Monday, November 2, 2015

6 Questions You Seriously Need To Ask Yourself

Daniel Dalton / BuzzFeed / Jeffery Swanson / Via unsplash.com

Life, eh. What it's all about? We might not have the right answers, but we do have some of the right questions.

BuzzFeed spoke to Mark Rowlands, a Welsh writer, philosopher, and professor of philosophy at the University of Miami, to find out what we should be asking ourselves in pursuit of a good and moral life.

"We are all philosophers, whether we know it or not," Rowlands told BuzzFeed. "Life forces philosophical positions upon us. You can't avoid them: Refusing to think is also a philosophical and ethical position."

Here are six questions to ask yourself. The answers are up to you:

1.

1.

Daniel Dalton / BuzzFeed / Morgan Sessions / Via unsplash.com

Life's a bitch, so the saying goes. There's a lot to worry about, and it can be overwhelming at times. But as Rowlands argues, it's just that we notice the bad things more. Instead of getting bogged down, we should reframe our thinking:

"As I walk to the bus, do I notice what an outstanding job my heart and lungs, nerves, muscles and sinews are doing? Of course not: I just notice the shoe that pinches. When things are going well, I don't need to do anything about them.

"But when something is going wrong, I have to take action before it becomes worse. We will always notice the bad things more than the good: It's a basic precept of survival.

"Therefore, unless we are insanely lucky, our lives will probably contain more suffering than happiness. Schopenhauer pointed out this unfortunate facet of being alive. He is almost certainly right.

"Still, perhaps I'm delusional, but for some reason I'm glad to be around and don't want it to stop just yet."

2.

2.

Daniel Dalton / BuzzFeed / Josua De / Via unsplash.com

"But we're supposed to eat meat." "We're top of the food chain." "I can't live without bacon." There are lots of arguments for eating meat, but what if they miss the point? Perhaps the greatest argument against meat isn't ethical: It's environmental.

Indeed, your personal meat consumption may be relatively low. But when our collective demand for meat is environmentally unsustainable, is it time for a rethink? Rowlands thinks so:

"The animal industry produces more climate change emissions than the entire transport sector combined – that's planes, trains, automobiles, and ships.

"And that's before we get into the subject of water, forecast to be one of the biggest sources of geopolitical conflict in the 21st century. It takes 2,400 gallons of water to produce a pound of beef.

"It also takes 16 pounds of vegetable protein to produce a pound of beef protein – which is why over 70% of cultivated land is used for growing plants for animals, rather than humans, to eat.

"And that doesn't even address the issue of the horrible things that happen to the poor animals we eat."

You might not want to live without bacon, that's your choice. But can you live without meat one day each week? Food for thought, certainly.

3.

3.

Daniel Dalton / BuzzFeed / Jean Lakosnyk / Via unsplash.com

None of us like "charity muggers" – paid workers who stand in the street with clipboards trying to sign you up to a direct debit. Even so, we can't argue that charity, in principle, is a bad thing.

But with the rising cost of living and austerity squeezing our bank balances, is it wrong to want to keep that spare change for ourselves? Rowlands struggles with this too:

"It's common to think that morality is all about bringing the greatest happiness for the greatest number. If so, I'm in deep trouble. The problem is that money can produce so much more happiness in those who don't have it than those who do.

"Suppose I take my wife out for the evening: a meal, some drinks, taxi, and babysitter. I'm not going to have much change out of £160. That £160 would pay for a child's cleft palate operation. My wife and I had a nice enough time, probably, but the child's life is utterly transformed.

"The same amount of money does much more for the child because he or she had so little to begin with. If morality is all about producing the greatest amount of happiness, then it seems I should forego the evening out and donate the money to a cleft palate charity.

"And that budget sunshine holiday we've been planning is also in trouble: £400. In many places that will save a life. You see where this is going?"

4.

4.

Daniel Dalton / BuzzFeed / Tord Sollie / Via unsplash.com

In the words of Louis C.K., "life's too short to be an asshole". One look at most of the internet and you'll see his advice has gone largely unheeded. Why is that? Well it's easy to be an asshole. But you can't turn around and cry foul if people are assholes back to you.

