Insecure women aren’t born, they are made. They are created and molded from their blank beginnings, stirred and prodded in a slow marinade.
They are sifted, broiled, charred and shaken with a twist. Then they are wrapped up, bagged and slapped on with a label: tits and ass.
Tits and ass. Tits and ass. Tits and ass. Wrapped up in our insecurity and our stuffing, we’re encased with our simple, yummy label. At least that’s how it feels.
I’m not going to get into listing all those reasons you’ve heard maybe 18 times from your psych professor, your friend who smoked too much weed and got way too into her women’s liberation class, or some graduate doing his thesis on women in the media.
We know that media outlets f*ck us. The men in the media f*ck us, the women in the media f*ck us, and the goddamn Gap commercials f*ck us.
We’ve all seen the ads of models plucked from Brazil selling ice cream and licking their tongues across the edges. We’ve seen Britney Spears shake her ass and we’ve most definitely seen Megan Fox.
We get it, there are beautiful women out there. We get it. Media outlets try to sell us ropes to hang ourselves with as we sit on our couches eating our Dove ice cream bars watching our beautiful “counterparts.”
We’ve grown up with this, we’re used to it the same way a prisoner becomes complacent with his captor. We totally understand how it works. This is all just part of the process. Part of our inevitable wrapping.
Now, if I were to give you the recipe of how to make an insecure woman, it would be a fairly simple process. Because we've been parts of it, we've been in the thick of it for many years. I've seen insecure women being made for the past 23 years.
Get Her Wet
Just soak her in negative words like c*nt, hoe, whore, slut, fat, ugly, and keep ‘em going until every girl has learned to recognize all of them before she gets to high school.
Make sure she’s completely dripping in sexual innuendos and self-loathing. Spray her with some cat calls and perverted slurs.
Dress Her Up
Put her in sexy kitty costumes and slutty police uniforms. Put her in Playboy and give her some bunny ears. Sell endless arrays of crop tops, belly tees, bras as shirts and hire Rihanna as the secret spokesperson. Make sure she's dressed with the right seasonings and pasties.
Put on the screen and bake her in images of models selling deodorant and Cindy Crawford drinking Pepsi. Throw on some movies, shouldn’t be hard to choose.
Anything that has a man as the hero and his woman f*cking him on the side should do. You can also broil her, just turn on some Beyoncé at the VMAs or the Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show. That always cooks nicely.
Cut Her Open
Break her heart, tell her she’s no good. Cheat on her, lie to her, deceive her loyalty. Make her fall in love with you then tell her you were just playing around.
Make her sleep with you then call her a whore. Spit on her when she’s down and make sure she knows who is boss.
Stuff her with lies and airbrushed images. Fill her with illusions and false identities. Give her magazines with retouched and enhanced girls telling her that they’re real and all beautiful people have arms that resemble sticks of flesh and lips that pout like exotic fish.
Give them extensions and nose jobs, fill them with boob jobs and ass implants.
When she’s fit to burst, leaking out the seams, running around the edges and starts to oppose her capture, put her down one last time.
When she starts to stick up for herself and refuse to place her worth on the opinion of others just heat the iron and brand her on the back, then wrap her in another label: feminazi.
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