#the usage of a derogatory term but I don’t use that word in my normal vocab?

[gimmethemprimals]

🌊 wavecrest-confessions  Follow

whenever I see someone making fun of the tidelords disappearance I get SO angry. Its just so insensitive to water dragons, and it ALWAYS comes from a wind, earth, or ice dragon. Like I don’t think you have any ground to stand on guys, your deities are still more neglectful than the tidelord and he’s not even here

❄️ ice-ice-baby  Follow

Dude your god has been gone for so long his long lost children came back before him

🪨 freshpebble-deactivated

Aren’t you the one who carved your fanart of femboy Icewarden into the side of the pillar.

❄️ ice-ice-baby  Follow

???? You’re literally a shade apologist

💫 see-the-stars  Follow

HOW ARE THERE SHADE APOLOGISTS ON DRUMBLR IN THIS DAY AND AGE I THOUGHT THEY WERE ONLY ON DRITTER

🍃 riding-high  Follow

are we gonna just brush over the femboy icewarden thing

🦅 talonafan2477  Follow

@ see-the-stars the Arcanist is the ORIGINAL shade apologist what are you talking about

🦅 talonafan2477  Follow

btw “ice ice baby” is apart of from clan froststep that has a history of supporting the gaolers during the freezeflash war and thus the destruction of the banescales

🌑 walkingshadows Follow

Yeah but what about the femboy icewarden thing

🔥 its-gettin-hot  Follow

you can excuse genocide but draw the line at femboy icewarden?

🌑 walkingshadows Follow

im not drawing the line i just wanna see it myself

🌺 bug-claws Follow

thats fair

#flight rising #fr #unreality #unreality tw #fake post #tw femboy #???? #I PROMISE that i didnt mean to use it in like?? a transmisogynistic way I have only ever heard it used to refer to like #a guy (whether cis or not) who dresses in a feminine way and like… a term exaggerated by the internet? #please dont take this as me trying to like say that its NOT a derogatory term and that I was just ill informed but I dont really know #what else to do about it at this point #and my real intention here was to emulate irl tumblr posts and I fully understand that even using it in a comedic factor doesn’t excuse #the usage of a derogatory term but I don’t use that word in my normal vocab? #idk im sorry if this sounds bad long story short I’ve never seen it used in that way but I acknowledge that I could just be uninformed

[shaftking]

I get not wanting to be called q*eer but telling people not to use it in positive and neutral ways that the commmunity fought to normalize isn't any different than me saying no one can use gay because it's historically synonymous with slurs like wh*re and refered specifically to those cis straights deemed "sexually degenerate", "sexually perverse", and as having "loose morals". And one version even refered specifically to men who wanted to sleep with boys. So like. Not wanting the word used to describe you is one thing but based on your arguments against the reclaimation of q*eer, we shouldn't be using gay either.

I get not wanting to be called q*eer

Judging by the rest of this ask, I doubt it.

but telling people not to use it in positive and neutral ways

Never said individuals can’t reclaim it in a positive way for themselves. My issue is forcing it on people who don’t want to associate with it, trying to apply it to the entire community despite contention, and people it’s never applied to trying to pretend they have grounds to “reclaim” or “identity as” it.

that the commmunity fought to normalize

A small vocal activist group in the 1980s. Q/ueer is still the most used slur against LGBT people.

93% of gay men don’t want to be labeled q/ueer.

isn't any different than me saying no one can use gay

I hate this argument. Even if we compare these two terms based solely on their dictionary definition q/ueer means “strange, weird, or to ruin”whereas gay means “happy, joyful, or carefree.” One of these things had a negative connotation from the beginning.

because it's historically synonymous with slurs like wh*re and refered specifically to those cis straights deemed "sexually degenerate", "sexually perverse", and as having "loose morals". And one version even refered specifically to men who wanted to sleep with boys.

So you think people should also associate themselves with a term that, by your own admission, is like one that refers to pedophiles?

I honestly don’t think you fully understand the connotation that q/ueer has for so many LGBT people.

And q/ueer is still widely used as a slur, whereas “whore” is borderline antiquated in this day and age. I don’t think they’re comparable anyways.

So like. Not wanting the word used to describe you is one thing but based on your arguments against the reclaimation of q*eer, we shouldn't be using gay either.

No. When someone says “gay” everyone is aware of the established usage to mean a homosexual person. When someone uses “q/ueer” it has no functional describing meaning outside of “weird/odd.”

And you are conveniently neglecting to mention why someone like myself wouldn’t want to be called q/ueer in the first place. It is still used derogatory in many or our experiences until we graduate and become exposed to the extremely liberal and sheltered world of universities and the idea of “q/ueer studies.”

My argument is that just because some people can make light of it for themselves, and an influential group made it part of their slogan, does not magically erase the way it was and still is used against LGBT people and is intrinsically tied to a lot of our traumas as LGBT people.

#ask

[pluraldeepdive]

Mid-continuum VS. Median

Disclaimer: This is a post covering a deep dive of archived events that took place in the past. DO NOT harass or send hate towards anyone mentioned.

Introduction

Mid-continuum was an early label created on the Internet sometime in 1996 by a plural named Vickis. Many individuals, both dissociative and non-dissociative, felt drawn to this term and it became quite popular. Unfortunately, it also ended up grabbing the attention of the anti-DID/OSDD movement. Later in the 2000′s, an anti-DID/OSDD organization coined the term median to replace mid-continuum. Median became more popularized, and mid-continuum subsequently fell out of usage. This post will be going over what I discovered while deep diving Internet archives regarding this subject.

The Precursor to Mid-continuum

In 1997 and earlier, many of the DID-focused websites at the time, such as Astraea’s Web, were spreading around a psychological model known as the dissociative spectrum (or continuum). This older model was conceptualized by Braun in 1988. His model suggested that dissociation lay on a continuum from normal experiences (daydreaming, zoning out, etc.) all the way to polyfragmented DID.

Archive of article by Joan A. Turkus, M.D. (1997)

Proof that this article was shared on Astraea’s Web.

Note for readers: Sources on this post do not reflect up-to-date research and treatment on dissociative disorders.

What was the Mid-continuum?

1. It was based off of the psychological model.

At the time, many individuals in the dissociative community felt drawn to Braun’s dissociative continuum model. One individual in particular, named Vickis, came up with a term for people who identified somewhere in the middle of this continuum. They called it mid-continuum dissociation or just mid-continuum for short. They called those who identified under the label mid-continuum dissociatives. Vickis eventually created a webpage dedicated to this concept called the Wonderful World of the MidContinuum.

2. It was created for dissociative folks.

It was sometime in 1997 when Vickis announced their new webpage to alt.support.dissociation, a Usenet group that was created for people with dissociative disorders. In their message, they stated that mid-continuum folks were dissociative folks who did not fit all of the DID criteria. 

You can find an archive of this message here.

You can find an archive of the mid-continuum webpage here.

On their webpage, Vickis explained that mid-continuum was a label for anyone who felt like they had dissociated parts and fell somewhere in the middle on the dissociative continuum model. A quote from the homepage:

“Everyone dissociates. At one end of the dissociative continuum is ‘normal’ or ‘common’ dissociation that nearly everyone engages in[...] At the other end are the behaviors that characterize ‘classical’ multiples, who may have large numbers of very distinct insiders with little internal communication, serious difficulties with time loss, amnesia, and so on.

Between these two extremes, there is a lot of gray. Ranging from having different ‘roles’ that you live out in different situations, to having an ‘inner child’ or ‘inner children’ with varying degrees of separateness, to having ‘ego states,’ ‘parts’ or ‘fragments’ that don't seem to be whole people, to having some but not all of the diagnostic criteria for what is now known as DID[...]”

3. It was created out of respect for folks with DID.

At the time of mid-continuum’s coinage, the DID diagnosis was still usually called MPD or multiplicity in the online dissociative community. Several people, including Vickis, believed that it was disrespectful to call themselves multiple if they didn’t have DID. This seemed to be another reason why Vickis coined the mid-continuum. They believed that calling their own experiences multiplicity would minimize the struggles of those who experienced DID.

From their essay on the subject (archive here):

“[...] someone elsewhere in this thread said something like ‘I don't want to call myself multiple because I don't want to minimize the sufferings of those who are really multiple’. And I can really relate to that. That's why I say I'm not-quite-multiple usually. Because I don't lose time and never have, I can't possibly know what that's like... I don't have barriers that prevent communication between parts... I don't have the struggles that people who are further down the continuum from me have, and I would never want to minimize their issues by claiming that my own are the same.”

4. Mid-continuum folks often had OSDD.

A lot of Vickis’ writing on the mid-continuum reminds me of OSDD (formerly DDNOS). It makes me wonder why they did not mention it more. The only mention I could find was made in 1999, where Vickis offhandedly expressed that mid-continuum folks usually ended up diagnosed with OSDD if seeking a diagnosis. (X) It’s likely that they didn’t mention it more because there wasn’t a lot of recognition for the disorder back then, and Vickis also seemed to prefer less clinical labels for themself.

The Precursor to Median

Over several years, mid-continuum had gained quite a bit of popularity across the Internet. Many anti-psych websites began to take issue with this due to mid-continuum’s origins. For example, many psych-related words such as DID, alter, and host could be found listed as derogatory to empowered and natural multiples on Dark Personalities. (X) Mid-continuum was unfortunately subjected to this as well. “Since many people feel the idea of a continuum to be inaccurate, many are seeking a new term instead of mid-continuum,” Dark Personalities stated. It wouldn’t be long before some anti-psyches tackled this challenge.

What was Median?

1.  It was created to replace mid-continuum.

In 2003, the natural multiplicity organizations Lancers & Pavilion decided to take action. (Read my post on Lancers/Pavilion here.) They stated that it was a mistake for the mid-continuum to be based on psychology and dissociation. (X) Furthermore, they seemed to be a bit perturbed that Vickis believed multiplicity was exclusively caused by trauma. (X) As a way to right what they saw as wrong, they came up with the term median to replace mid-continuum. (X)

On the Pavilion website, Astraea’s Web wrote an essay on the midcontinuum and why they came up with the median label to replace it. You can read that essay here. This excerpt sticks out to me the most:

“It's important to allow the concept to be inclusive of everyone who fits, regardless of past abuse history or origins, much as is currently being done for 'multiplicity.' With its roots in the abuse-dissociation model, midcontinuum is too limiting; it is no longer useful to us. Median creates a certain measure of psychological distance and gives the concept a fresh start, without the dissociative baggage of the past, and embraces all who feel they are more than one.”

To summarize, mid-continuum was a label that was created by dissociative folks for dissociative folks. Non-dissociative anti-psychs decided to replace it because it wasn’t useful or inclusive enough for them, and it was too psychological. That’s why they came up with median.

2. It was created to exclude people with DID/OSDD.

The Lancers/Pavilion did not intend for people with dissociative disorders to use the median label. Their philosophy was that people with DID/OSDD could not actually be plural, multiple, or median. The organizations believed that only “functional” and “non-disordered” individuals could be plural, multiple, or median. If a person with DID/OSDD was able to function up to their standards, then Lancers/Pavilion considered the person to no longer have DID/OSDD.

More can be read here. 

And also here.

3. It was meant to be more vague than mid-continuum.

Unlike the mid-continuum, which viewed plurality on a psychologically-backed linear continuum, the organizations presented plurality as a more loose idea. From the archived essay on Pavilion:

“Midcontinuum is helpful, but it's rather too limiting. One can dispense with the dissociation bits at once, but you're still left with plurality as a linear continuum, with singlethood at one end and multiplicity at the other. The concept is thus two-dimensional.

It's probably much more realistic, given social and personal diversity, to think of plurality as a sphere, with a potentially infinite number of points; and, to remember that at different times in one's life, one may reside at any of those points, or at no fixed abode. Postmodernist notions of identity as fluid and nonlinear may be helpful in understanding this. If you experience yourself as selves, but feel that your others are not independent of yourself, you can probably describe yourself as median.”

Their descriptions of plurality and medianhood are extremely vague and unclear. Due to all of this, it’s no wonder to me that people with DID/OSDD ended up identifying with the concept anyways, despite the organizations’ intentions.

Median & OSDD

Before ending this post, I wanted to mention that I have met many folks with OSDD who have previously identified as median systems due to the misconception that it was a synonym for OSDD. I remember, when I first joined the online community, someone told me that “median system” was actually coined by people with OSDD. As you can read above, this definitely isn’t true. If you have OSDD and you identify as median, that’s fine, but I still occasionally see people spreading misinformation about it which is why I felt that it was important to include this note here!

#syscourse #long post #median #midcontinuum #mid-continuum #anti-DID tw #ableism tw

[gayregis]

it's not my intention to come off as rude, but could you perhaps think more using insane" less? I don't want to tell you what to do but this word as well as others like "crazy" as descriptors are so deeply rooted in common usage but also very, very ableist at the core. I think it's important to unlearn these things and be more mindful of their impact and the implications towards the mentally ill.

this might be a long answer but like... yeah. this can get pretty personal so. that’s why it’s long. **and i am asking anyone reading to not reblog this post because of it being personal** but i wanted to respond to this ask and not ignore it, to let you know that i do care about what you’re talking about, but i do just want to challenge your perspective a little.

i want to say that, although it’s not your intention to come off as rude, it is kind of rude to assume that i don’t deal with mental illness and that i’ve never thought about this before. just because i don’t have all of my mental illnesses listed in my bio does not mean i am not mentally ill... you kind of don’t know anything about me regarding this, because i try and keep it private and not make a lot of vent posts, because i generally am become uncomfortable with venting online to strangers. you saying “the mentally ill” like it’s a foreign concept is pretty funny to me considering that i struggle with mental illness...

okay so. let’s get to the response to this

first off, i agree with you that using words like “crazy” and “insane” can be rude and ableist when used in a rude and ableist context. if you are calling other people “crazy” and “insane” to describe their actions towards you, like a guy saying “my crazy bitch ex girlfriend”, that’s obviously fucked up and an improper use of the word. additionally, other words, like “ps*cho” and shit are totally off the table to say, imho, as they have a much deeper effect.

but i think that it depends on how you use the word. much like saying “that’s so gay,” VS “i’m so gay,” when you’re actually using the word to describe your own feelings and emotions, that’s pretty much a proper use of the word in terms of its definition, instead of using it to hurt others or to associate it with something to look down upon. this leads me to my next point, which is how i use these words to describe myself, which is personal so i’m going to put a read more

as for the personal side and context as to how i typically use these words, i feel like i usually use them in their proper manner, i.e., to describe my own feelings.

this ask came in like, directly after i posted these tags, so forgive me if i’m connecting to the wrong thing, but these were my tags for context:

so my tag “goes insane, bites u” is pretty silly, at first glance. right, it’s like, a meme or a joke? well... the use of “im insaneeeee” as a phrase that has become common recently “as a joke” has actually been kind of relieving to me as someone who deals with trauma and a whole sleuth of other things... like, when i am feeling super overwhelmed, panicked, and yes , “insane,” i can say, “haha im insanneeee” and it won’t sound like i’m weird for being this way, that i’m weird for having panic attacks, meltdowns, sobbing randomly, etc, etc. 

you can’t see me do these things, because the entirety of my life doesn’t exist on tumblr , so i understand that it might just seem that i’m some weird random fandom blog who doesn’t give two shits and has a perfectly happy life. but i do experience these things and it’s part of my life

when i say “im going insaneeee”, etc. in relation to posts about parental characters / parental relationships,,,...... did you ever think that there might be a reason behind that? or that i might be reacting in an actual “insane” way? i phrase it jokingly, but a lot of the time, i am actually “going insane.” i phrase it like this for both my own comfort (what i talked about where it normalizes it and makes me feel less weird) but also for brevity, and ALSO? to make the artist/op/etc feel way more comfortable than if i literally just spilled everything and said, “this art represents a relationship i desire between myself and my absent parent, whose violence towards me and my other parent still affects me every day, to this day...........” because that’s fucked up and no one would want to read that coming from a stranger, right? i think i’ve said before that the witcher is like “a coping medium” for me and i interact with it not just on a general fandom level, but it has provided me kind of like a way of dealing with shit that i’ve had to encounter...

obviously i don’t have to describe my entire life and trauma to a stranger on the internet, because that’s just not something that i either feel comfortable with or that i need to do, but i wanted to just give an example of where i’m coming from with this. 

i also want to say that i have seen this argument many times, and i also think a lot about a post about this specific argument but i can’t find it right now, but basically what the post says is that eliminating words like “crazy” and “insane” from our vocabularies with no thought of WHY we’re doing it beyond “it can be ableist”, without actually considering what these words mean and the variety of ways in which they can be used, and what we could do to directly benefit the lives of mentally ill people, is a HUGELY liberal standpoint that focuses on the performativity of personal choice instead of the SYSTEMATIC CHANGES that would help lessen the effects of the ableism baked into our society. 

so yeah that’s pretty much it, i get if it makes you uncomfortable and i’ll try not to use these words in like derogatory ways like “you’re insane if you think that...” because i get where that can start to feel wrong, although i can’t remember a post i’ve made where i said that (if you want to link me to posts like that that i’ve made, i can edit them). 

thanks for the concern anon and i hope this answered your question, but i just want to say like, even though i think your intent was good, please consider how you’re interacting with people and do not assume the mental health status of everyone you see online...