As Rowlands explains, it works both ways:

"If I ever say the words 'I'm offended by that!' in any non-ironic sense, then please feel free to respond with: 'And?'"

"John Stuart Mill argued that everyone has the right to do whatever he or she wants as long as it doesn't harm anyone else. What's more: Hurting someone's feelings doesn't count as harm. Being offended is not, in itself, harmful.

"Sticks and stones – we tell that to children, or at least we used to. Of course, if offence is coupled with other things, such as institutional reduction of opportunities, that is a different matter. But, as long as it's just offensive, then offend away.

"A free country means you have the right to be an asshole – although if you are, you don't have the right to expect anyone to like you, listen to you, take you seriously, respect you in any way, or even be willing to urinate on you if you were on fire."

5.

5.

Daniel Dalton / BuzzFeed / Coley Christine / Via unsplash.com

Your family pet. Your grandparents. Dobby. Death visits all of us, and it's never easy to live without a loved one. Many of us fear death, even though it's inevitable. So it's clear that death is definitely not a good thing. But is it bad?

"Of course it is," says Rowland. "But, then again, how can it be? Death is not an event in my life. It is a limit to life, and therefore can't be part of life.

"Similarly, when I'm alive, my death hasn't happened, and so can't have harmed me yet. And when I'm dead, then I'm also gone, and so am no longer around to be harmed. So either way, death does not harm me: It either hasn't happened yet or I'm no longer there to be harmed.

"This argument was first put forward by Epicurus, more than 2,000 years ago. Despite numerous efforts, my own included, I don't think anyone has yet come up with a satisfactory response."

6.

6.

Daniel Dalton / BuzzFeed / Carmine de Fazio / Via unsplash.com

Most of us aren't interested in committing crimes. Not big ones anyway. But surely it's OK to download the occasional episode of Game of Thrones, isn't it? Does being moral mean being moral all the time, or just when it suits?

"This isn't the sort of question that can be answered," says Rowland. "Morality is somewhat inconvenient, after all, with the restrictions on what one can do, and the foregoing various pleasures in the name of the greater good."

"If 'should I bother being moral?' means 'is there a moral reason to be moral?', then the question is well and truly begged. I will only accept a moral reason if I have already decided to be moral.

"No moral reason can persuade me that I should be moral if I have already decided not to take any notice of moral reasons. It is not illogical to be amoral. Nor is being moral a matter of prudence – quite the contrary. So, it seems there is no reason to be moral.

"All these questions and problems are really just symptoms. That morality could appear so inconvenient and that there is no convincing reason to be moral: These are symptoms that we have forgotten what morality is and why it is so important.

"To remember requires returning to the ancient roots of morality. The most important question is not 'How should I treat others?' but 'What sort of person do I want to be?'

"And if you answer that question, well, being moral follows naturally along behind, like a well-trained dog."

Mark Rowlands' latest book, A Good Life, is out on 5 November from Granta.

Why Trans Women Have Complicated Relationships With Halloween

Angie Wang for BuzzFeed News

"You look so good as a girl," my friend Lucy said after I borrowed one of her skin-tight black mini-dresses for Halloween. "I hate you." I looked in her full-length mirror as she pointed out how thin my legs were, and how I had delicate features that only got prettier as she helped me apply lipstick and mascara.

Me in 2000.

Meredith Talusan

That was the first night I dressed in drag — or, what I thought was drag at the time — for our annual Halloween Drag Night at Adams House, my undergrad dorm at Harvard. Drag was never something I particularly craved, especially since I incorporated feminine clothes into my wardrobe on a regular basis, but more in the vein of colorful tops and scarves rather than dresses.

When I came into our dining hall and found most of the other people dressed across gender, the comments about how "convincing" I was continued. While there were certainly attractive drag queens among our young group, there was something about my average build that didn't turn me into a larger-than-life theatrical version of femininity, but just someone who belonged with the women.

Me now.

Meredith Talusan

It wasn't until I began to transition, six years later, that I came to understand what those early experiences meant to me. I kept coming back to that moment when Lucy told me I looked amazing in her dress, when other friends told me I occupied womanhood so well, those three different times in college when I borrowed dresses for Halloween. This sense of affirmation carried me through the toughest times – when I lost friends and was discriminated against because I'm trans.

