WARNING: This post discusses a very porny, homoerotic fanfiction trope with seasonings of bestiality, BDSM, and male pregnancy. This is INCREDIBLY NSFW.
Fantastic Beasts: The Crimes of Grindelwald is…well, to be honest, I don’t know if it can be called bad. I have an inherent interest in the wizarding world, and the film rewarded my interest, allowing me to dive into magical 1927 Paris and the intrigues and magics and creatures of that domain. It was a very, very low bar for me to be entertained by this film, and the film hit it, because of course it did. I would actually even go so far to say that I enjoyed it better than the first one. The first one was slow-paced, with uninteresting action and almost no color; The Crimes of Grindelwald is stuffed to the gills, and the action is beautiful and colorful. In short, it has things that make it good. It clears the basic tests it needs to clear.
Sadly, the reason I’m mentioning all these good qualities first is because the film has a lot of problems. A lot of them. Most of it is more spoilery, which I’ll go into after the cut, but if you don’t want to be spoiled, you should know that this film is a lot more aware of the legacy this film has, to tie into the Harry Potter saga and explain how this era led to the next. There’s some really interesting ideas in this film, but, ultimately, they are buried under layers of confusion, presumably because Warner Brothers still has three more movies to fill with this drama. However, it feels less like stage-setting for interesting story than it does someone taking the story threads and knotting them into oblivion. Wherever the story is intended to go, this film does not do a great job of making clear, and you’re going to have a lot of questions that don’t feel like they should be questions at all.
Got that? Let’s discuss the spoilers. Spoilers past this point, guys.
Sewing is something I fell into because, frankly, dressing like a cute vintage lady is expensive, and I thought sewing my own clothes would be less expensive. I think a lot of 21st century people start sewing with this idea–of saving money, of making things cheaper and more reusable, the way our grandmothers used to do. Reclaiming a skill in thriftiness that the abundance of cheap, passable clothing options has made redundant.
Harry Potter is, well, Harry Potter. You know at least a little bit about it. And probably, you’re aware that one of the four houses of Hogwarts, the all-important magical school, is Slytherin: a breeding ground of pure-blood sentiment and upper class snobbery, and the house of Voldemort, Harry Potter’s greatest villain.
I have watched the original Planet of the Apes films, and there are three things of which I am certain. One, that I’m a little bit more wary of apes now than I was before.
Two? That Doctor Zira is probably one of my favorite characters in film.
Hey everybody! It’s been a while since I did a regular series–the series I was planning to do next has become a bit derailed. I was going to rewatch Jem and the Holograms and humorously recount the various crimes people commit during the episodes–the show has a kind-of hilarious habit of sweeping kidnappings, attempted murder, and various economic misdemeanors under the rug. I realized by the end of watching the first episode that not only would that series involve a lot–a lot–of notetaking, but it would end up with me making fun of the show in a way that wouldn’t actually be fun. As hilarious as the show’s idea of criminal justice is, tearing the show to itty bitty shreds just wasn’t that fun–it was too nitpicky for my taste, and, ultimately, wouldn’t work.
So! I’ve decided to rewatch Agent Carter. And of course, I started at the beginning: “Now is Not the End.”
After what seems like a literal year (and actually is probably close to it) of waiting, the first part of the Agent Carter Besame Cosmetics collection has shipped to eager audiences. I personally bought the mysteriously labelled “AC245” within ten minutes of knowing it existed, and after a long, anxious wait, it finally arrived at my front door!
So…what do we get after a year of waiting? Something great…that’s also kind of frustrating.
I am overwhelmingly body-positive–I love the many forms people come in, their shapes and sizes. I could also give less of a heck in hell about what other people think of my body; my body is my business, no matter what condition it’s in.
That said–I’m really unhappy with it.
I have a lowkey love of all things with a vintage aesthetic. I don’t really have the budget or chutzpah to go full vintage, full time–though many women are these days, to the point that there’s a full blown vintage-aesthetic subculture. My Instagram timeline has a lot of perfectly-coiffed women in immaculate outfits, and I draw inspiration from women who can actually wear hells for my own budget-friendly clothing style. But I also pay attention to what they wear on their face, and there’s a brand that’s mentioned again and again: Besame Cosmetics.
I grew up with Bruce Springsteen. When my father was home from work trips, he would sit in his basement office, the “woah-oh-oh-oh-oh”s floating up the staircase into the living room. I don’t know if I can call myself a fan, exactly, because I don’t know if I can disentangle him from my dad, from how I look back at my childhood. Ironically, much of Springsteen’s music tackles the process of looking back on childhood from a complex present, so there’s a good number of his songs that reduce me to tears. Springsteens’s got an emotional shortcut to the angst (“angst”) of my white, suburban upbringing in America.
Janelle Monae’s music also reduces me to tears, but for very different reasons.