#ask #anon #again i feel weird publishing this bc its personal but i thought its important because you do raise a point

[matthewabapo]

"Vulgarity of the Visayan/Cebuanos"

“Yawa naka daog ko!” “Yawa kang dako!” “Nabulagan ko bay! Piste!” And many more different words and ways on how you deliver these Visayan vulgar language such as “yawa” “piste” “animal ka” that are used to express feelings when you are feeling angry, annoyed, confused embarrassed, even when you are blissful or happy and those curse words that I have been encountered since when I am a kid that I have learned outside in the streets, plazas, even my family members spitting words such as “giatay man diay ni oy” and also myself. I first learned from my childhood friend Tonton back when we were just a kid playing Bato Lata in the street together with bunches of friends and he accidentally spit the word “yawa” and then I tolerated it without any knowledge of serious things yet. There is so many vulgar words that I had encounter in my life and as I grow older and slowly realizing that people making a single word into a evil or devilish thought. Curse words or Profanity in its dissimilar demonstration, all the time is cowled at and frequently labelled as a taboo in different kind of society usually in visayan people, anything holy that any member of society worships, in school that using of cursed words strictly regards this issues as a rude and offensive languages that may be harm the others.

This known curse word used to say in Bisaya or Cebuano which is the word “Yawa” that means devil to them, that are commonly spit when we are drunk or bragging and insulting against opponent in debate unavoidable lines for scolding you for being bad and disobedient. However, the word “Yawa” has its origin and only few Filipinos know this even for the Bisaya. The word was obtained from a goddess from a epic poem called “Hinilawod” it is known as the oldest and longest pre-colonial literacy words done by that early forebears of panay.

The Epic poem literacy address the life of three demigod brothers who was Labaw Duggon, Humadapan and Dumalapdap. So the story goes connected to these three demigod to Nagmalitong Yawa because Nagmalitong Yawa is the third wife to be of Labaw Dunggon and their process of courtship is where the adventurous nature is found in them. Nagmalitong Yawa was the wife of burung Saragnayan, the keeper of light. However, Labaw dunggan was granted permission by Nagmalitong Yawa’s parents to marry her. Thus, Her current husband disagreed and caused a battle between the two for countless years. Moreover, Labaw dunggon lost the battle. Burung saragnayan didn’t knew that Labaw Dunggon had two sons from his previous wives, the two sons of Labaw Dunggon take a revenge for their father. In conclusion, Labaw Dunggon was rescued and Sarangyan was killed. In the death of Sarangyan, he gave Nagmalitong Yawa to Labaw Dunggon. Nagmalitong Yawa was a loving wife to then and opposing that she was a enchantress. When she knew that her husband was killed, she cursed Labaw Dunggon to madness, her magic was so powerful that even Labaw Dunggon’s skillful wives had hard time reversing the cursed. The spiritual leaders of the pre-colonial age, Nagmalitong yawa became an image of his pre hispanic custom. The epic scenery of Nagmalitong Yawa’s story exemplies the power that Babaylan’s possessed in pre colonial times. As Nagmalitong Yawa’s image portrayed and symbolizes how women can be as equally powerful than men, this concept of quality served as a hindrance when the Spaniards came. As they were promoting the religion lead by men. They tfo brought with them a system of inequality. A system in which women the likes of Nagmalitong Yawa were deemed as a threat. The powerful image of the babaylans is paganism in the eyes of the catholic spaniards. Hence, the friars used Nagmalitong Yawa or the word “Yawa” as a derogatory word, which eventually turned into a curse word.

The origin of the word Yawa which is originated in a epic poem name Naalitong Yawa which symbolizes the strength and equally amongst women. This implies that the word “Yawa” or when someone tells you “Yawa ka”, you don’t need to tumble for its profanity, thought that a “Yawa” is someone implicit a independent in their own kind of living.

In asia, people are really devoted when it comes to religion, the filipino knows no limits of how they will be polite as they are and trusting the beliefs and value of social cohesion with full sensibility of saving face. The mainly and primarily Catholic Cristians here in the Philippines are the Cebuanos because of the Spanish colonialism in Cebu which was set the first colonial government where churches, chapels, and other religious structures to impose whole control over the local and indigenous Cebuanos. However, spanish-base profanities in Cebuanos along with the religious terms also became a marker of influenced by hispanic process of linguistic change of the natives or locals in Cebu. Some of the spanish based profanities are the one also use in modern way to profane such as “animal” “kolera” “puta” “satanas” “hangal hangal” “putek” “kayasa” “kayati” “buang” and many more.

The usage of profane language are occasionally disagreeable but several are ethical, there is kost obvious possibility is that some aspect of how profane words are written or sound makes them vulgar such as “piste” which means pest in english or “shet” which correctly pronounce to shit which means poop in english, people tend to misheard or misunderstood those kinds of words that makes people feel embarrassed and offended, this may lead to rough brawl allying to them. However, misunderstood profane words will be slightly more likely to gravitate toward the deepness of its form and meaning.

Visayan-Cebuano profanity are highly significant means of expression to them and that is to express emotion. A recent study found that people are more colorfully and frequently when emotionally aroused or being angry. As a matter of fact, profanity is often reliable language when a situation feels shocking, terrifying, and out of control. We can use profanity when releasing power inside us when we want to assert that feeling. For example. “Arggh! Yawa!!” And it is the effective way to released effectively and quickly an expressing an emotion in particular situation. These words précis it up means anything that is not religious or terrifying. Thus,. We also looked at profanity as violating and disrespectful and it is definitely can be. It feels that way when the curse words are directed at us. But there’s a high society of difference between using profanity towards a general situation as the way of expressing emotion.

There are different kinds of bisaya people that tend to do more in linguistic incompetence but the majority is the Cebuano and it is the mainly Linguistic post which concealed the parts of eastern visayas, some parts of palawan and most parts of mindanao such as the sub group of the bisaya that includes Cebuano/ bisaya, holigaynon- Cebuno, cagayanon- cebuano etc. in profanity, Cebuano and other sub group is completely different in the way they deliver it and understand, that’s why we need to be more evaluative in using and understanding Bisaya profane.

Profane words just aren’t that bad. The vast majority of them are either bodily functions or related to God, neither of which have an inherent negativity. Yet we treat them like they are some evil that may never be shared with anyone under age and something to be avoided in polite society. If we can normalize people using words that are honestly pretty profane, maybe we’ll then focus on really squashing slurs and words that we should actually be policing. But again, profane words are not the basis to how good and bad you are.

Cebuano-visayan are saying those bad words more than ever before even tagalog people just learned how to say it. They are cursing in television, profaning in movies, blaspheming in the street. Curse words have been only of brief and passing interest to psychologists and linguists. The non appearance of studies on emotional speech has produced speculation of some profane language that are polite but inaccurate. Present times theories ignore the emotional stepping up that curse words produce in language, as well as the issues involved in cursing. Curse words are words we are not supposed to say. hence, curse words of cebuanos and visayan people are powerful. The words contain and are produced by social practices. The articulation of a curse word thus as incorporated into it social rules about gender identity, power, equality and conventionality interdiction.

In conclusion of everything, “Yawa” “piste” and other more bisayan cursed words are not that bad at all but needed also to take place where you gonna spit those words in this well mannered and polite society and profane words are not the basis to how good and bad you are. Normalizing profane words will bring better living in our daily lives and activity, no harm, no big deal.

@queenlupitajones

[star-anise]

Hey! Your post about any wlw being able to identify as butch/femme etc was really enlightening. I was curious about your thoughts on the word stud. From what ive read its a word that only applies to masculine lesbians of color, but it seems like youre more knowledgable abt lgbta+ history than me.

I think that the LGBTQ+ community on Tumblr spends way too much time word-policing. People saying “femme” was a lesbian-only term was just way too hilarious to pass up, given how lesbian separatists have traditionally felt about the butch/femme dynamic, so I went into provenance for that.

But generally? There is no Central Administration of Queer Word Usage, and I don’t think there should be. I think that most of the time, policing word usage hurts us as a community. It creates unnecessary division and renders people Problematic when they’ve been part of the community for decades. 

Part of my experience is in the disability community. In 2009 I was excited when my friends started a group blog, FWD/Forward: Feminists with Disabilities for a Way Forward. I was an avid follower, and in small part, contributor. One of the things the blog tried doing was Ableist Word Profiles, which pointed out the discriminatory underpinnings of common derogatory words, like “idiot”, “moron”, “cripple”, and “stupid”. People were challenged to reflect on the biases underlying their speech and change how they used language.

It was a SHITSHOW. A genuine public relations nightmare. The furor around those word profiles drowned out every other thing we tried to talk about. Even people who would normally be on our side perceived us as a group of hypercritical, never-satisfied nitpickers. It derailed every outreach effort we made, alienated allies, and even made participating in the community as a member a really fraught process. The barriers to entry were so high; if someone wanted to run with our crowd, they had to police their language to an incredible and unnatural degree.

Ableist word profiles were correct. They were factual about the ableist bases of words, and did in fact point to the ableist base assumptions of our culture. But they were a TERRIBLE hill to die on. As a community you have to pick your priorities, and I’ve come to the conclusion that there are so many more important things than policing the non-hateful speech of your natural allies.

Also? “Stud”? For as long as English has been a language, the word “stud” has pertained to horse breeding. A stud, specifically, is a stallion of exceptional quality, kept for breeding mares. When it was applied to singular people in the 19th century, it originally applied to cis men. “Yeah, that guy’s a real stud.” Then, 50 years later, it began applying to lesbians and other members of ball culture as a synonym for butch and dyke.

Stud STILL APPLIES to straight cis men! Go check out its urban dictionary entryl Half its entries don’t even mention lesbians. It’s a word the LGBTQ+ community borrowed, but that doesn’t confer ownership. 

Here, let me get my thoughts in order with a numbered list.

Policing all but the most extreme and hateful speech within a community or among that community’s natural allies is going to demand a ton of work with very little return. Pick your battles carefully and sparingly.

If you want to create a separatist lesbian state that has positive and respectful relationships with bi women and trans people, you are going to have to create one from scratch. All attempts to find such a group in the past are going to either find you

Groups of queer women that include and intermix with bi women and trans people, usually in the context of a shared need for protection because of widespread sexual/gender deviance, OR,

Groups of lesbian separatists who have been exclusionary towards bi women and trans people in ways that have been hurtful and unhealthy.

That’s it! Those are your historical choices! And in the future, the only way to kick out bi women and trans people, without being exclusionary, is to vigorously support those groups in the spirit of solidarity and mutual aid. Otherwise the moment one of your members transitions genders, dates a man, or God forbid, has a son, you’re going to treat that person or child badly, and they will not thank you for it.

I am SUPER SUSPICIOUS of lesbians who will police word usage by people who are, within the LGBT community, more marginalized than cis lesbians, but will NOT police the word usage of straight cis men. If lesbians want to claim “stud” as lesbian-only, they can send me receipts of them spending at least a year a year actively trying to wrest the word away from straight men, and then I’ll consider their request as genuine. Until then, it just reeeeaaaally feeeeeels like round 6381 of “Cis lesbians shit on bi women and trans people”.

So yeah. Do I think “stud” is a good word for white WLW to use, given its history predominantly among Black lesbians? I don’t know. If it applied to me, I’d think really hard before using it. I might decide against it. But there’s a really big difference between “this is a word people should use thoughtfully,” and “this is a word people should ATTACK SOMEONE ON SIGHT over if they see her using it.”

#staranise original #lgbt discourse #ranting in bisexual #litlplant

[v4nnyzzz]

Sea Of Dreams

title: Sea Of Dreams pairing: Lee Shi Ning Syn(OC) x Billy Hargrove summary: drabble of random moments in Billy’s friendship with Syn. warnings: there is one(1) instance of censored usage of the f-slur, you know the drill, it’s the 80s. notes: this drabble uses lyrics from Oberhofer’s song of the same title, “Sea Of Dreams”. word count: 951

 If the earth should dry May your dreams never die

Billy yearns to hold Syn’s hand again. They had done that before, once, Syn’s head was a hyena’s then. Tongue lolling, rhythmic panting, eyes half-lidded as always, regardless of the form he took on. Syn held his hand because he was curious about how big his hand was in comparison to Billy’s. Billy was, by this time, already aware of Syn’s unusual–and almost supernatural–ability to shapeshift. Though he’d sometimes be caught unawares by it, especially if it was one as drastic as the entirety of one’s face changed to that of a hyena’s(for being aware of it did not necessarily mean he was used to it).

He was close enough to Syn that he was granted the privilege of being able to use his nickname, “Syn”, and no longer had to refer to him by “Shi Ning” exclusively. Shaving off unnecessary syllables was always welcomed.

His hand was smooth for the most part, a little smaller than the dirty blonde’s, but not too terribly small. Billy had wanted to keep it there longer, let them stay in that moment a little more, truly cherish it. But then he realised how gay that was, and he quickly let go. He put his hand in his leather jacket’s pocket, his other hand balled in a fist with his knuckles against the dewy grass. He wasn’t gay, he didn’t want to be, and he hoped he wasn’t.