Since Halloween is the one day of the year when those assigned male are allowed to dress as women in public, I've known for a while that it has a significant place in the lives of many trans women and non-binary femmes. But what I didn't realize, until I actually asked some friends what Halloween meant to them, was that there are huge differences in how Halloween has affected our lives. Here are some of their perspectives.

Sarah McBride, communications manager

Sarah now.

Sarah McBride

For the first 21 years of my life, Halloween meant the opportunity for the costume to come off. I guess my relationship with Halloween was the exact opposite of my cisgender friends. For 364 days I wore a costume, but Halloween was the one day a year where it was remotely acceptable to explore my gender expression and identity. The Halloweens where I mustered up the courage to explore my gender resulted in the most boring "costumes" possible. I wasn't dressing up as a celebrity or a historical figure, but rather as an everyday girl. I was presenting as myself.

The beginning of the end of my time in the closet was Halloween 2011. I was serving as student body president at American University and decided, along with two guy friends of mine, to "go as girls." And so I went out as me.

Sarah in 2011.

Sarah McBride

I remember feeling so free when the first pictures of me as a girl went up on my Facebook that night. Almost immediately the responses were life-affirming. It was that night where I first realized, "Okay, I can do this. I can transition. I can make it." Almost no one knew they were seeing me for the first time.

Two months later I came out to my parents and started to transition. My journey would have been dramatically different had it not been for that one night a year where it was socially acceptable for a "straight, cis guy" to push the gender barriers. Halloween gave me the room necessary to explore without as much fear.


Benjamin Mintzer, university administrator

Benjamin in 2005.

Benjamin Mintzer

The significance of Halloween for me boils down to this picture my mom took of me when I was 16. At the time, I wasn't even aware that transgender people exist, even though people had been identifying me as a girl since I was a kid. My family always "corrected" those people who took me for a girl, and that was how I internalized that being a girl was something I shouldn't be.

But that one Halloween night was the exception, when I dressed up as a girl for a high school party. I was incredibly anxious leading up to the moment. I spent about a month planning: window shopping for the perfect dress, befriending the makeup counter beauticians at the mall, and budgeting my meager teenage finances. That Halloween gave me permission, in the conservative political climate of the suburbs, to subvert the identity assigned to me. Being welcomed by my friends, and even hit on by straight male peers, made my identity feel legitimate and accepted, even for one night.

My mother took this picture when I came home from the party. I haven't felt closer to her since. And sadly, I don't think I ever will again, because of how hard it is for her to accept my gender-nonconformity.

Jasmine Rodriquez, writer and actress

Jasmine now.

Jasmine Rodriguez

Jasmine in 2006.

Jasmine Rodriguez

On Halloween 2004, ten days shy of my eighteenth birthday, I dressed in drag — really bad Wal-Mart last minute costume drag. Then I met up with two girls from work just to hang out in the park. This was in Tampa, and ignorant of the dangers awaiting a lonely boy in drag in that particular neck of the woods, I walked home. As I neared the entrance to the subdivision where I lived, a red pickup sped past, a beer bottle whizzing past my head and landing in the grass. I stayed as calm as I could, walked all the way home, and didn't say a word about it.

2006 was the year I began transition. On Halloween, I got dressed up for a nightclub, and my friends and I got plastered. I don't remember it at all so it must have been great (I hope). After that, I used Halloween as a way to play into the "sexy costume" ideas, one year as Catwoman in something I'm too shy to wear now.

Lately, I've begun to have less time for Halloween because of work. Now, for the first time in a few years I'm off for Halloween, and I'm going as a nudist on strike because the holiday that once held so much significance for me just before and during my early transition has somehow snuck up on me. I suppose now that I no longer feel as though have only one day of the year to be free, it has lost its appeal beyond staying in and watching movies.

K.

I transitioned in my teens and am not public about being trans, or "stealth" as people call it. I feel a little weird that I've never cross-dressed on Halloween, either before or after transition. It was one of those trans woman checkboxes I never went through. I was constantly worried about people seeing a man in drag or just a guy in a guy's costume.

