The Meaning of Life is Boobs

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Photo by Jan Kopřiva on Unsplash

Why should women be the custodians of airs and graces?

And what do we need appearances for anyway, if not to make ourselves look as competent as we wish we were in a vain attempt to fool those far more intelligent than we are?

See, bluntness doesn’t concern itself with pleasantness or diplomacy. Instead, it trades in unredacted thoughts and inconvenient truths about our shared humanness.

And humanity whenever applicable.

Alas, it’s not always applicable. We’re so lazy we pander to gender stereotypes because it will always be easier to find a scapegoat most can agree with than seek to engage at least one person’s mind.

Thus, toxic humanity gets distilled into bite-sized clichés as we all conform to traditional roles and power dynamics.

Because the status quo remains comfortable for many of us.

We humans like to look at ourselves and preen in the mirror.

And thanks to the internet, we can do so at leisure, staring and pointing the finger.

At ourselves and of course at others.

We are a hilarious shit show that never gets cancelled and keeps finding new ways to delight in the spectacle of its underwhelming existence and tribal wars.

The more tribes, the better; the more differences, the more echo chambers; the more awkward, the more relatable.

Awkward is honest, raw humanness at its most vulnerable but only when it hasn’t been corrupted by personal branding yet.

Otherwise, it’s spin.

Women can be as blunt as men but many choose not to.

We prefer to cling to our emotional side and the aura of benevolence associated with our gender instead of embracing pragmatism. But when you see all humans as equals regardless of where they stand on the gender spectrum, it does away with the need to divide and conquer.

We’re all the same. One model, innumerable versions, a continuum of humans made possible by mammary glands, the first thing that fed all of us, the familiarity we’ve sought replicate since being weaned.

There’s nothing more primal than the pacifying effect of life and love in our mouth.

And it’s not because I have a pair that I don’t get how compelling boobs can be; I’m French, I love food. The point is that under the hood, we’re all humans the same, clumsy, misguided, stubborn, and in dire need of fellow feeling.

And for all our self-destructive ways, we’re determined to reproduce by any means necessary. I’m a woman and like many men I’m also pretty sure the meaning of life is boobs so isn’t it time we moved past mutual objectification and got on with making equality a reality, together?

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The human condition is not a pathology・👋ASingularStory[at]gmail・ ☕️

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