Though, after that night, he wasn’t so sure anymore.

Clouds are sacred, nothing! The skies and all man, waiting!

The brunette was by no means at all conventionally attractive. Back when Billy was still bullying him for the most trivial, petty reasons, he made sure to make several jabs at Shi Ning about that. In a baffling turn of events, however, the two became acquaintances. He wasn’t sure how he became acquainted with Shi Ning over the months, it had simply happened gradually as Billy’s interest in Shi Ning as a person grew. Beyond just “foreigner boy”, “fatso”, and “fucking f*gg*t”.

It was most likely a growing curiosity regarding Shi Ning’s odd yet almost warm behaviour towards most people that Billy would observe. Understandably, Shi Ning was not warm to him, until Billy had decided to start treating him as he would an acquaintance.

Shi Ning hung out with Steve often, Billy knew that well. What he didn’t know well though, was the reason behind why he’d feel a pang of jealousy whenever he’d see that goofy-haired Harringturd with Shi Ning.

Billy, one leg against the lockers near Shi Ning’s, asked: “You close to Steve?”

Shi Ning merely let out a grunt in reply.

Billy didn’t like that Shi Ning wasn’t responding to him the way he’d have expected, not even gracing the denim-clad man with so much as a glance. He didn’t like that, not one bit.

“You know, I don’t get why you hang out with him so much.” Billy stated bitterly, “He isn’t King of Hawkins anymore. I’d sorta get why you want to hang out with him so much if he was still King, but he’s a damn nobody now!”

“You think I hang out with Steve because of some stupid unofficial title?” Shi Ning finally retorted.

“There any other reason, then?”

Needless to say, Shi Ning wasn’t very pleased with Billy the rest of the day.

You’ll find me In a sea of dreams Where no one cares about my words

Billy was always surrounded by the most insincere people throughout his years of schooling. Girls who wanted to get in his pants, “friends” who acquainted themselves to him in an attempt to boost their worth amongst the student population’s status quo. Snakes, simply put.

Ironically, he was stepping on eggshells around those “snakes” as often as they were around him. Both parties eager to maintain their respective personas to the rest of the world, almost like a performance(a show, even).

How could Syn hang out with Steve with no ulterior motive? Surely Syn wanted something; money, sexual advances, for Steve to do his homework. However, as he tagged along with the duo more often, he found both boys wanted anything more than platonic companionship from each other. Neither were leeches, backstabbers, or materialistic individuals.

And it scares him, how genuine they both are, Syn especially. How can sincerity this real be so tangible?

Able to be touched; Syn is soft overall, huggable. With him follows a warm and inviting aura, despite his rumoured notoriety. Able to be smelled; Syn sometimes smells like cake. Deodorant, perhaps? Able to be heard; Syn is loud. A loud chortle from the back of his throat, an unsettling dog-like growl, a sudden snort when he finds something particularly funny. Able to be examined, for the eyes to rest upon; Syn looks best, to both Billy and Steve, when he is happy.

I hear her voice She laughs now She loves me now and always did

Billy has a preference for thinner women with big breasts, though the “cows of Hawkins’ High” offered him no such luxury. So why, then, did he feel himself gravitating to someone like Syn? Of the same gender, no less. He also realises that the more time he spends with Syn and Steve, the more he finds himself less-inclined to use the normally derogatory terms he’d use for women in general. When he thinks about that new development, he sometimes unwillingly thinks about Neil.

Neil calling women whores so casually throughout Billy’s childhood, Neil beating women in both their lives, Neil and women.

I’ll take your word Like a bestfriend should If your heart should dry May your eyes still cry

#Syn #Billy #Syngrove #my writing #Billy hargrove #Billy hargrove x oc #Billy hargrove x m!oc #Fanfiction #birbie writes

[tessatechaitea]

Team Titans #24

Zero Hour is here, business itches!

Ending sentences with "bitches" has always been a super fun way to emphasize a sentence and pretend that you're about to cap a motherfucker in the ass. But since I'm trying to stop using the word "bitches" and my friends all keep yelling at me that my replacement word, "retards," is way worse, I needed to come up with a word that rhymes with bitches. I'm not sure "business itches" works perfectly but it almost sounds like I'm jazzing up bitches in a white person trying to be more urban kind of way. And I don't mean "black" when I say "urban," although I wouldn't argue with somebody who says I did just that. I don't have time to go to law school at one of the top fourteen elite colleges just to learn how to argue that lies are truth and truth are lies! But I do have time to say, "We'll just have to agree to disagree!" What about "Zero Hour is here, Quidditchers!"? No? You know who the most tiresome people in the world are? People who constantly declare that we can't say anything anymore. You can say whatever you want! But you're expressing something inherent in yourself when you go to bat for specific things you want to keep saying. I don't know what the things people can't say anymore are because they never tell you specifically the things they want to keep saying that they can't. Which seems telling, doesn't it? It's as if they want their argument to seem reasonable by including a bunch of things that they can't comprehend people being angry at them for saying. Maybe things like "kittens" or "can of beer" or "onstage masturbation cage." But they never say anything that makes me think, "Whoa. You shouldn't say that," when they say that people can't say anything anymore. Give me some examples! But you know you won't get any examples because then they'll have to defend wanting to say some things that might make people ask, "What kind of person wants to keep saying that?!" Some dumb people might feel the gears in their brain beginning to spring to life, leading them to respond, "But didn't you just say you're not going to say 'bitches' and that your friends yell at you for saying 'retards'?! See? You can't say anything anymore!" To those people, I'd just like to point out that A. I just said both of those words so you're wrong and B. I've made the personal choice not to use certain language in casual ways. My use of the word "retards" in the previous context was carefully chosen for the joke. You'll notice I didn't call anybody that no matter how slow the gears in their brains took to spring to life. Plus, I have also used the word "dumb" at the beginning of this sentence which would get some people up in arms at me. But even if they messaged me and said, "You're an ableist motherfucker, you motherfucker!" (but with a word that probably isn't shaming people who fuck mothers. I actually don't know any curse words that somebody can't make problematic with a hot take!), remember that thing I said about law school? I don't have time to learn to argue these things! Maybe at some future date, I'll come around to their way of thinking and stop calling stupid morons dumb (and maybe morons too (and stupid? Is stupid bad?!)) but until then, I don't feel like I can't say it just because some people get mad at me for saying it. I'll take the verbal haranguing and just get on with my life. And if I feel that they've made a great point, maybe I'll apologize. I mean, I won't apologize or admit I did anything wrong! But maybe I'll surreptitiously change my behavior in the future! We can't all be fucking Tumblr saints like Wil Motherfucking Wheaton! Man, I really heard it that time. The term "motherfucker" is really problematic! The people with the slowest gears in their brains probably just finally spat out the term "virtue-signaler" after reading all of that. Interesting how a certain type of people who think they can't say anything anymore have come up with a specific term to shout at people saying things they'd rather those people didn't say. It's weird how they ignore how being angry that they can't say certain things sort of signals their anti-virtue? I mean, that might not be true but there's an easy way to prove me wrong: be specific with the things you can't say when you say you can't say anything. If you just want to call your dog fat in public, you might want to realize that, by not expressing that specific expression, people might think you want to spout the n-word willy-nilly. See how maybe you'd want to clarify that? Unless, I mean, is it possible you just want to go around saying the n-word? Normally, I'd actually type out the n-word in a conversation like this. But you can't say anything anymore! Without consequences, I mean! You know, I think I'd be fine with their argument if they just added "without consequences" to the end of it. It would be a hell of a lot more honest. "But it makes life so hard when you have to deal with repercussions!" For transparency's sake, I just did a search of the word "nigger" on my site and found it used in seventeen different reviews (eighteen counting this one now too, I suppose!) which seems like an awful lot (even considering I've got over four thousand reviews. That's less than half of a percent! I guess I have to admit to being 0.5% racist now. Hmm, that seems like a lot written out like that. I am the monster everybody has been telling me I am!). Most of the entries seem to be discussions on the conservative use of the word thug as a stand-in for the n-word or discussing the "euphemism treadmill." A few of them are discussing Quentin Tarantino. At least one was me parodying Xbox users. Obviously none of them were derogatory or meant to be hurtful. But a few may have been too casual and edgelord-y in the mentioning of the word. I'd say out of those seventeen uses, only one really made me cringe. It was less the usage of the word and more the anti-Tumblr rant I went on that day. I almost sounded like one of those assholes who blames their retreat into right-wing fascism on being called out by social justice warriors! I must have had a bad day where somebody complained that I called a woman a barn owl and I had and I knew that I shouldn't have and I was acting defensive. Sorry about that, Internet! I'll do better! I was going to link to some of those posts but then I thought, "Why should I?! If somebody is so obsessed with my use of a word, they should have to damn themselves by typing it into the search bar!" See? Sometimes using a word is a necessary evil! Now that I've completely ruined my reputation and confused people with my personal non-rhyming slang "barn owl," I should probably read Team Titans #24. According to the cover, it has dinosaurs!

The weirdest part of Zero Hour was the laugh track.

Proclaiming the story you just spent years writing was so terribly written that only idiots would enjoy it might not be the great meta-dialogue you thought it was. The editors at DC were like Australians importing foxes and cats to get rid of their imported rabbit problem. But instead of using invasive species to manage other invasive species, they decided using time travel and alternate timelines were the best way to cure the DC Universe of a time travel and alternate timeline problem. You would have thought destroying all of the alternate Earths would have taken care of the problems with alternate timelines. But you and the DC editors forgot that terrible writers would still use alternate futures of the same Earth to prop up their inability to write well. But also, since Crisis fucked up so many characters' points of origins (see my non-existent Infinity, Inc. reviews in an alternate timeline where I actually purchased those comics), Zero Hour was needed to just restate all the origins of all the characters. What better way to do that than to fuck with the main DC timeline?! What could go wrong (aside from losing all of the Hal Jordan fans)?! Monarch explains that to create a world where he controls everything, he had to send 600 Team Titans into specific points in the past to change things just the right way for events to bring him to power. It's a good thing that, naturally, events happened to bring him to a point where he could send 600 Team Titans into the past to change the future that made his future control of everything possible! Fucking time travel. Suck every dick! The issue begins like any other confusing, contrived, and convoluted Team Titans issue:

With a boy just recently resurrected getting trampled to death by mammoths.

The randomly resurrected people and feral mammoths probably weren't specifically part of Monarch's plan. But when you fuck with time, you're going to have to deal with some truly fucked up consequences. Herald and Bumblebee save the rest of the pioneer family from being killed. But afterward, the racist pioneer calls Herald a derogatory name and he's all, "Their remarks were offensive as hell!" And Bumblebee's response is, "You've become so political since you reached legal drinking age." What the fuck kind of response is that?! How is not wanting to be called a racial slur political?! And why the fuck would turning twenty-one make any difference?! Maybe it would make more sense if I knew anything about Herald and Bumblebee. I think they were important to the Titans in the early series which I never read. Meanwhile, dinosaurs are rampaging around Seattle's Capitol Hill district. And then Hero X, a Team Titan, gets eaten by a pterodactyl. I feel like it's supposed to be a funny moment but the laughs from the laugh track are missing and, I mean, a character just died. And that shouldn't be funny, even if the character was some jerk named Hero X. Unsure what might be happening, Bumblebee and Herald decide to take the Team Titans back to New Jersey to regroup with the other teams.

Ha ha! Automation! Artificial Intelligence hasn't gotten any better in the future if it's coming up with terrible super-hero names like that. Also, not everybody is there, Herald. Have you forgotten about poor Hero X already?!

Ugh. The same boring dinosaur fights around earthquakes with Titans saving people at the last second happens over and over and over again. Finally, Terra says, "I think we were being manipulated like pawns on a chessboard!" And, in the future, Monarch answers her! "Oh, if you only knew the extent of it, Terra! How my confusing and contrived and convoluted plan worked to a tea! Or is that a tee? Oh, fuck it! Who cares?! I am Captain Atom and I will...I mean, I am Hank Hall, also known as Haw, and I now rule the world! I think. How does time work again? Shouldn't my plan have already come to pass since I'm in the future? Why am I the future me that existed before I changed the past and still exist now that I've changed it? No, no! Don't think about it for too long! Just think about the name I'll use after Monarch. It has to be dignified and glorious and intimidating! So far I'm having a tough time picking between Bloodfestor and Extant!" Team Titans #24 Rating: F. What a terrible fucking end to a mostly terrible comic book. And I don't feel like I'm being mean or that my rating would hurt Jeff Jensen's feelings. He's the guy who called his own run on the Team Titans "confusing, contrived, and convoluted!"

#Team Titans #Teen Titans #DC Comics #DC #Comic Book Reviews

[jjennibee]

Butch/femme, who can use it?

Lately I have been reading through different posts about the debate, and yes it is a debate, about whether or not queer wlw who don’t identify as lesbian can use labels like “butch” and “femme.”  As a queer wlw who doesn’t identify as bisexual or lesbian I wanted to throw my hat in the ring.  While looking at the arguments as to why these terms are exclusively lesbian, I noticed that one of the big points made is history.  That the terms are historically lesbian.  And yet no one said how, so I did some research.  Also, when I say bisexuals, I am talking about bisexual women.

The terms were used in the 1950′s for lesbians to identify each other.  Society generally clumped bisexuals with lesbians since the label didn’t really exist yet or was fairly new.  Bisexuals at that time were still seen as “transitional,” as in they would one day be lesbian or go back to being straight.  

Something else that we see throughout history and present day is the changing of language.  The meaning and usage of words change, and this is normal.  Queer used to be a derogatory term against the LGBTQ+ community and now it is used as an identity for those who are not straight and/or have a non-normative gender identity.  They/them used to be a plural neutral term and now is being used as a singular identifier.  So there is no reason why these two terms can’t become more inclusive of wlw who don’t identify as lesbian.

My friend, who is pan, and I have been looking more into this and I would like to hear different perspectives.  I would also like to hear perspectives from queer wlw who don’t identify as lesbian or bisexual because they seem to be left of of this conversation.  

#lgbtqipa #butch #fem #butch/femme #femme #lgbt #expression #queer #gay

[cookiecrisis]

i'm not american either and i don't personally have a problem with the reclaiming of queer, i sent my message because you were literally saying queer is a new term created to be inclusive and has no history of being used as a slur. is it being reclaimed as an inclusive term? yes. but it is definitely a word that carries a negative and hurtful history of usage against lgbt people, the word literally means strange, peculiar, "not normal".

You did not make that impression on me, anon, hence my response. It's easy to miss social cues when beefing it up on the interwebs. I am the first to admit when I made a mistake and I just honestly didn't know "queer" was used as a slur in ye olden days and I do believe you in that it was used as such. We're all here to learn. However since queer seems to have been reclaimed to the point of people not knowing that it USED to be derogatory (just like "schwul" in my native language) I am heavily opposed to leaving the offensive conotation attached to it. We've come so far, I don't want it to stop. I am greatful for everything the older lgbt-gen has done for us and I understand it might make some of them uncomfortable but especially because our place in the world is hard fought we can't back down.