Halloween is the patron holiday of drag queens already, so even though young trans women also use it as a time to dress up, I feel like going out in highly-gendered costume is putting yourself on blast. Think of when cisgender people wear cross-gendered costumes: it's the exact opposite of passing. It's parody. Short of being read as trans while being out on a date and dressed up, nothing else sucks more.

Christopher Soto, poet

Christopher Soto

The first time I wore a dress in public, I was nervous. I performed femme as a character, flipping my hair, popping my ass, strutting my walk. The first time I wore a dress, femme became a comedy, a character, a joke to perform. I was scared of being seen. Femme was not a presence to inhabit, because it was something to be ashamed of.

Now, I am thinking about the transphobia that cis-men reproduce when wearing dresses on Halloween, the way that trans people (and cis women) become characters to mimic (like zombies and ghouls and mermaids). Trans femme existence is only possible when it is a costume. I am thinking about how that site of violence also becomes my one day for liberation. Nobody will look at me and say "WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT DUDE DOING IN A DRESS?" They won't know that I'm not in costume.

Hannah Simpson, medical student

Hannah now.

Hannah Simpson

Hannah in 2011

Hannah Simpson

For me, Halloween was Plausible Deniability Day. It was the one time I could dress as a girl and it was okay. The first time was in college and I had bought heels at a thrift shop and a dress I hoped might fit. I went to marching band rehearsal in my "costume," but nobody else was even wearing a costume. Everyone else had theirs packed to take out later at the party. I guess I was too excited.

A few years later I came fully dressed to work at a campus lab on Halloween Day. Nothing flamboyant. nstead, I dressed as if I had always been female, picking a work-appropriate skirt and boots. A few coworkers knew my truth, but my bosses didn't. Half the thought it was funny as hell, the rest found it tremendously unprofessional. For me, it just felt natural, and I knew nobody dared to raise a huge stink.

With each year I got more confident going out in public and posting pictures via Facebook. I felt if I lessened the shock it'd be easier and safer. If people did question me, I'd be able to turn the tables and ask them why they hadn't known my "open secret" all along.

Halloween was a gateway. It was the chance I could wear women's clothes as a costume, even during the day, when nobody else was wearing their costume yet. In reality, I wasn't either.

When My Childhood Bully Hit Me Up On A Gay Dating App

Pete Ryan for BuzzFeed News

What does a gay man do when stuck in rural Oklahoma?

In all my years as a lecherous homosexual, I have never, not even once, hooked up with someone in my hometown. The primary reason being: My hometown is miles away from anywhere an openly gay man would likely take up residence.

That's not to say I don't enjoy visiting home. I do. I enjoy getting away from D.C. I enjoy seeing the buffalo out at the wildlife refuge. I enjoy visiting my parents' donkeys in the barn. I enjoy the wide-open skies, unobstructed by skyscrapers and billboards and smokestacks.

But damn, it's impossible to catch a dick out there.

And so, whenever I find myself in my old room with its lovely view of the mountains and the miles upon miles of yellow grass we call the Great Plains, I am forced to find another outlet for my sexual energy — one that doesn't involve actually meeting anyone.

The best app for this, by far, is Scruff.

Scruff is different from its notorious counterpart Grindr in a number of ways. For one, it feels more chill. You can "woof" at people you find attractive instead of messaging them, an appealing option for an introvert. But most importantly, unlike distance-based dating apps, you can talk to people from all over the world.

In my neck of the woods, the nearest guy on Scruff, a self-described "53 y/o DTF white male," is located 13 miles away from me. He always, without fail, has as his default picture a horrifying photograph of a human head mounted on a wall with gazelle antlers sprouting from its skull.

Not my type.

Unwilling to become the next head on the white male's wall, and too lazy to entertain the idea of driving thirty minutes to meet up with guys from the nearest city, I typically choose to spend my time on Scruff chatting up men from Brazil. Sometimes they teach me disgusting words in Portuguese (a service you won't find on Rosetta Stone).

But the last time I went home, something strange happened. A blank profile messaged me from about a mile away.

Given that this was during the dead of night, my first instinct was to open the blinds of my windows and check to see if I could spot a glowing light out in the field. A mile in rural Oklahoma is too close for comfort. It might as well be coming from inside the house.

"Hi," the message read.

Curious, I responded. "What's up?"

