Veet’s ‘apology’ for their “Don’t Risk Dudeness” campaign. I think that these comments sum up my feelings on the issue quite well… #NotBuyingIt
Wow. This is probably the worst ad campain in women hygiene ever done. It basically says that being a woman is wrong, that a lady in her most natural form is disgusting. It is a huuuuuge step back considering that Dove base their campain on promoting self esteem and love of every bodytypes.
This ad is actually shit because it implies that all construction workers are mysoginistic assholes. «You’re not you when you’re hungry» is the message at the very end of the commercial ad. It could also imply that there is something wrong with treating a woman with such respect.
As he once told me…by digging too deep, you might just hit a rock. That was the last time I ever felt something that much.
"I guess my life hasn’t always been happy, or easy, or exactly what I want. At a certain point, I just have to try not to think too much about certain things, or else they’ll break my heart."
"My friends, they hate him, they hate me for not hating him, I hate him ‘cause I feel I have to, therefore I hate myself. Le jugement des autres me pèse puisqu’ils me donnent constamment l’impression que je ne me hais pas assez quand j’ai l’impression que je me hais déja trop."
— C’est de retour, je crains que ça ne passe pas cette fois-ci.
"Yesterday, I spent 60 dollars on groceries,
took the bus home,
carried both bags with two good arms back to my studio apartment
and cooked myself dinner.
You and I may have different definitions of a good day.
This week, I paid my rent and my credit card bill,
worked 60 hours between my two jobs,
only saw the sun on my cigarette breaks
and slept like a rock.
Flossed in the morning,
locked my door,
and remembered to buy eggs.
My mother is proud of me.
It is not the kind of pride she brags about at the golf course.
She doesn’t combat topics like, ”My daughter got into Yale”
with, ”Oh yeah, my daughter remembered to buy eggs”
But she is proud.
See, she remembers what came before this.
The weeks where I forgot how to use my muscles,
how I would stay as silent as a thick fog for weeks.
She thought each phone call from an unknown number was the notice of my suicide.
These were the bad days.
My life was a gift that I wanted to return.
My head was a house of leaking faucets and burnt-out lightbulbs.
Depression, is a good lover.
So attentive; has this innate way of making everything about you.
And it is easy to forget that your bedroom is not the world,
That the dark shadows your pain casts is not mood-lighting.
It is easier to stay in this abusive relationship than fix the problems it has created.
Today, I slept in until 10,
cleaned every dish I own,
fought with the bank,
took care of paperwork.
You and I might have different definitions of adulthood.
I don’t work for salary, I didn’t graduate from college,
but I don’t speak for others anymore,
and I don’t regret anything I can’t genuinely apologize for.
And my mother is proud of me.
I burned down a house of depression,
I painted over murals of greyscale,
and it was hard to rewrite my life into one I wanted to live
But today, I want to live.
I didn’t salivate over sharp knives,
or envy the boy who tossed himself off the Brooklyn bridge.
I just cleaned my bathroom,
did the laundry,
called my brother.
Told him, “it was a good day."