[praanam-blog]

T H E/N/W O R D

The N word directly comes from the ethnic slur “Negro” or “n*gger” used to oppress black people in the US. It was used as a slavery term, to degrade African Americans by skin color.

Quite frankly until it has been completely forgotten it can never be used, as an insult, as a friendly term, or otherwise. Never. It’s reasonable for white people to feel that their usage of the word in a harmless context is, in fact, harmless, but the mere root of the world was literally coined to dehumanize millions of people. To justify their abuse and murders. To allow, even now, the entire world to look down upon African Americans. I have even heard some non-black PoC use this word. That completely ignores the fact that as PoC ourselves we do not have the same amount of privilege as a white American. It’s honestly sad for me to see this happen, as ideally at least PoC would be the most understanding. When some African Americans “allow” their non-black friends use this word… that’s a personal choice. But just because a friend allows you to use this word does not mean that suddenly every black person is fully on board with the usage. We simply cannot assume, in that case. I’ve also heard the idea that the casual, harmless use of this word will normalize it. This is a point that I myself cannot fully interpret. On one hand, there is the idea that the word as a whole should never be said. However, black Americans still use it regularly, and not in a derogatory sense. On the other hand, there’s the idea that the word should be normalized in our culture. In which case, anyone should be able to say it as long as it is not in a derogatory sense. These two ideas contradict one another, if that makes sense. My personal belief about this paradox is that I don’t need to understand it. I’m not black and I don’t need this word. We should allow black Americans to decide the existence of this word. Honestly, there are so many words to use that aren’t this word. When people use the excuse that it’s a “fun” word… it’s ridiculously irritating. There are LITERALLY so many words. Like homie. Or bro. Or dude. Or just anything else. It is completely our responsibility, as non-black Americans, to give them the chance to grow as a minority in a predominantly white and white driven country. Using this word, even as POC, whether it be of Hispanic/Latino, Asian, Pacific Islander, Native American, or White (including Middle Eastern). Using the N word, in my eyes, proliferates hate and creates an atmosphere among us where it is okay to use a word, regardless of how, that completely deteriorates the being of or even just simply offends someone who, for countless generations, has been ridiculed simply because of their DNA: their bone structure, skin color, and hair texture.

#racism #the n word #black rights #black lives matter #racist america #hate

[notsoguiltykpop]

Disposable pt2

Idk I was just thinking about this last night and thought I might write another part? But I’ll warn you now, if you like sad endings, stop reading after part one. I’m terrible at angst because I’m a sucker for happy endings. (Also @ anon who originally requested part 1, I’m sorry that this is about to turn into something not at all like what you asked for, forgive me)

You can read part 1, 3, 4 

Yoongi x Reader

Fake relationship

Warnings: Harsh language, mild nsfw, alcohol usage.

Yoongi waited two weeks for you to call. And he was sure that you would, because you always did. This had been a relatively normal thing for you for over a year now. Everything would seem like it was fine until one day you said you couldn’t do this anymore, then you would effectively dump him (although in order to dump him you would have had to have been in a relationship in the first place), and then a few days later you would call him again.

It was just the way it was. 

There was something different about this time, however. He hadn’t wanted to admit it, or even think about it at the time, but there was something in your eyes that night. Yoongi recognized hopelessness when he saw it.

He rubbed his eyes, reminding himself that he didn’t care. So what if you never called him? It wasn’t like he couldn’t find someone else. Though, it could be hard to find someone who didn’t ask questions. That was something he liked about you, you never asked questions about his personal life. You weren’t interested in his money, or his status. At first, you wanted the same thing that he did– a way to forget who you were for a while. 

No more stress, no more phone calls from angry bosses, no more parents who wanted to know why you weren’t married yet. It worked so well because the two of you were each others escape. 

For a few months, both of you kept feelings out of it. You were fuck buddies, no big deal. But at some point, something had shifted. He could still remember the first time he noticed it, when he had almost made the mistake of asking you to stay. He nearly didn’t catch himself in time, choking on his words and backtracking so fast that you had actually asked him if he was okay. 

He glared at his phone, waiting for something that he knew wasn’t going to happen.

“You know, you could just call whoever it is.” Jungkook’s voice said over his shoulder, and he nearly jumped out of his skin. 

“Jesus fucking–will you mind your own business?” Jungkook was the owners younger brother, and had the run of the place when it suited him. Yoongi, on the other hand, was not so lucky. He had worked his way up to being the head editor of the news paper, but was starting to think that he had liked being a reporter better. At least when he was doing that, he wasn’t stuck at a desk all day. 

“No, I won’t.” Jungkook hummed, sipping coffee from a mug that said “#1 BOSS”. Yoongi guessed it was Namjoons. “So. Is she cute?”

“Does it look like I want to talk about this?” Yoongi snapped, and Jungkook grinned. 

“Not really, but that means that you probably should.” 

Yoongi sunk his head into his hands. “Please go away.” He said.

“Me and some of the guys are going clubbing tonight.” Jungkook said unperturbed, taking a seat on the edge of Yoongi’s desk and subsequently wrinkling the papers there. 

“Good for you.” Yoongi sighed. 

“You wanna come? It might help take your mind off of her.”

“I don’t need help taking my mind off her.” 

“So you admit there is a someone?” Jungkook laughed, and Yoongi wanted desperately to shove the boy off of his desk.

“If I agree to go with you, will you leave me alone the rest of the day?” Yoongi finally asked, and Jungkook agreed easily. Maybe clubbing would help. Maybe he would meet someone better, who didn’t ask him to stay and make things complicated. Maybe he would find someone who was just sexy, that he didn’t give a damn about. There were a lot of maybe’s, but he decided it was worth it.

You had made it longer than any other time before, and you weren’t going to call Yoongi now. What the two of you had was too cruel, and you refused to do it to yourself any more. You deserved someone who gave a crap, who would stay over sometimes, who would at least ask you how your day was occasionally. 

“Friends with benefits is all well and good, right up until someone catches feelings.” One of your friends from college had always said, and now you saw that it was true. It had been great until you started to want more. For a brief time, you had thought he had wanted more too. He would hold you close longer than usual, would gently brush your hair away from your face, and in those moments he had seemed so genuine… But you guessed that you had just imagined all of it. 

You needed to forget him. 

You took another shot, and the liquid burned down your throat. The club was noisy and crowded, and you didn’t remember the last time you were in one. “Oh, wait. Yes I can.” You thought bitterly. “It was the time I met Yoongi.” 

The alcohol suddenly tasted sour, and you shoved away the last shot that was sitting in front of you. Everything reminded you of him, every taste, every scent. And great. Now you were seeing things. You figured you must have had more to drink than you realized, because you could have sworn you just saw him walk into the club. 

“Hey hottie.” What a dumb thing to say to someone. Hottie? Really? They couldn’t be a little bit more creative? You turned to the voice, fixing them with a glare.

“Actually.” You said with a smile. “You’d be better off to refer to me as “The Subject of Nightmares” or “Actual Demon From Hell”. Hottie just sounds stupid.”

The man was large, and two other just as huge men stood on either side of him. You were hyped up on liquid courage though, and didn’t particularly care.

“You see, calling me “hottie” is offensive. So if you’re going to be rude, why not do it in a more original way?” The man didn’t look like he was following, so you kept talking. “If, for example, I was to insult you, I wouldn’t just say “hey ugly”, I would say “hey Douche Canoe” or “Dude with the Dumb Haircut”. You see how the two are different?” 

You were about to turn back to the bar when the man grabbed you by the front of your dress. “You don’t wanna make me mad, girl.” He hissed, and you made a face. He had terrible breath.

“See, again. You meant “girl” as a derogatory term there, when you should have used an actual insult.” 

“The hell are you doing?” Yep, you must be drunk, because that voice sounded just like Yoongi’s. The front of your dress was released as the man was pushed off of you, and you sat confused for a second. The man who had gotten between the two of you was telling the man who didn’t know how to insult properly to leave you alone, and there were several other people with him. 

“What’s it matter to you, anyway?” You heard over the noise of the rest of the club. “She you’re girlfriend or something?” 

“As a matter of fact, she is.” And you frowned, squinting at the back of the speakers head. Was that really Yoongi?

It wasn’t long before he was at your side, taking a glance at the shot glasses in front of you.

“Are you drunk?” He asked suspiciously. 

“Um…” You thought about it. “That depends. Are you Min Yoongi? Because if the answer is no, then yes, I am very drunk indeed.”

Yoongi managed to get you out of the club somehow, though it wasn’t an easy task. You went back and forth between wanting to dance, wanting to find your friends, and wanting to hang onto him like a koala. 

“Stay here while I call you a taxi, okay?” It felt like he was talking to a little kid, except he would have trusted a child more than you right now. Jungkook came jogging out of the club, first looking at you, then at Yoongi (who was trying to steady you). 

“Do you know her?” He asked. You giggled and waved at him.

“Hey Kookie.” You said. Jungkook waved back, even though he was only standing about three feet away. 

“Do you?” Yoongi echoed as you pulled Jungkook close for a hug.

“We’ve… met.” Jungkook winced, trying to pry you off of him.

“That’s a good one, Kookie.” You said. 

Yoongi decided it wasn’t any of his business who you knew anyway. “Can you…I don’t know, make sure she doesn’t run into traffic while I call a cab?”

“Yoongi, do you know her?” Jungkook said again, and this time there was more force behind his words. 

“He’s my boyfriend, didn’t you hear him in there?” Yoongi was about to correct you when he saw the innocent happiness in your eyes. He had said it just because he knew it would be the easiest way to get those guys to leave you alone, but in your intoxicated state you must have thought he was being serious. 

“Yeah.” Yoongi said, giving you a small smile. “I’m her boyfriend.” He wasn’t evil, he didn’t take joy in hurting you. It wasn’t like you would remember it in the morning anyway. 

“Boyfriend.” Jungkook repeated so quietly that Yoongi almost didn’t hear as he tried (and failed) to wave down a taxi. “You have a boyfriend?” You were still attached to Jungkook, and Yoongi tried not to care. 

“Yup, isn’t he handsome?” You sighed. “And he’s really nice when he’s not being really mean.” 

Your last sentence didn’t make any sense, but luckily he was finally successful in getting a cab, and you crawled into it without much fuss. “Do you remember your address?” Yoongi asked you, and you shook your head.

“I also have no money, I spent it all.” You looked far too happy about this. “So you should come with me.” Ah. That’s what this was. 

“Jungkook, you go with her.” Yoongi snapped, trying to shove Jungkook toward the car. 

“No way, she’s your problem. Something tells me it’s your fault she’s like this, so you can be the one she vomits on.” Jungkook pushed Yoongi this time, and it reminded Yoongi that, despite Jungkooks young age, he was quite a bit larger than Yoongi himself.

The older man climbed in next to you grumbling, telling the taxi drive your address, pushing you away when you tried to lean your head on his shoulder.

“Why are you always so mean to me?” You asked sadly, instead putting your forehead against the glass of the window. Yoongi couldn’t help but feel a little guilty hearing this, and sighed, running a hand down his face. He looked at you through his fingers, and saw a tear trickling down your cheek. 

“Hey, don’t do that.” It came out harsher than he had intended, and only made things worse. “I’ll be nicer. What do you want me to do?” You looked at him hopefully.

“Take a picture with me.” 

“Okay.” There was nothing wrong with a picture, he could do that. Especially if it saved him from you crying the whole way back to your apartment. 

He scooted closer to you in the back seat, and you did the same, putting your heads close together as you held up your phone.

“Smile.” You pouted, looking at the picture you had just taken. “And don’t move, it’s all blurry.” Yoongi rolled his eyes. 

“It’s blurry because you can’t keep your arm steady.” He took the phone from you, and smiled for the picture just as you had asked. You leaned over at the last second, giving him a kiss on the cheek. You seemed happy with the photo, and Yoongi had to admit it looked good. To anyone who didn’t know the circumstances, you looked like a cute, happy couple.

It made him feel a bit sick.

You woke up with your head pounding. Aspirin and a glass of water were sitting on your nightstand table, and you noticed that, although your shoes were off and you were under the covers, you had slept in your clothes. Hani must have brought you home last night.

You reached deftly for your phone, you needed to know what time it was. You looked at the screen blankly for a moment, it didn’t make sense. Why did you have so many snapchat notifications? And so many texts? You sat up, worried that something bad had happened. 

“How could you not tell me you had a boyfriend???” 

The message was from Hani, and the first one you looked at. You tried to remember what she was talking about. You had always had a habit of lying when you were drunk, and you had a vague memory of telling someone you had a boyfriend… Before you could reply, you got a text from your older step-brother Namjoon. 

“You have a lot of explaining to do.” Crap. What did he want? You loved your older brother, but you weren’t in the mood for one of his lectures. “Maybe he found out that I went clubbing last night.” You thought. Namjoon had never been one for clubs, he said they were dangerous.

You decided to play it safe with a “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

It took seconds for him to reply. “How could you not tell me you’re in a relationship?!?” You grimaced. How did he even hear about these things? He must be teasing you, he knew better than anyone about the strange things you said when you were drunk. 

“Oh, yeah. I guess I forgot to mention that I’ve been in a serious relationship for the last two years.” You typed back sarcastically.

“Has it really been that long?” 

You blinked at the text. You were too hungover for this. 

You were about to put your phone back down when it started ringing. You sighed as you answered it, knowing that if you didn’t, Namjoon would likely just show up at your apartment. 

“What?” You whined. 

“I’m just really excited, that’s all.” Namjoon said, and you could tell from his tone that he was being honest. “You know, Hoseok is always so worried about you, saying that you’re going to die alone, but I knew you’d find someone!” 

“Thanks.” You said flatly. You didn’t know how to break it to him that it wasn’t true. And you realized that your sarcasm had been lost, making the overall situation worse. 

“Is he nice?” It was the typical questions that he always had. 

“Yeah, he’s really… Great, Namjoon, he’s fantastic.” You didn’t know why you couldn’t just tell him the truth. But you made a plan as you talked. It was simple, you would tell Namjoon that you were just waiting to tell him until you were sure it would work out with you and the guy who didn’t exist, and then after a few weeks tell him that the two of you broke up.

“And you’ve been seeing him for two years?” Namjoon had taken on the role of inquisitive parent after your own parents became too busy to do so themselves. He did the same thing to Jungkook, and you and Jungkook both quizzed Namjoon about whoever he was dating. You all looked out for each other, it was just how your family worked. 

“Yeah, it’s crazy, huh?” You laughed, and Namjoon made a noise of disapproval. 

“I still just don’t understand how you could not tell me.” He sounded hurt, but not enough for you to come clean now. 

“What I don’t understand is how you found out.” Was he having you followed now? He had always been a bit paranoid, being the head of a big news company would do that apparently. 

“Jungkook told me.” He said. You rubbed your eyes as your struggled to think, and somewhere in the back of your mind, you realized that it was Jungkook whom you had told that you had a boyfriend. This was strange however, because Jungkook also should have known better than to believe anything you said after a few drinks. 

“And did Jungkook say anything else?” You asked. If you were going around telling people you had a boyfriend, who knows what other nonsense you were spouting. You reached for the water on your nightstand, hoping it would ease your headache. 