A few minutes passed.

"I think you know me lol."

Things were getting interesting.

I flipped through my Rolodex of possibilities, but the only gay man I knew of who lived in the area was my best friend from high school, and he had philosophical differences with dating apps. With a rush of excitement, I deduced that this must be a teacher I once had. A specific one. I knew it, I thought.

"We went to school together," the blank profile continued.

"We did?" I replied, on edge. "Who are you?"

"You probably don't like me… haha. I was a little mean to you."

A familiar feeling bubbled up in my gut: Panic.

I knew which school he meant. There was only one for miles and miles around. It was my former middle school, the one where I'd been mercilessly bullied for being gay.Even after I'd left and after I'd grown up a bit, I still couldn't drive through town or pass the school without having a visceral reaction. My hands would shake. My stomach would tie itself in knots. This was my body saying, "You're in danger."

I didn't really have one bully. I had quite a few back then. And this guy's blank dating profile provided didn't narrow it down much. I mentally rifled through names and faces.

"Who?" I asked again.

He sent a picture.

I instantly recognized him. He wasn't one of my main bullies. That much was a relief. And yet, for one reason or another, despite being more or less a background character during the worst years of my life, his was one of the faces of my past I still clearly remembered.

Despite being more or less a background character during the worst years of my life, his was one of the faces of my past I still clearly remembered.

I still have nightmares about this person: nightmares where I am thirteen again, standing in the hallways of my tiny school out in the middle of nowhere. My mission in these nightmares is to avoid being seen, to hide behind locker doors until I make it to the safety of the bathroom. But I am always seen, and when I am, it feels like the monster caught me. I wake up sweating. I put my hand to my heart.

I think it was the casual way he joined in on the harassment that made me hate him. The way after someone called me "faggot" he would parrot them, ally himself with them, use me to form solidarity with others.

I came to see him as the embodiment of what had happened to me. He was everyone who didn't stop it. He was everyone who could have helped me.

And so, I carried his voice with me for years. He doesn't know it, but he's had a major impact on my life. As I got older, I became impossible to argue with or criticize. Whenever someone tried to confront me, even in a respectful way, I would see his face again. I would hear his voice. I would feel ganged up on. I would become defensive. I would lash out.

"Dude," the other person might say. "Relax."

But it only made me angrier. I was angry all the time. How could I not be? If I ever let my guard down, someone would hurt me again. Day in and day out, I felt like a cornered animal. My body would scream, Attack. Attack. Attack.

This is before I knew what fight-or-flight meant or what PTSD was. Before I knew those words, I knew him.

"Oh," I finally replied to his picture. "Yeah. I remember you."

After the panic subsided, embarrassment set in.

I recalled, of all things, a tree outside my old apartment in Oklahoma City. It was warped and crazy-shaped. This was because, as my landlady explained to me, the tree had grown up and around something instead of straight up. The object, whatever it was, was later removed, resulting in the tree's strange trajectory. That was me: A weird-ass tree that had grown up, around, and in spite of something, shaping myself to it even after that "something" had long gone. This experience had altered me. Changed me, in some irreversible way.

Whatever. The metaphor worked in my head at the time.

But how had I let that happen? How had I let him have such an influence on me?

"Are you mad?" the profile asked.

"Yes," I said.

Unable to control myself, I decided to ask him if he remembered anything he'd done.

"No lol," he said. "But I was a real asshole back then."

And that was it. All those years of remembering, carrying, and suffering over this person, and he probably never thought about me at all after I moved away.

A better, more appropriate tree-ism came to mind: "The axe forgets; the tree remembers."

I had to walk for a while. If rural Oklahoma is good for one thing, it's long walks outside, especially in the fall when the night air is clean and crisp. I breathed into my hands to warm my nose as I crunched along the gravel road, trying to clear my head.

I thought about it, and when I calmed down, I reached a conclusion I didn't expect.

This person wasn't the one-dimensional villain I'd made him out to be. All this time, he'd been closeted. Just like me. Yes, he had hurt me. Yes, he was wrong to hurt me. But I realized he was a victim too. In the town he and I had grown up in, being gay was seen as one of the worst things you could be. You might as well not even be human.

