyoursocks:

seong:

I AM FUCKING SCREAMING BECAUSE THIS IS SERIOUSLY THE BEST THING EVER
SWEET JESUS

You have your mother’s cheek bones

godDAMMIT NOW WE’RE SHIPPING CUTLERY
TUMBLR YOU NEED TO S T O P

I hope this post comes back to me when it has a short story attached. 

The Utensils were a happy family, just like any other. Fork was a loving, caring father, who worked at a bank, and Spoon was his beautiful wife, who owned a small business that allowed her to spend a lot of time with their son, Spork. Every day, when Fork came home from work, he gently clinked against the rim of Spoon’s face and asked how her day had been. She would go on and on about how her Aunt Bowl was letting anyone fill her up these days, and telling him he would never guess who they got a phone call from today (it was his brother, Knife), and he would just lean back against the china cabinet, staring at his wife’s beautiful reflective surface, and know everything was right in the world. 
One day, however, everything was suddenly not right in the world at all.
Fork woke up in the silverware drawer and instantly knew something was wrong. He looked over to where Spoon normally slept, confused when he saw nothing but empty space. Or, at least, he thought it was empty. It took him a minute to see the small note left there. Oh no. God, no, he thought.
He picked up the note with shaking prongs, and read amid tears:
“Fork,
     I’m sorry to leave you like this, but I just couldn’t face seeing you. It’s too painful. I’m not strong enough to tell you this to your face, and I know that makes me a coward. I know that makes me a horrible utensil. But I can’t do this anymore.
     Do you remember Cow’s party the other night? The night she was so drunk she swore she jumped over the moon? Well, I met someone that night. His name is Dish. And we’re running away together.
     Please, don’t try and find us. Dish makes me happy. He doesn’t spend all day staring at me, looking at himself in my reflection. 
Goodbye, Fork.
-Spoon”
Fork collapsed to the ground, wishing he could tell Spoon that the reason he loved staring at her reflective surface so much, was because of the way her surface magnified everything around her, making it seem so much greater and more beautiful than people could see themselves as normally. Her personality did the same thing. It’s what he loved most about her. And what he would miss most of all.

I CAN’T EVEN WITH THIS FUCKING SITE.


bra..fucking..vo

sweet jesus i’m crying over cutlery

This should become an entire novel 

Reblogging this just for the comments

whynowifi:

pokeabagel:

danger-mouz:

calirosegold:

patronustrip:

tootsienoodles:

freackthehopeful:

skylarghost:

weasleyrocksyoursocks:

seong:

I AM FUCKING SCREAMING BECAUSE THIS IS SERIOUSLY THE BEST THING EVER

SWEET JESUS

You have your mother’s cheek bones

godDAMMIT NOW WE’RE SHIPPING CUTLERY

TUMBLR YOU NEED TO S T O P

I hope this post comes back to me when it has a short story attached. 

The Utensils were a happy family, just like any other. Fork was a loving, caring father, who worked at a bank, and Spoon was his beautiful wife, who owned a small business that allowed her to spend a lot of time with their son, Spork. Every day, when Fork came home from work, he gently clinked against the rim of Spoon’s face and asked how her day had been. She would go on and on about how her Aunt Bowl was letting anyone fill her up these days, and telling him he would never guess who they got a phone call from today (it was his brother, Knife), and he would just lean back against the china cabinet, staring at his wife’s beautiful reflective surface, and know everything was right in the world. 

One day, however, everything was suddenly not right in the world at all.

Fork woke up in the silverware drawer and instantly knew something was wrong. He looked over to where Spoon normally slept, confused when he saw nothing but empty space. Or, at least, he thought it was empty. It took him a minute to see the small note left there. Oh no. God, no, he thought.

He picked up the note with shaking prongs, and read amid tears:

“Fork,

     I’m sorry to leave you like this, but I just couldn’t face seeing you. It’s too painful. I’m not strong enough to tell you this to your face, and I know that makes me a coward. I know that makes me a horrible utensil. But I can’t do this anymore.

     Do you remember Cow’s party the other night? The night she was so drunk she swore she jumped over the moon? Well, I met someone that night. His name is Dish. And we’re running away together.

     Please, don’t try and find us. Dish makes me happy. He doesn’t spend all day staring at me, looking at himself in my reflection. 

Goodbye, Fork.

-Spoon”

Fork collapsed to the ground, wishing he could tell Spoon that the reason he loved staring at her reflective surface so much, was because of the way her surface magnified everything around her, making it seem so much greater and more beautiful than people could see themselves as normally. Her personality did the same thing. It’s what he loved most about her. And what he would miss most of all.

I CAN’T EVEN WITH THIS FUCKING SITE.

image

bra..fucking..vo

sweet jesus i’m crying over cutlery

This should become an entire novel 

Reblogging this just for the comments

(Source: soy-un-vampido)

joyyoga:

Everything that irritates us about others can lead us to an understanding of ourselves. 

(Source: ynspirations)