“Just that he seemed really nice, and that he thinks I’ll like him.” 

You chocked. Shit. “What have I gotten myself into,” You thought. “And who the hell did I tell Jungkook that I’m dating?”

A/N Oops. Lol, I didn’t mean to start another series until I finished with all the requests (I know I keep saying this, but I’m working on them, and I appreciate everyone’s patience with me), but I had the inspiration for this and wanted to write it! I originally wanted to do a second part and keep it angsty, but then I thought of this… Let me know what you think! Do you want me to continue this, or should I have left it as a one-shot? Thank you for reading! <3 </i>

#min yoongi scenarios #suga scenarios #suga imagines #suga fanfic #suga fluff #yoongi fluff #yoongi imagines #bts yoongi imagine #yoongi fanfic #bts scenarios #bts imagines #bts fluff #bts fanfic #suga smut #yoongi smut #bts smut #disposable #what have i done #oops

[killer-boredom]

I don’t know if this is an unpopular opinion so much as an opinion that any normal person would be too distracted by actual relevant things to even consider thinking about but I have this weird peeve when reading fic or whatever when a character refers to Twisty by that name..it always gives me this ‘'bzuh??” moment of wondering where they learned it from.

Like, they could have learned it from Twisty himself, certainly. Just because he can’t communicate verbally doesn’t mean he couldn’t have written it down or conveyed it through some other means but, at the same time, there’s nothing to suggest that he did. The audience doesn’t learn his name in the text of the show, only through the credits and the extra textual material, such as the advertisements that named him. Later on we find out even the other members of his circus won’t dignify him with a name, instead using derogatory phrases like ‘simpleton’. This seemed to suggest to me the degree to which Twisty’s circumstances have disenfranchised him from his own story. He can’t speak up for himself to the freaks at the time of the original accusation because his lack of eloquence and his intellectual disability result in his words not being considered trustworthy, he literally loses the ability to speak for himself thanks to his failed suicide attempts, and then as he shifts into madness there’s the suggestion that he’s separating himself from everything that he was aside from “clown”. Additionally, his being deprived of speech makes him even more ominous and enigmatic to the audience, mute and looming in the darkness, easy to acribe monstrous intent to his disturbing choices. 

Then when Mordrake finally allows him the power of speech(or rather, the power to be understood) for the first time via what appears to be a telepathic connection, Twisty never names himself despite  freely telling the rest of his story. Similarly, Mordrake never calls him by what would be a given name despite him theorhetically having access to that information. Instead he names him with possessive honorifics; “my marvel”, “my wonder” with a reverence that evokes a shade of Frankenstein and his infamous Creature. As Twisty is the perfect nightmare monster to the audience, he becomes Mordrake’s true freak, a bizarre and novel specimen, because his narrative is subject to the whims of those who are audience to it. Even when he’s speaking for himself, he doesn’t truly get to decide who he is.

Finally, some authors seem to suggest that Dandy ascribed the name Twisty to him, suggesting that’s why he’s named that way in the credits but not by anyone else. Honestly, that would be kind of cute in terms of the bizarre but ambiguously intimate nature of their relationship but it doesn’t quite fit for me. ‘Twisty’ could easily be a play on ‘twisted’ (and Dandy would certainly think himself clever for contriving such a thing) but the actual clown element of the name, the fact that he makes(twists) balloon animals, is never something Dandy sees him do as far as the audience is concerned(though it does overlap with a headcanon of mine). Even more telling than that is the fact that Dandy never calls him by the name ‘Twisty’, rather he calls him ‘Clown’ as if it’s his title. And the naming and renaming of people is something that’s central to Dandy’s interpersonal relationships. In some classic schoolyard bullying taken to the real world, he gives people nasty little nicknames for his own amusement (note him calling Maggie ‘tiny tits’ while he’s threatening to dismember her). He calls the freaks almost exclusively by their stage names as a means of dismissing them and establishing his power over them. 

But he’s adamant about calling the twins by their individual names and treating them as different people(one of the few decent qualities he exhibits) despite the fact that most of the characters identify or dismiss them primarily as a unit. If they are a unit to Dandy, however, they’re almost always “my twins” or “my girls”. He also is inclined towards addressing his conversation partner by name more than necessary as per the conversational tactic of establishing control or dominance, something he repeatedly does with his mother, Dora, and Regina. When he does this with Twisty, he simply says “Clown”. Certainly if it he had another name for Twisty, he wouldn’t be shy to use it. Instead Clown is simply a clown, possessive implied only if you want it to be. Dandy sees a clown so that’s what Twisty is. Not only a clown but the clown; through usage it becomes a title the same way Lobsterboy is Jimmy’s. Your name is what you are because that’s how Dandy sees you. Clown is a bit more important than Jimmy, of course, being an aspirational figure for Dandy. All that is death, all that is clown...a mantle unto itself. 

Tldr: The various meta in play behind the naming of Twisty and the means with which his name is revealed are super interesting to me and I wish people explored and experimented with them more instead of just taking the one name for granted. 

#thesmileclown #moralslefttodecay #mostly just tagging you guys for shits #twisty the clown #ahs freak show #edward mordrake #dandy mott #ooc #out of privilege

[theserpentsadvocate]

Tell HolyClothing Racial Slurs ARE a Big Deal

I have two friends getting married this summer, and I’m in both wedding parties, so naturally they’ve been sending me pictures of dresses to look at. Since my BFF is both pagan and really into LARP, she also considered some dresses from a historical/fantasy clothing site, which would be great, normally (I got my prom dress from one, and it was awesome)... but I was really disconcerted to see that one of the dresses she was looking at for me had a racial slur in the description.

This is really common, unfortunately, with sites like that, because there’s an unfortunate lack of awareness (at least in North America, I can’t speak for elsewhere) about the fact that g*psy is a really offensive and oppressive term for the Romani/Rromani people (and an offensive and inaccurate term to use for other nomadic groups like Irish Travellers).

Anyway, since the company is committed to ethical practices, I hoped they’d be receptive to a request to change the descriptions on clothing featuring that word (which also appears in the hover-over text for the tab), and I sent them a long, very polite email about it, including a link to a Romani person discussing the issue. Unfortunately, this was not the case. Evidently, HolyClothing had been alerted to this previously, but because their Facebook followers didn’t see an issue with it, and since they’re of the opinion that they’re using it in a non-derogatory way, they think it’s fine to keep using it.

I’m sending them a still polite but markedly disapproving response email, but if they want to ignore me... they’ll ignore me. However, if they were suddenly inundated with polite-but-markedly-disapproving (or even polite-and-utterly-distressed) emails and Facebook comments, that might sway them.

I’ll include all the emails under a cut. If you want to help, you can email them at  [email protected] for Customer Service, or [email protected] for Press/PR. If that’s a little overwhelming, their Facebook page is here.

Please send them an email or a Facebook message or comment if you can. If you can’t, for whatever reason, please don’t feel bad about it, and signal boost if you’re up for it.

Here’s my correspondance with HolyClothing, unaltered except for spaces for readability and editing of personal details: Bolding for clarity of formatting.

My first email to them:

Hey, I posted this on your Facebook earlier because I couldn't find your 'Contact' link on the website. I suspect this is the fault of my computer, which displayed a few bugs when I was looking through the website for other things; sometimes it's kind of temperamental.

So, here's what I said:

"I'm looking at some clothing from your shop because my friend likes them for her bridesmaid dresses, and while I really like a lot of your clothes, I'm uncomfortable about buying clothes from a company that uses a racial slur in their descriptions.

I know it's common for companies that sell historical- and fantasy-inspired clothes to use the term 'gypsy' to refer to a certain style of clothing, but it is in fact an offensive and marginalizing term to a minority group which is still persecuted today, and I would feel a lot better if you would address it, and, hopefully, change the names on articles like this one:

http://holyclothing.com/…/kyla-scalloped-hem-gothic-embroid…

Here is an article by a person who IS Romani explaining why the word is offensive and some of her negative experiences with similar branding. http://gypsyappropriations.blogspot.ca/…/problem-with-word-…

Thank you for taking the time to read and respond to my concerns." Since I'm off Facebook I'd like to elaborate - I know the company is based in India, but I understand that it's run by Canadians. It's VERY common in North America for non-Romani people not to know about the offensive implications of the word, and I myself (I am not Romani) only found out this information a few years ago. I am sure that your company's usage of the word was done unintentionally rather than callously.

At the same time, as you can see from the article I've linked, using the word the way you have can cause huge amounts of unintentional harm to Romani people who see it, and who have to deal with people who have normalized it because of seeing similar things, so I really felt I had to say something immediately.

I'm very conflicted - I love most of your clothing and I'm thrilled to find an ethically-sourced and semi-Canadian company selling the sort of thing I'm so interested in... and, of course, I want to make my friend's wedding perfect for her, which includes wearing whatever she picks out. But I'm really uncomfortable purchasing from a business that uses a racial slur not just in some of their product descriptions, but in their branding.

Given HolyClothing's dedication to ethical business, I'm confident you'll address the matter in a satisfactory manner, which would send a good message to your customers, as well as distinguishing you among other historical and fantasy-esque stores who use similar branding.

Thank you so much for your time and attention,

Riley [last name redacted]

Their response:

Hello Riley,

Thank you for taking the time to email us. This has been addressed in the past with HolyClothing and more than one poll was taken on our Facebook page. We are not using the term in a derogatory manner and to date, have not received any complaints from Romani people.

We appreciate your feedback.

Regards - Brenda

And my latest email:

I'm really disappointed to hear that. I had higher expectations from you as a business.

May I suggest that you read (or reread) the post at the link I sent you ( http://gypsyappropriations.blogspot.ca/2010/04/problem-with-word-gypsy.html ), in which the large guest section details a Romani person's experience, and demonstrates how the term is no less hurtful even when not used with malice. There's also an explanation of how such use of the term contributes to erasure of the Romani people (the author of the blog is regularly told that she's not real), and gives some context to its history and utter inappropriateness when used by anyone who isn't Romani. If you require anything more than that, it's easy to find Romani people discussing or explaining this in various places online, and I would also be willing to provide you with as much additional material as you require.

I'd also like to suggest that perhaps it's time to set up another one of those polls - but even if the response doesn't condemn the term, it would reflect well on HolyClothing as a company, especially one committed to ethical practices, to do what's right rather than simply what's easiest.

(Incidentally, in my experience it is very easy to rebrand anything described as 'g*psy' as either 'boho' or 'pirate' as is fitting. If you find 'pirate' doesn't quite fit your store, you could always try 'nomad', 'hippie', 'flower child', and so on, or in specific descriptions, substitute one of your other branding terms, like, again, 'boho', or 'peasant' as appropriate. Simply dropping it from your hover-over tab description would still leave you with four adjectives which still convey very effectively the variety and type of clothing you provide.)

Thank you for your time. [initials redacted]

#racism #gypsy #gipsy #g-slur #and now for serious things #equality and understanding #always open to correction from actual r(r)oma people #why i hate the world sometimes #(let's be honest #you could PROBABLY find out my last name on facebook if you wanted to #but idk i'd feel uncomfortable publishing my last name here) #... #i also have to go to sleep soon i think #so if this post blows up or something #or if i've fucked up or something #*please* give me a grace period of like ten hours or so to address it #like let me know/ask your question but i can't answer/address it until i'm awake #fair?

[makeuptips10-blog]

Social Media Diary: An Instagram Influencer with 55,000 Followers

New Post has been published on https://www.claritymakeupartistry.com/social-media-diary-an-instagram-influencer-with-55000-followers/

Social Media Diary: An Instagram Influencer with 55,000 Followers

My name is Sam. I’m 21 years old, a college student and a writer here at StyleCaster. But there’s one more thing that characterizes my definitively Gen-Z existence: I’m an Instagrammer. (Sorry, I just baby-barfed.)

For the record, I hate the word Instagrammer. (And don’t even get me started on the word influencer.) Like the B-word in its early stages, the titles are mostly used in a derogatory context; they’re employed to degrade the people who wear them, as if that’s all they are—and as if it’s not enough. But the truth is, there’s no better name for what I do (yet), so we’re just gonna have to roll with it.

I use my cell phone much the same way any college student does. Every morning, I scroll through one newsfeed or another until my eyes adjust to the daylight my shades unsuccessfully tried to obstruct; I listen to music on Spotify when getting ready for class; I text and call my friends to catch up while I’m commuting; and I navigate the twisted channels of Instagram, Snapchat, Facebook and YouTube when I’m bored. (I’m not much of a Twitter girl.)

My phone is my go-to travel companion, my avenue to information I might need, and my emergency lifeline in times of crisis (like, when I run out of St. Tropez—hello, Amazon).

But I also run this Instagram account.

Let me start with a disclaimer: I’m no Kylie Jenner. I have 55,000-ish followers (which, granted, is more than twice the number of people who can fit in Madison Square Garden). But I still qualify as a “micro-influencer,” meaning I don’t “influence” a proportionally large amount of people, in the grand scheme of things.

That being said, I run my account like a businesswoman. Every day, I receive upwards of 50 unique messages (DMs, emails, press releases, etc.) regarding my Instagram account. I spend time negotiating the terms and contracts of branded collaborations. I conceptualize, shoot, edit and post all my own content. I consult with my agent and mentors to discuss brand strategy and areas for improvement. I travel for shoots and meetings.

In short, I spend a lot of time on my phone.

Last month, I decided to embark on a little mission—one focused on self-awareness. I downloaded an app called Moment, which promised to track my iPhone usage over a given period of time. I chose a week where I’d be in office some days and out of office others; I wanted to see how my habits changed from a professional setting to an unrestricted one.

I figured the app would not only serve me a major reality check but also answer some questions I get from my friends and followers: How often do I post? How long does it take me to edit photos? Do I read all my DMs?

Scroll down to get the answers yourself—and to read a minute-by-minute account of my week on Moment.

Day 1: Tuesday, August 7

Courtesy of author.

10:15 a.m.: I arrive at the office, get settled at my desk, respond to some work emails and prepare for the day. I also turn on Moment for the first time.

10:15 – 10:47 a.m.: Over the next 32 minutes, Moment logs nine “pickups.” Kevin Holesh, the app’s creator, defines a “pickup” as any time your screen lights up for five or more seconds. (You’re probably wondering what happens if you get a text, which causes your screen to light up for approximately five seconds. Yup, that counts as a pickup.) My guess is that these nine pickups were thanks to my roommates—we were texting in a group chat and Venmo-ing each other for the previous weekend’s Ubers.

10:47 a.m.: I use my phone for two minutes. It’s more than likely that I was responding to a text (it’s also more than likely that said text was from my mom).

10:47 a.m. – 12:09 p.m.: Moment logs six pickups between 10:47 and 12:09. As the Internet wakes up, I begin receiving notifications from Instagram. I don’t get push notifications for likes or comments, but I do get them for direct messages.

12:09 p.m.: I use my phone for three minutes, to briefly respond to a text or two and to resolve a conversation in my Instagram DMs.

12:09 – 12:16 p.m.: One pickup.

12:16 p.m.: I use my phone for two minutes, likely to follow up on some texts.

12:16 – 1:50 p.m.: Eleven pickups. I’m popular today.