I was fortunate enough to have parents who accepted me. But I know he didn't.

In the town he and I had grown up in, being gay was seen as one of the worst things you could be. You might as well not even be human.

When he saw me getting pushed or getting my books smacked out of my hands or getting slurs thrown my way, he must have been relieved it wasn't him.

And I can't forgive that.

But I can understand it.

He and I were both thrown into an environment where we had to either prove our masculinity or become a target. I can assume he felt scared. I can assume he was unhappy. I can assume he felt pain.

I didn't know it at the time, but he and I were caught in the same system, a cycle of violence that perpetuates itself — one that leaves in its wake people who are in turns the victim and the villain. Someone made him hate himself. He saw himself in me. And so, he hated me.

If I could trace what happened to me back to its roots, it would be somewhere far beyond him and beyond me. It's the thing that makes me insecure about my voice. It's the thing that makes me stop and consider, whenever I'm picking out clothes, whether the things I like are too feminine. It's the thing that makes me have to think critically about why I dislike certain things about myself – and why I dislike those things in others.

Masculinity has been programmed into me since before I can remember, but it has taken me a lifetime to unlearn. In fact, I'm still unlearning. I'm not free of internalized hatred either. That's the brutal reality.

But the process of unlearning it has given me more freedom than I ever imagined for myself. It has helped me separate the real me from the me I've been told to be. It's made me more accepting of others and of myself. That's something I want for everyone. Even people who have hurt me.

I was busy thinking all these thoughts when I received another message on my phone.

"Want to fool around?" he asked.

I didn't know how to tell him that this was a nightmare I hadn't even considered. It would probably take weeks to scrub that image from my mind, the thought of "fooling around" with someone who had traumatized me.

"No," I said. "Have a good life, man."

I meant it.

Watch 100 Years Of Men's Beauty Trends In Just Over 1 Minute

Can we go back to the '50s, or…?

WatchCut Video just released 100 Years Of Beauty: USA Men and it's really something.

Most of the research behind the looks came from men's grooming advertisements and commercials.

youtube.com

Starting with the 1910s, men wore slicked-back hair and had handlebar mustaches.

Starting with the 1910s, men wore slicked-back hair and had handlebar mustaches.

Men really dressed up at the beginning of the 20th century because they had places to go and people to impress.

WatchCut Video / Via youtube.com

Clark Gable was the inspiration for the '30s look, which was a very thin mustache and v. sculpted hair.

Clark Gable was the inspiration for the '30s look, which was a very thin mustache and v. sculpted hair.

WatchCut Video / Via youtube.com

The 1940s look was modeled after the famous photo of the sailor kissing the nurse in Times Square...

The 1940s look was modeled after the famous photo of the sailor kissing the nurse in Times Square...

WatchCut Video / Via youtube.com


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Sunday, November 1, 2015

19 Things Girls Too Lazy For A Beauty Routine Know To Be True

You know how I look this good? SLEEP, that's how.

Dry shampoo is your religion.

Dry shampoo is your religion.

youtube.com

If you ever do anything this fancy, it's only because you haven't washed your hair this week.

If you ever do anything this fancy, it's only because you haven't washed your hair this week.

Flickr: raruschel

Same goes for hats.

Same goes for hats.

Oh, this old thing? It's just covering roots so dirty they could grow a garden.

forever21.com

And when you do wash, it's like, who needs a blowout?

And when you do wash, it's like, who needs a blowout?

PBS / Via billnyereactions.tumblr.com


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28 Makeup Charts That'll Make Your Life So Much Easier

Class is in session.

Alice Mongkongllite for BuzzFeed Design / Via Makeup.com / The Beauty Snoop

Alice Mongkongllite for BuzzFeed Design

First up, your guide to every brush in the biz.

First up, your guide to every brush in the biz.

easel.ly

And there's tons of very specific eye makeup brushes, too.

And there's tons of very specific eye makeup brushes, too.

It takes a village for a good smokey eye.

Makeup.com / Via makeup.com


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Viola Davis's Daughter Dressed Up As Her Mom For Halloween And It's Adorable

"I just want to be you, Mommy."

Viola Davis is a queen.

Viola Davis is a queen.

::Bows down::

FOX

instagram.com

instagram.com


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