1:50 p.m.: I use my phone for two minutes—probably exchanging Snapchats with friends.

1:50 – 2:51 p.m.: One pickup.

2:51 p.m.: I use my phone for five minutes. This is when my lunch delivery arrives—I answer the phone, and use my time in the elevator to catch up on some Instagram DMs.

2:51 – 6:34 p.m.: I have an extremely productive stretch at work and barely touch my phone. Only three pickups in total.

“The app shows my numbers in the color green, which I interpret to mean, Hey, Sam—you’re not so bad.”

6:34 p.m.: I got to work a few minutes late, so I decide to stay a little late in return. At 6:34, I pack up, grab my phone and head out. I get distracted by a Facebook message and spend five minutes on the app. I get on the subway and lose cell service for the majority of the ride, so I’m not on my phone much.

6:34 – 6:50 p.m.: Three pickups.

6:50 p.m.: I get off of the subway and respond to the messages I missed during my subway ride. I schedule an Instagram to go up later that evening. I use my phone for five minutes.

6:59 p.m.: I get back to my apartment, flop on my couch and scroll mindlessly on Instagram for four minutes.

6:59 – 8:14 p.m.: I work on some contracts, send some Instagram-related emails and edit some photos and videos, all on my computer. My phone records three pickups, which must have been from texts I was receiving (even though I was responding to them on my laptop).

8:14 p.m.: I spend two minutes on my phone calling Caffe Buon Gusto on the Upper East Side to push my reservation back by 15 minutes—my roommate and I underestimated the amount of time it would take to get there.

8:18 p.m.: It starts to rain, so I spend two minutes on my phone calling an Uber.

8:31 p.m.: I use my phone for two minutes in the Uber, mostly to determine why no one’s texted me in 13 minutes. I spend about 30 seconds posting my queued-up Instagram to my profile. It performed at average capacity.

8:34 p.m.: I spend eight minutes on my phone, checking up on my Instagram, responding to DMs and looking at celeb posts with my roommate.

8:34 – 8:52 p.m.: Three pickups.

8:52 p.m.: I use my phone for three minutes to take a Boomerang of my roommate and me cheers-ing to our last night living in the New York City for the summer. (We’re moving out of our apartment the next day and preparing for our return to Elon at the end of the month. We can’t believe we’re going to be college seniors.)

9:01 p.m.: I open up Instagram and spend two minutes getting the perfect photo of my pasta. It’s gorgeous, so I put it on my Story.

Courtesy of author.

9:01 – 11:09 p.m.: We have too much fun at dinner to remember our phones—Chianti Classico makes for a good substitute. My roommate orders the Uber home, and we practically crawl back to our rooms, exhausted by our own capacity to eat for two hours straight. Two pickups.

11:09 p.m.: I’m finally in bed, tired and full of pasta. I use my phone for nine minutes to gush about the restaurant (to Mom, of course) and take my final scroll through Instagram. I sleep. According to Moment, my phone sleeps with me, for eight hours and seven minutes.

Recap: Today, Moment recorded 58 pickups and roughly an hour and a half of screen time. The app shows my numbers in the color green, which I interpret to mean, “Hey, Sam—you’re not so bad.” Normally, I’d be proud of this, but I know that the stats aren’t indicative of the truth. I was unusually productive today—plus, my phone didn’t account for the hour(ish) I spent working and texting on my laptop after hours. Regardless, I chalk it up as a win for Team Sam.

Day 2: Wednesday, August 8

Courtesy of author.

7:48 a.m.: I have to wake up unusually early this morning because I’m working the BlogHer conference with the team. I use my phone for 10 minutes to respond to some texts from the night before, check my work email and take a pass through my Instagram newsfeed. I check on my Instagram post from the night before, and am disappointed in its performance—that outfit deserved better.

8:06 a.m.: I use my phone for eight minutes—not sure why.

8:06 – 8:29 a.m.: Four pickups.

8:29 a.m.: I use my phone for four minutes to respond to the four texts I just received. Why is everyone up so early today?

8:29 – 9:11 a.m.: Nine pickups. These are texts from a friend, Slack messages from my editors at the BlogHer conference and Instagram DM notifications.

9:11 a.m.: I use my phone for four minutes to order an Uber to the conference. (I’m wearing heels.)

9:11 – 9:19 a.m.: One pickup.

9:19 a.m.: I use my phone for my entire 21-minute Uber ride, because my driver doesn’t feel like chatting. It’s too early for that anyway. My Instagram newsfeed is on fire today—pretty sure I like every picture I scroll past. I take a selfie to post on my Instagram Story, because I love my sunglasses.

Courtesy of author.

9:44 a.m.: I’m at the conference, but my laptop refuses to connect to the WiFi. I use my phone to scan the web for news, which takes about five minutes.

9:50 a.m.: Still no WiFi. I’m back on my phone for two minutes.

9:50 – 10:19 a.m.: The WiFi seems to be working, so I don’t use my phone for a while. Two pickups.

10:19 a.m.: WiFi? Never heard of it. I use my phone for eight minutes to respond to work emails.

10:19 – 11:42 a.m.: My editor and I figure out how to use my phone as a hotspot for our laptops. We work and work and work and work, but the connection is still pretty slow, so we don’t get much done. Moment records one pickup.

11:42 a.m.: I use my phone for two minutes to take and post a photo of a speaker to my Instagram Story.

Courtesy of author.

11:42 a.m. – 3:56 p.m.: My phone is low on battery, so I head to a staff room to charge it. I leave it there forever and use my laptop to respond to important messages in the meantime.

3:56 p.m.: My phone must be charged by now, and my laptop is almost dead. Without any electronics, I can’t work—or survive, probably. I head back into the staff room and spend three minutes checking my notifications. Moment recorded seven pickups while I was away.

4:01 p.m.: I pick up my phone compulsively, and check for notifications for two minutes. I have none—it’s only been a minute since I last used my phone.

4:01 – 4:09 p.m.: Two pickups. (Now I have notifications?)

4:09 p.m.: I resolve the notifications. It takes three minutes.

4:09 – 4:35 p.m.: Three pickups. All texts.

4:35 – 5:06 p.m.: Two pickups. Both Instagram DMs.

5:06–5:30 p.m.: We’re in the home stretch of workable conference hours. The WiFi cooperates long enough for me to build out most of a story, but not long enough for me to finish it. My phone records two pickups.

5:30 p.m.: I’m heading out because the wireless is frustrating, and I have deadlines to meet. Before I leave, I spend three minutes ordering an Uber back to my apartment.

5:34 p.m.: My phone notifies me that the Uber has arrived—go time. I use my phone for five minutes while I walk to the car.

5:34 – 5:43 p.m.: Two pickups. My mom is texting me to discuss the fact that I’m moving out of my apartment in NYC pretty soon. We exchange sad faces (:/).

5:43 p.m.: I use my phone for five minutes to continue discussing logistics with Mom.

5:43 – 5:52 p.m.: I briefly doze off in the car. There’s a lot of traffic, so the ride is slower than usual. Moment records two pickups.

5:52 p.m.: The Uber drops me off at my apartment, and I use my phone for 18 minutes. During this time, I’m editing some photos that I plan to post throughout the week.

5:52 – 6:15 p.m.: One pickup.

“I’m starting to feel like yesterday was a fluke, and I’m beyond sure tomorrow will only be worse.”

6:15 p.m.: I use my phone for two minutes. I’m running late to shoot some content for a branded collaboration, and I need to let the team know I’m on my way.

6:15 – 6:25 p.m.: Two pickups. (Responses from the team saying they’re a few minutes behind schedule, too.)

6:25 p.m.: I use my phone for six minutes to navigate the rest of my way to the shoot.

6:25 – 7:16 p.m.: I’m on set, sans phone. Five pickups.

7:16 p.m.: I use my phone for seven minutes, to upload some of the RAW images from the shoot into my camera roll. There’s a lot.

7:16 – 7:44 p.m.: Two pickups.

7:44 p.m.: I’m on my phone for two minutes, swiping through the photos from the shoot. I “heart” the ones I like and immediately delete the ones I don’t.

7:44 – 8:02 p.m.: I leave the shoot—I’m eager to get into some air conditioning and to sit down for a while. The team packs up, I hop in a car and begin the journey from NYC to my hometown in New Jersey. One pickup.

8:02 p.m.: Since I’m not driving, I have some downtime in the car. I catch up on an entire day’s worth of Instagram DMs, Instagram-related emails, text messages and social tags. This takes me 27 minutes.

8:02 – 8:34 p.m.: I take a breather from my screen and look out the window for the rest of the drive. By the time I arrive at my parents’ house, Moment has recorded another pickup.

8:34 p.m.: I head inside and flop down on the couch. It was a long day. I mindlessly scroll through Instagram for nine minutes.

8:34 – 8:49 p.m.: I discuss the concept of dinner with my parents—nobody has thought of it yet. Busy day in the Feher household, I guess? We decide on pizza. Three pickups.

8:49 p.m.: I use my phone for three minutes to order said pizza. Dad heads out to pick it up.

8:49 – 9:06 p.m.: One pickup. Instagram DM.

9:06 p.m.: I’ve set the table (casually—it’s just pizza), and I’m waiting for Dad to return with the pizzas so we can finally eat something. I wind up on my phone for eight minutes.

9:06 – 9:57 p.m.: Dad arrives, and we feast. The pizza is gone in mere minutes, but we sit and catch up for a while. We’ve missed each other since I moved to the city. We have a lot to do tonight—we take off for a family vacation to Bermuda in the morning! Four pickups.

9:57 p.m. – 12:43 a.m.: I shower and start packing. I’m super productive—probably because I’m not using my phone. Moment records 12 pickups. They’re some combination of texts and DMs.

12:43 a.m.: I feel guilty for ignoring all the texts and DMs, so I spend 10 minutes responding to them.

1:10 a.m.: I use my phone for three minutes to set an alarm and do a quick scan on Instagram. I finally climb into bed, and it takes me all of two seconds to pass out—I’ve had a long day. Overnight, Moment records one pickup.

Recap: Today, Moment recorded 97 pickups, as well as four hours and two minutes of screen time. (The app shows my stats in the color red—and that doesn’t include anything that happened after midnight, though I included it here for the sake of clarity.) I’m starting to feel like yesterday was a fluke, and I’m beyond sure tomorrow will only be worse, since it’ll be my first day of vacation. My most-used app of the day is Instagram (one hour and 24 minutes), and my least-used is Siri, which I didn’t use at all.

Day 3: Thursday, August 9

Courtesy of author.

7:39 a.m.: My attempt at waking up on time is unsuccessful (shocker), but I’m only nine minutes behind schedule. For two minutes, I scan my email for anything time-sensitive. My heart skips a beat when I learn nothing requires my immediate attention.

7:39 – 9:30 a.m.: I finish packing my suitcase and carry-on, and throw on some airplane-friendly clothes (read: sweatpants). I don’t lay eyes on my phone until the very minute we’re walking out the door: 9:30 on the dot. Five pickups.

9:30 a.m.: For the first 12 minutes of the ride to the airport, I catch up on Instagram DMs.

9:45 a.m.: Mere seconds after I last put my phone down, I pick it up again for another 12 minutes. I’m bored in the car, because Mom and Riley (my brother) are completely zonked. Dad is listening to Pearl Jam and is totally in the zone. Do not disturb.

9:45 – 10:06 a.m.: Two pickups, both texts from friends wishing me a happy vacation. (My friends rock.)

10:06 a.m.: I spend four minutes chatting with my friends.

10:14 a.m.: We’ve arrived at the airport. The security line looks long, but I know exactly how to distract myself. I’ve been meaning to download the Lightroom app for weeks now, and I just haven’t gotten around to it. I plan to launch a new Instagram theme this week, and this app will make it easier. I spend 16 minutes downloading and exploring the app.

10:14 – 10:39 a.m.: One pickup.

10:39 a.m.: I spend seven minutes on my phone practicing in the Lightroom app. It’s fun—either that, or I’m a total nerd.

10:39 – 11:10 a.m.: Three pickups.

11:10 a.m.: I respond to said pickups. Two minutes.

11:10 – 11:24 a.m.: We board the plane. The process is pretty quick, and I’m already excited to land in Bermuda. I get one text, which counts as a pickup.

11:24 a.m.: I use my phone for five minutes. During these five minutes, I open Spofity, scroll through my playlists, choose one and hit shuffle. I close my eyes and immediately begin to doze off.

11:24 – 11:46 a.m.: Six pickups. I’m asleep for all of them. Oops.

11:46 a.m.: I spend 15 minutes resolving my pickups—both texts and DMs.

12:02 a.m.: I look up from my screen and realize we were supposed to take off seven minutes ago. I wonder what happened, but I don’t care that much, and I use my phone for six more minutes.

“Though it makes sense that I’d use my phone more on vacation than at a work event, I feel like I made a concerted effort to unplug today (especially at mealtimes).”

12:02 – 12:23 p.m.: Four pickups. Random notifications. Why hasn’t our plane moved yet?

12:23 p.m.: I use my phone for two minutes…

12:36 p.m.: …and two more minutes…

12:39 p.m.: …and two more minutes…

12:49 p.m.: …and then three minutes. We’re still on the fucking ground. Something’s up.

12:49 – 12:58 p.m.: I’m not on my phone much over the next few minutes, because I’m too busy trying to figure out why the heck we haven’t taken off yet. Eventually, I learn that a passenger asked to deboard the plane once we were already in line for takeoff, so we had to go back to the gate and let him off. (Which wouldn’t have taken too long, except they also had to find his checked bags in the cargo hold. Facepalm.) One pickup.

12:58 p.m.: I pop in my earbuds, throw on a playlist full of songs that calm me down and improve my attitude (which you can find here), and entertain myself by editing some old photos. I’m on the phone for 18 minutes before we finally take off.

1:18 p.m.: We’re finally flying, so my phone is in airplane mode. I spend 10 minutes playing around with the Lightroom app. I know that I’ll start taking photos pretty much as soon as I land, and I don’t want to waste any precious vacation time learning how to use it. Eventually, I get sleepy and doze off.

2:57 p.m.: I’m awake, but we haven’t landed yet. (Rude!) I use my phone for two minutes before giving up on it—it’s no fun without WiFi.

3:10 p.m.: We land and sit on the runway for a little before we’re able to deboard the plane. I use my phone for 11 minutes to view all my missed notifications while we wait for the green light to remove our seatbelts.

3:22 p.m.: We’re moving, people! I text my grandparents that we’ve all landed safely and that we’re in line for customs. Four minutes.

3:30 p.m.: I forget the “no cell phones” rule in the customs area, and spend two minutes on my phone before someone asks me to put it away. Whoops.

3:38 p.m.: We’re at baggage claim waiting for our suitcases when I realize that the time zone didn’t adjust on my phone. I spend five minutes trying to figure it out, to no avail. For the rest of the trip, my phone is an hour behind Bermuda time.

3:38 – 3:47 p.m.: Two pickups.

3:47 p.m.: We’re in a cab on the way to the hotel. I respond to my notifications, but put my phone down after two minutes, because our cab driver is the nicest human being I’ve ever encountered, and because I want to be present for the first part of our family vacation. 

3:47 – 4:15 p.m.: Six pickups.

4:15 p.m.: For three minutes, I respond to an urgent email regarding my Instagram. We arrive at our hotel.

4:15 – 5:09 p.m.: We check in, are shown to our suite and hurriedly change into some socially acceptable lunch outfits. We’re ravenous because we haven’t eaten since breakfast. Five pickups.

5:09 p.m.: We head over to a gorgeous oceanfront restaurant at the hotel. It’s happy hour, which means cocktails, sushi and tapas. I spend eight minutes editing and posting an Instagram from my archives so that I don’t have to post again until tomorrow. (Since we got in so late today, I won’t have an opportunity to take many ‘Gram-worthy pics.)

5:18 p.m.: I use my phone for five minutes to check on my post.

5:18 – 5:37 p.m.: Three pickups.

5:37 p.m.: I check on my post and respond to comments for another two minutes.

5:44 p.m.: I’ve been trying not to use my phone too much at the table lately, but we realize we’ll probably be hungry again late tonight, since it’s so early. Mom and Dad assign me the task of finding us a good restaurant for a late dinner. We spend 19 minutes on my phone, searching for options, discussing our cravings, reviewing menus and making a reservation.

6:05 p.m.: I use my phone to take some still photos, and my mom steals it to snap a pic of me. Four minutes.

6:22 p.m.: Two minutes.

6:33 p.m.: We’re back in the suite—everyone’s relaxing and getting ready for dinner.  Mom and I are ready pretty quickly, so we flop on the bed and look at some of the photos we took at happy hour. They’re cute, and we love the new editing theme I’m working on. Three minutes.

6:33 – 7:07 p.m.: The heat is starting to fade, so we sit outside on the terrace until Dad and Riley are ready for dinner. (Somehow, my brother takes longer than I do.) My phone is inside charging. Five pickups.

7:07 p.m.: It’s golden hour in Bermuda, so we decide to walk down to the beach and take some pictures. Two minutes of screen time.

7:11 p.m.: And two more.

7:16 p.m.: Lots of photos are happening. My phone is open for 11 minutes.

Courtesy of author.

7:30 p.m.: And literally 12 more. We’re obsessed with this lighting.

7:30 – 7:50 p.m.: Two pickups.

7:50 p.m.: We head back to the suite to grab our bags and call a car to take us to dinner. I use my phone for three minutes while Dad is making the call, put it down, and then use it again for five more minutes while we wait to be picked up.

7:56 – 8:40 p.m.: During this time, we’re in the cab with another extremely friendly Bermudian driver. We arrive at the restaurant, claim our reservation and are shown to our table. Moment records three pickups.

8:40 p.m.: The staff knows we’re celebrating my parents’ 25th wedding anniversary, so the maître d’ brings some champagne. I grab my phone and snap a Boomerang of my parents cheers-ing. Three minutes.

8:45 p.m.: Five minutes.

8:55 p.m.: Three minutes.

8:59 p.m.: Four minutes.

8:59 – 9:19 p.m.: No phone for a while—five pickups.

9:19 p.m.: Back at it. Five minutes.

9:19 – 9:42 p.m.: We’re eating, drinking and laughing. It’s not often all four of our schedules align for more than one meal, so we try to savor our time together on vacation. I manage not to touch my phone, and it shows five pickups. All text messages and Instagram DMs.

9:42 p.m.: The waitstaff brings out a slice of cheesecake that says “Happy Anniversary” on it—how could I not snap a pic? Four minutes.

9:42 – 10:08 p.m.: We enjoy the dessert and finish our drinks. It’s not often that other patrons outlast us at restaurants, but one couple is left when we head out. The maître d’ calls us a car, so I have no reason to use my phone. Three pickups.

10:08 p.m.: I respond to notifications for two minutes.

10:11 p.m.: Six minutes of phone time as the cab approaches.

10:23 p.m.: I use my phone for three more minutes in the cab. I’m watching my own Instagram Story, which I sometimes do compulsively. It’s weird—sue me.

10:53 p.m.: I haven’t responded to my texts nearly as promptly as usually do. I feel guilty when I realize some messages have gone unattended since morning. I spend four minutes catching up on my conversation. As I finish up, we’ve arrived at a beach bar. I hear live music in the distance, and sign off.

10:53 p.m. – 12:12 a.m.: We can walk to our suite from the bar, so we do. I get ready for bed and spend 11 minutes tending to my notifications before passing out. Two overnight pickups.

Recap: Today, Moment recorded 131 pickups, as well as four hours and 53 minutes of screen time. Though it makes sense that I’d use my phone more on vacation than at a work event, I feel like I made a concerted effort to unplug today (especially at mealtimes), so I’m slightly surprised by my elevated stats. I’m definitely in the red. Better luck tomorrow.

Day 4: Friday, August 10

Courtesy of author.

8:31 a.m.: I wake up and immediately respond to some texts. Two minutes.

8:31 – 10:07 a.m.: We get ready and walk down to the beach. I lose my phone in the depths of my tote and forget about it while I enjoy the morning sun. Moment records nine pickups.

10:07 a.m.: I wonder if anyone’s texting me. (They are.) I use my phone for two minutes to respond and scroll through Instagram.

10:27 a.m.: I’m on my phone for 11 minutes, responding to a bunch of DMs. Some are recommendations of things to do in Bermuda, some are questions about my recent posts, some of them are brand outreach.

10:27 – 10:48 a.m.: One pickup.

10:48 a.m.: I scroll through my own Instagram account, and wonder if I’m going to like my new theme as much as I think I will. Four minutes.

10:48–11:06 a.m.: Four pickups.

11:06 a.m.: I use my phone to take a couple of photos. Well, Mom uses my phone to take a couple of photos as I climb a rock formation. It’s fun, but I don’t think it makes me look very sporty. Five minutes.

Courtesy of author.

11:12 a.m.: We get back to the chairs, and I use my phone for 10 minutes. I look at the photos, am surprised by how much I like them and edit a few.

11:12 a.m. – 12:11 p.m.: We head back to the suite to get ready for lunch. We’re eating at the tennis club where my mom and dad first met—the same one where they had their first date and their first kiss. I shower and change, letting my phone charge on the desk. Two pickups.

12:11 p.m.: I use my phone for three minutes, and we head out.

12:11–1:21 p.m.: Our hotel isn’t too far from the restaurant, so we decide to walk. We arrive at the restaurant and my parents admire the way it looks exactly the same as it did 29 years ago. Nine pickups.

1:21 p.m.: I use my phone for two minutes to snap a shot of the scenery. It looks like we’re about to eat on the front of a postcard.

Courtesy of author.

1:36 p.m.: I use my phone for six minutes to look something up for my parents.

1:45 p.m.: I use my phone for seven minutes to respond to a text as we’re shown to the table. We usually spend a few minutes using our phones right when we sit down so we can try to put them aside for the rest of the meal.

1:45 – 2:06 p.m.: We order drinks and food and decide to head up to the clubhouse quickly to see if it remains the same. It does.

2:06 p.m.: Somehow, I’m “on my phone” for 15 minutes. But I don’t remember this, so I wonder if I forgot to lock my phone before I put it in my bag.

2:23 p.m.: Lunch is just as wonderful as we expect.

2:39 p.m.: I use my phone for five minutes to look at pictures we took of the plaques in the clubhouse. One shows my mom and her mom’s tennis victories. The other shows Dad and his dad’s. We text the photos to both of my grandmothers to brighten their days.

2:46 p.m.: We walk around the property and find a giant chess set. I snap a photo (one minute) and play against my brother until Mom and Dad are ready to leave. Six minutes.

Courtesy of author.

2:46 p.m. – 3:42 p.m.: We head back down to the beach so we can walk to our hotel. Upon getting back, I lie down to charge my phone for a few minutes—and end up spending 20 minutes on my phone.

3:42 p.m.: I wake up and check out my notifications. Two minutes.

4:10 p.m.: We decide to get some more activities in before dark. I already know what I’ll wear, so I relax while everyone else gets ready. I’ll change right before we leave. I use my phone for 14 minutes, mainly to scroll through Instagram.

4:10 – 6:43 p.m.: It’s time to head out. I throw on some clothes and call us a cab. It arrives almost immediately and takes us to an outdoor mall. The shopping isn’t fantastic, but that’s OK—we’ve found something more interesting: drunk mini golf. (Which, as it turns out, is basically just mini golf with a bar.) Moment records 16 pickups. Whoops.

6:43 p.m.: We’re finishing up the back nine, and I know I can’t keep my game under par. So instead, I have another daiquiri. Five minutes on the phone while I wait for my drink and bring it back to the course.

6:52 – 7:05 p.m.: The game is over, and Dad rolled an unexpected hole-in-one on 17, so everyone else loses. It’s OK though, because Dad rocks at mini golf. I use my phone for 12 minutes (to check the ferry schedule and then to browse the internet).

7:05 – 7:10 p.m.: We head over to the dock and board the ferry a few minutes early. It’s gorgeous outside, so we sit on the top deck. No pickups—I just wanted to talk about the ferry.

“Since it’s pretty much the same results as the day before, I figure this is my vacation norm.”

7:10 p.m.: I use my phone for 13 minutes because (a) I need to continue catching up on the notifications I missed while mini golfing, and (b) the boat has not left the dock yet.

7:26 p.m.: The ferry is finally in motion, and the sun starts to set. I snap some pics just before the last bits of light fade away. After that, everyone settles into their seats—we still have 15 minutes left. I use my phone for 12 of them.

7:43 p.m.: The ferry arrives back in town, but we still need a car back to the hotel. We flag one, get in and immediately feel exhausted. Mom and Riley doze off, and Dad is being friendly with the driver, so I’m lost in the Instagram Explore Page for a while. Five minutes, to be exact.

7:43 – 8:06 p.m.: The last few minutes of the cab ride, everyone wakes up and catches a second wind. The cab drops us off at the suite and we head inside to get ready for dinner. Two pickups, and then two minutes on the phone.

8:19 p.m.: Dinner isn’t until 9:00, so we get ready pretty slowly. I lounge in bed for about 10 minutes, using my phone before I even consider changing my outfit.

8:19 – 9:49 p.m.: Eventually, I join in the getting-ready effort; we make it to the beachfront restaurant only a few minutes late for our 9 p.m. reservation. We sit, order drinks and enjoy some appetizers. Our toes are literally in the sand, and the ocean is only a few yards from our table. Everything is perfect—I’m not on my phone. Five pickups.

9:49 p.m.: We’ve ordered our entrées, and are considering making reservations for dinner tomorrow. Eventually, we decide we should. I hop on my phone for 14 minutes while we choose a restaurant and reserve a table. I spend some of that time posting an Instagram from today.

10:04 p.m.: When my phone lights up, I don’t recognize the notification. Turns out it’s Moment, alerting me that my “daily stats” are ready for viewing. No freaking way. I use my phone for a few minutes, and eventually flip into “do not disturb” mode.

10:24 p.m.: I excuse myself from the table to use the bathroom. On my way back , I stop by the bar, because I literally can’t help but check my phone. That’s messed up.

10:54 p.m.: We’re finished at dinner, so I open my phone for 15 minutes while we eat the last of our dessert, pay the check and finish our drinks. Sometimes, we end up talking while I’m using my phone, and I leave it on the table while we chat. Then, when the screen fades, I tap it to keep it active. So I’m not really using my phone, but it counts as screen time.

11:10 p.m.: We head out. Two minutes responding to messages.

11:20 p.m.: Everyone’s exhausted. Today was packed. I use my phone for three minutes while we walk to our room. I don’t expect to pass out right away, but I do. Moment sleeps with me.

Recap: Today, Moment recorded only 90 pickups—but also four hours and 58 minutes of screen time. Yesterday, I had more pickups, but slightly less screen time, which means my phone sessions were longer today than they were yesterday. Since it’s pretty much the same results as the day before, I figure this is my vacation norm.

Day 5: Saturday, August 11

Courtesy of author.

9:09 a.m.: Mom and Dad have to wake me up. I passed out so quickly I forgot to set an alarm. I spend five minutes catching up on overnight notifications.

9:15 a.m.: I scroll through Instagram for two minutes to catch up on news.

9:24 a.m.: After discussing some potential plans for the day, I grab my phone and open Pinterest. We spend seven minutes looking up some information about the crystal caves, then decide to head to the pool for the first half of the day. We’ll hit the caves in the afternoon.

9:45 – 11:59 a.m.: We walk up to the pool and begin lounging. Fifteen pickups. Sometimes, when I’m off my phone for this long, my friends get worried.

11:59 a.m.: Two minutes, mostly spent ignoring my notifications and checking out my own Instagram account.

12:23 p.m.: Five minutes.

12:31 p.m.: Nine minutes, while I lounge on a pool chair.

12:42 p.m.: I look at my notifications for two minutes, and once again choose not to resolve them. We order lunch to the pool.

12:42 – 12:54 PM: We cool off in the water, then grab some lunch. Three pickups.

12:54 – 1:13 p.m.: A total of eight minutes on my phone, spread out pretty evenly while I eat.

1:13 – 1:42 p.m.: Four pickups while I eat (and subsequently doze off) by the pool.

1:42 p.m.: I decide it’s time to face the notifications. Twenty minutes spent working on my phone.

2:35 p.m.: Two more minutes.

2:52 p.m.: Ten minutes.

3:06 p.m.: We gather our things and walk back to the room, and I use my phone for the 12 minutes it takes to get there. Scrolling. Through. Instagram.

3:20 p.m.: We’ve gotten back to the suite and started to freshen up. I take a quick shower, and then I’m on my phone, sitting in a towel. I literally refuse to move. I’m so comfy—bye. I’m on my phone for two minutes before someone yells for me to keep getting ready.

3:30 p.m.: Another five.

3:36 p.m.: Three more. What could I possibly be doing?

3:41 p.m.: Three more. Ridiculous.

3:46 p.m.: Time to move—the last crystal cave tour departs at 5:00, so we need to get into town ASAP. We call for a cab but none are available. The front desk promises to call me back when they find one. I use my phone for three minutes while I wait.

3:46 – 4:02 p.m.: I still haven’t heard from the front desk. I start to panic and call again. They say they just found one and were about to call me. Four pickups, then two minutes on the phone.

4:06 p.m.: Eleven minutes on my phone as we wait for the cab.

4:19 p.m.: I use the cab time to edit some photos. I end up on my phone for, like, ever (30 minutes).

4:54 p.m.: We make it just in time for the last tour. The caves are cool AF, and I am definitely posting a picture of them this week (if I can work it into my social calendar). I use my phone for 10 minutes taking pictures and editing them on the spot while we’re in there. Efficiency is key.

“This is an improvement [screen-time-wise], and I also had a really awesome day. I wonder if the two are related.”

5:05 p.m.: My brother and I spend three minutes showing each other the photos we took on our phones. His Google phone takes awesome ones.

5:05 – 5:26 p.m.: Earlier, someone told us about a popular bar near the caves. We head out, use Google Maps to locate it and realize it’s within walking distance. Obviously, we head over. Eight minutes on the phones in total.

5:26 p.m.: We get inside, and it’s air-conditioned. Life is good. I use my phone for two minutes upon sitting down.

5:26 – 5:42 p.m.: We enjoy some frozen drinks, because, somehow, we haven’t stopped sweating yet. Four pickups.

5:42 – 7:00 p.m.: We head back home—we really want to catch golden hour at the beach. One outfit change later, we’re there, enjoying a flawless, 75-degree, cloudless, slightly breezy golden hour. It’s the most peaceful thing I can remember doing in years. Two minutes.

7:11 p.m.: I use my phone for four minutes to determine exactly when the sun will set. We learn that it’s soon, and my mom grabs the camera. It’s Christmas card time. (Apparently, you’re never too old to take Christmas card photos.) I quickly post an Instagram and toss my phone into my bag so we can take some pics.

7:11 – 10:47 p.m.: It’s not often I lose the phone for this long, but tonight is particularly fun, so I put it on airplane mode. We get a cab downtown and eat dinner at a super-casual pub in the middle of everything. We drink, eat, laugh and make plans to go dancing after dinner. It’s so fun I can’t even bring myself to touch my phone. The next time I look at it, we’re already at a bar.

10:47 p.m.: We’re in Bermuda—a whole different country. But there’s this boy staring at me from down the bar, as if he knows me. He approaches me: “I follow you on Instagram!” (Whoop, there it is.) We spend three minutes on my phone looking up his account so I can follow him back. I accidentally quit out of Moment, so nothing is recorded until the next morning. But when I realize this the next day, I work with my family to try to remember the rest of the night, so I can fill in the gaps on this article. The following are our best guesses.

10:47 – 11:46 p.m.: We dance. We laugh. We cry. We have a really, really, really good time. Eight-ish pickups. (Bonus points if you get this reference.)

11:46 p.m.: Another guy, around my age, approaches me. He’s from the area, and so is his sister, who dances with her friends about 10 feet away. He tells me she recognizes me and asks if I go to Elon. Why does everybody at this bar know me? I’m having a blast meeting new people. I leave my family for a few minutes to introduce myself, and then to subsequently make a fool out of myself dancing. Things are fine. I spend two-ish minutes on my phone to follow this girl on Instagram.

11:46 p.m. – 12:15 a.m.: Still dancing (surprise, surprise), but now I’m back with the family.

12:15 a.m.: This time, the people who approach me are two women. We’re all cracking up because my dad is absolutely killing me in a dance-off. I’m ashamed of myself, yet proud of him. One of the women tells me she has a 17-year-old daughter—one who’s applying to Elon. I gush about it for, like, 20 minutes, then give the woman my phone number, in case she has any questions about the school. I spend a minute or two on my phone making sure I have hers.

12:30 a.m.: It’s almost time for bed. My family decides we should definitely head back. (Blessed.) I use my phone for about two minutes to get a cab, only to find a taxi stand three feet away. I hang up, and we wait there instead.

12:45 a.m.: We’re home. I flop in bed and spend three-ish minutes on my phone before blissfully falling into a deep, deep sleep. I’m pretty sure nobody sets an alarm.

Recap: Today, Moment recorded only 81 pickups—and three hours and 54 minutes of screen time. This is an improvement, and I also had a really awesome day. I wonder if the two are related.

Day 6: Sunday, August 12

Courtesy of author.

10:40 a.m.: By the time I get up, everyone else seems to be awake already—though they’re moving pretty slowly. We decide to rent motorbikes (for later use) and chill by the pool. I spend one minute on my phone scrolling through my notifications, but that’s it.

11:46 a.m.: At the motorbike rental place, we sign some paperwork, grab some bikes and practice riding them. Nobody seems confident in our motorbike skills—including the rental staff. I use my phone for nine minutes, mostly to send some “I love you” texts to my grandparents. (Just in case.)

11:46 a.m. – 12:16 p.m.: We head to the pool. It’s a beautiful day, and my hangover’s making me hungry. Looking at my phone makes me nauseous. Two pickups.

12:16 p.m.: We order some food to the chairs (plus, like, three gallons of water), and while we wait, we catch up on our phones. Ten minutes for me.

12:26 p.m.: The food arrives, and it’s beautiful. Wings, burgers, flatbreads and french fries. I use my phone for four minutes to snap an Instagram Story of the spread.

12:26 – 12:37 p.m.: We feast. Four pickups—all responses to my food snaps.

12:37 – 1:12 p.m.: More feasting, plus four pickups.

1:24 p.m.: We’re done eating, and we feel much better. I peek at my phone and realize I have a few people to respond to. Moment logs 12 minutes.

1:38 p.m.: I use my phone for another two minutes before taking a dip in the pool.

1:38 – 2:38 p.m.: I let the chlorine wash away the memories of all those vodka Red Bulls. Six pickups.

2:38 p.m.: I emerge from the water and use my phone for two minutes to send some messages on Instagram.

3:05 p.m.: I get a notification that says I should post an Instagram right now—based on my engagement history, this is a good time to do it. I choose one from Friday, and it performs. Two minutes.

3:11 p.m.: I spend 14 minutes responding to comments and DMs, as well as scrolling through my newsfeed to catch up.

3:33 p.m.: I love this pool, but I hate push notifications. I guess if I’m sitting here I might as well be productive. Twenty-four minutes.

3:33 – 4:35 p.m.: Maybe my long phone streak satisfied people. Only one pickup.

4:56 – 5:31 p.m.: We head back to the suite, shower, throw on some real-people clothes and hop on the motorbikes. We ride them to a mini-hike that will eventually lead us to the top of the world. Seven pickups.

5:31 p.m.: The view from the top of this hike is unbelievable. It looks like a movie set. I pull out my phone to snap a photo or two. Two minutes of screen time.

“I definitely used my phone more today than I did yesterday, but I forgive myself—I was hungover all morning. Who can blame me?”

5:42 p.m.: While I’m snapping photos, I notice the notification buildup on my lock screen. On the walk down, I try to resolve the easy ones, so I don’t get too far behind. Two minutes.

5:42 – 6:53 p.m.: We ride to another little beach, enjoy the views and hop back on the bikes to our next destination—Horseshoe Bay. It’s beautiful (duh). Then we make it to our final destination, a gorge white lighthouse. Ten pickups in total.

6:53 p.m.: I take a panoramic video of the view from the lighthouse (one minute), and then scroll through all my photos and videos from the trip so far. So many times this week, Bermuda has taken my breath away. Nine minutes.

7:17 p.m.: We’re back in the room, getting ready for dinner. I use my phone for two minutes to resolve random notifications.

7:24 – 7:49 p.m.: We decide to head out for the restaurant early, to catch the sunset (our reservation is for 9:00). Dad calls a cab, and we arrive just in time. Seventeen minutes on the phone in total.

8:05 – 8:50 p.m.: We watch the sunset, grab a drink at the bar and are shown to our table a few minutes early. Six pickups.

8:50 – 9:36 p.m.: We eat dinner in yet another beautiful place. The food is delicious, and I hardly even think about my phone. Four pickups.

9:48 p.m.: Checking out my Instagram again. Two minutes.

9:52 p.m.: When our entrées are cleared, I excuse myself to use the bathroom. I bring my purse and use my phone in the lounge to check up on my messages before I return to the table. Two more minutes.

10:09 – 10:30 p.m.: We order and eat dessert (a selection of mini ice cream cones that I can’t believe I didn’t photograph, despite a few more minutes of active screen time). We use my phone to look up some information that will help settle a silly debate we’re having.

10:36 p.m.: We head out of the restaurant, and a shuttle takes us to the main hotel, where the concierge will call us a cab back to our hotel. I use my phone for three minutes to check on my latest post.

10:41 p.m.: Seventeen minutes of… I’m honestly not sure.

11:01 p.m.: The taxi picks us up, and during the ride, I use my phone. My brother has passed out, Mom is half-asleep and Dad is chatting with the driver. I scroll on Instagram to catch up on celeb news and my friends’ lives. Thirty-seven minutes of my life. I can hardly believe I looked at my phone for that long.

11:41 p.m.: We arrive back at the hotel. Another busy day. Nine minutes before bedtime.

Recap: Today, Moment recorded 93 pickups—plus four hours and 43 minutes of screen time. I definitely used my phone more today than I did yesterday, but I forgive myself—I was hungover all morning. Who can blame me? I’m certain tomorrow will be worse, because we’re flying home, and I forgot to bring a book. (In other words, I’ll be spending the entire day on my phone.)

Day 7: Monday, August 13

Courtesy of author.

9:09 a.m.: I wake up and can’t fall back asleep, so I scroll around on my phone for nine minutes. Then I lie in bed until everyone else wakes up.

9:26 a.m.: We get out of bed and begin to pack our things. Our flight is delayed. We’re thrilled—let’s eat! I use my phone for two minutes to check my email.

10:14 a.m.: We return the motorbikes to the rental place—but not before snapping a photo. Two minutes.

10:14 – 10:35 a.m.: We head back to the room to throw on some swimwear. Since our flight is delayed, we have some time to chill. One pickup.

10:35 – 11:45 a.m.: We head down to the beach and relax for a while. Eventually, we can’t bear the heat and opt to return to the air-conditioning. We have to check out soon, anyway. Eighteen minutes and three pickups, in total.

11:45 a.m.: We chill in the suite until someone comes for our bags—we’re going to leave them at the hotel while we get lunch and then grab them on our way out. I use my phone for seven minutes.

11:45 a.m. – 12:37 a.m.: Someone comes to grab our bags, which means we’re good to go. Thank goodness—we’re ravenous. We order a cab and it takes us into town so we can eat some lunch. I spend almost the entire time on my phone, which, in retrospect, is a little sickening.

12:37 p.m.: We sit in the restaurant and everybody takes a few minutes to themselves for phone time—this way, we can all be present during the meal. Mom and I are exceptions today, because we’re getting status updates about the flight.

12:37 – 1:44 p.m.: We enjoy our lunch, and my phone is active pretty much the entire time, so we can receive status updates in real-time from the airline. We learn that our flight is taking off earlier than expected. (Although we were kind of hoping we’d get stuck in Bermuda.) We hop in a cab and race to the hotel.

2:12 p.m.: We’re back at the hotel grabbing our bags, and the cab driver is kind enough to wait for us, so he can take us to the airport next. I use my phone for 18 minutes during the transfer.

2:12 – 2:39 p.m.: Another friendly cab driver. I love it here. We all chat and giggle about how wonderful it would’ve been if we got stuck in Bermuda. Two pickups. Eventually, my phone distracts me.

2:39 p.m.: I use my phone for three minutes to use my work email.

2:57 – 4:02 p.m.: We arrive at the airport, go through customs and security, and find our gate. Four pickups and 18 minutes in total.

“Today, Moment logged only 93 pickups, but a whopping seven hours and 22 minutes of screen time. I could die of embarrassment.”

4:02 – 4:53 p.m.: We hang out at the gate—I use this time to get work done. I make some progress on this article, respond to all my emails and plan out my next two weeks in my trusty agenda. Since I’m using my computer, I get a lot of my notifications sent there instead of my phone. Moment records very few pickups, because I’m resolving most of my notifications on my laptop. But I still spend 17 minutes on my phone during this time.

4:53 p.m.: Are we ever going to board this plane??? Dad is borrowing my laptop, so I move all my assignments to my phone. It’s a lot slower, but we only brought one computer, so we have to share. I spend over an hour on my phone, writing part of this article.

5:56 – 8:06 p.m.: Honestly, I can’t even tell you what happens during these few hours—I think my brain is blocking them out. All I know for sure is that we board the plane, sit on it for a while, and fly. I don’t buy in-flight WiFi, but like I said—I forgot my book. So I spend the relatively short flight editing photos, playing solitaire (on my phone) and listening to Spotify. We land around 7:30, but don’t get off the plane until 8:00-ish, so I spent two full hours on my phone. (Yikes.)

8:06 – 8:36 p.m.: We head over to baggage claim, grab our luggage and find the car. Notifications are pouring in, since I couldn’t access them on the flight. Ten pickups.

8:36 p.m.: In the car, I use my phone for 29 more minutes. I cannot imagine what the heck I could possibly be looking at after a flight full of screen time—except maybe all the messages I missed in airplane mode.

9:16 p.m.: We arrive at our go-to restaurant in my hometown. It’s two minutes away from the house, so we basically live there. We all use our phones to catch up on work stuff. Eight minutes.

9:26 p.m.: After ordering drinks, I hop onto my phone for two minutes to post a picture of that giant chess set we’d seen earlier.

9:26 – 10:12 p.m.: Another meal. We are blessed. Twenty-seven minutes on my phone, but I can explain—Nana had met us at the restaurant, and we spent the entire meal scrolling through photos from the trip on my phone. So it was basically the whole point of conversation.

10:12 – 10:51 p.m.: I accidentally close out of Moment, but I don’t want to keep getting notifications from it, because I feel sick about how much I used my phone this week. I just want it to stop. I jot down notes about my phone usage for the rest of my night to stay on track. The following information is taken from my notes.

10:51 p.m.: We pay the check and head home to greet our sweet pup, and to go TF to bed. We’re a hot mess. I use my phone for the two-ish minutes we’re in the car.

11:16 p.m.: I scroll on Instagram before bed and close out some conversations from earlier that day. This girl’s gotta sleep.

Recap: Today, Moment logged only 93 pickups, but a whopping seven hours and 22 minutes of screen time. I could die of embarrassment. If I didn’t have the traveling excuse, I wouldn’t even be telling you guys this. Of that time, I spend the most on Instagram: two hours and 34 minutes.

Day 8: Tuesday, August 14

Courtesy of author.

7:25 a.m.: Since I started this whole project when I got into the office last Tuesday, I decide to keep it going until I get into the office this Tuesday. I wake up and scroll for three minutes.

7:25 – 8:40 a.m.: I open up Moment again, because I’m ready to face the day. I get ready for work and head to the train station to catch the train from my hometown back into the city. Four pickups.

8:40 a.m.: I board the train and use my phone to catch up on messages and emails before work—I’ve been out of that mind-set for too long. Eighteen minutes.

8:40 – 9:13 a.m.: Four pickups.

9:13 a.m.: We’re about to pull into the station, so I resolve my notifications again before I have to get off. They end up being notifications that require a lot of attention. Another 18 minutes.

9:13 – 10:42 a.m.: I de-board the train, walk to the office and get a start on my day. In total, I spend two minutes on my phone. Moment logs 14 pickups.

10:42 a.m.: My work here is done. I spend three minutes deactivating the Moment app so it stops tracking my progress, and I hold onto the stats so I can analyze them later. I breathe a sigh of relief.

Final Thoughts

Over the last week, I picked up my phone 650 times and spent more than 32 hours staring at it. While the number of “pickups” I recorded didn’t surprise me too much (because, don’t forget—you don’t always have to use your phone to get a pickup), the 32-hour thing makes me want to cry.

I have some serious reality-checking to do. Regardless of my following on Instagram, I don’t think it’s practical, healthy or smart to spend more than one-seventh of my life staring at a screen—and that doesn’t even count my laptop.

This experience has definitely been eye-opening. But for now, I think I’ll close them for a while.

Source: http://stylecaster.com/social-media-diary/