WANG opposes valuing women based on how they look, rather than who they are and what they do. WANG also opposes the prohibitive and narrow beauty standards imposed on women that reflect racist, heteronormative, capitalist, sexist, ageist, cissexist and disableist ideologies.

Women everywhere are expected to conform: to remove their body hair, to wear make-up yet look ‘natural’. To diet, and to wear restrictive clothing. All in order to be considered acceptable, respectable and feminine. If you support women's choice to refuse these regulatory practices, then join WANG! It's not just for the unshaven and undeodorised but for anyone who believes that women shouldn't be reduced to how they look and that women do not need to be conventionally beautiful to be attractive. We are much more than our beauty, and the beauty we have is manifold. People of any/no gender are welcome too, and we support all struggles against the pressure to conform to hegemonic representations.

This tumblr is no longer affiliated with WANG the facebook group.




When little black girls, especially little black dark skin girls, enter this world it is very clear, the rules are made very aware, who is beautiful, and valued, and who is not. Simply because we are black, simply because we are not white, we are deemed inferior, unintelligent, and ugly. 

You would rather paint your white women brown, then dare allow a black woman exist and be deemed as beautiful. It is not our place to be called beautiful unless there is a catch, unless there is an asterisk. “You’re pretty!*” 

*for a black girl 

You will spend money tanning, but call black women monkeys and ‘dirty’, our hair styles are ghetto, till your magazine has a step by step tutorial on how to achieve the same look, so it’s not ghetto, it’s just ghetto on us. It ‘works’ on you. 

We are taught certain rules when we are young, ‘You look so much prettier with straight hair!’ ‘Oh, thank god she light skin,’ ‘Don’t stay out in the sun you’ll look burnt,’ ‘Yeah but that hair isn’t professional-‘ 

We are taught to hide, to assimilate, to be close to whiteness because whiteness is acceptable and we are not. We get these rules as children. So to grow up, learning and adapting to these rules, and then seeing white people praised for stealing our culture, our dress,

if a photo of us dressed like that appeared on the news, people would say any injustice we faced, was deserved, ‘look at them, dressed like that.’

But you can wear it, freely, without judgement, without risk. No one would say you deserved to die. No one would give your killer half of a million dollars, as basically a congratulations, a pat on the back, for murdering you. 

Just our natural being is a threat to you, we are born villains to you. We possess this great threat, but at the same time, you look down on us, expect us to be stupid, low class, dirty… we are not on your level, you still see us as your servants in your culture, but pretend to be the gods in ours. 

It’s confusing. It’s confusing to be a black woman, to be made a joke, and all the punch lines, our hair, skin tone, lips, body… you try to imitate, but it’s not that, it isn’t, it’s our very existence that’s a joke to you. And if you are white, and reading this, and offended, 

Fuck you. 

Fuck you, fuck your whole ancestry line, and fuck your future generations. 

top image from here 

this!! As a dark skinned black woman I had to learn to love the melanin and African features I was blessed with. Its been a journey. For all the beautiful black babies we love you, YOU ARE STUNNING!!

This dominant narrative surrounding the inevitability of female objectification and victimhood is so powerful that it not only defines our concepts of reality but it even sets the parameters for how we think about entirely fictional worlds, even those taking place in the realms of fantasy and science fiction. It’s so normalized that when these elements are critiqued, the knee-jerk response I hear most often is that if these stories did not include the exploitation of women, then the game worlds would feel too “unrealistic” or “not historically accurate”. What does it say about our culture when games routinely bend or break the laws of physics and no one bats an eye? When dragons, ogres and magic are inserted into historically influenced settings without objection. We are perfectly willing to suspend our disbelief when it comes to multiple lives, superpowers, health regeneration and the ability to carry dozens of weapons and items in a massive invisible backpack. But somehow the idea of a world without sexual violence and exploitation is deemed too strange and too bizarre to be believable.

Tropes vs Women in Video Games, Women as Background Decoration: Part 2 (via jdisapunk)

(Source: femfreq)


Mismatching Eyes

The advantages of having heterochromia; applying opposite colored eyeshadow to make my eyes pop and contrast even more. Groovy mutation~

After naked photo hack, 'white feminists' ignore Jill Scott


"While feminists rushed to Jennifer Lawrence’s defense after this week’s leak of naked celebrity photos, an African American singer and actress went undefended because of her race. So goes the charge being leveled against “white feminists” and “mainstream feminism” on Twitter after naked selfies allegedly taken by Jill Scott went into circulation."

Anonymous asked
I'm 20, I didn't shave any of my body hair this summer and I liked it. Maybe more than the hairless look. But. In this conservative part of the world I'm the only hairy woman, and people stare or ask many questions or just say I'm dirty. While I'm known for being the "I don't care" type, sometimes I get tired of feeling like turning a simple walk into a protest and I worry about not being sexually attractive. Maybe it's more tiring than shaving, but I'm too proud to shave. Opinions, please...

Hi Anon,

There aren’t really any answers to this. In the end you have to make a judgement about what fights are worth fighting for you, what you have the energy for. And sometimes you might over or under-estimate that, but that’s ok.

Maybe it’s worth saying that many people have similar doubts, find acting on their convictions hard at times. And it takes a lot of energy for many women to negotiate the world being hairy.

I find a good blog for giving a description of how it feels to fight feminist battles (antiracists, queer activists). For me, there’s something soothing about reading Sara Ahmed’s descriptions.

As for being sexually attractive. I’m currently of the opinion that a lot of attractiveness to a person can happen when you get to know them, it’s not just this thing that happens at first sight. In some ways, being hairy can be a good way to separate the wheat from the chaff (providing people are hairy fetishists - they’re also chaff). But again, it will have to come from a decision from you about what you’re comfortable with, and how much you think you should push yourself.

Anonymous asked
Hey, I want to introduce myself. I post on Facebook at Chickfly. I work on similar stuff, of accepting and loving natural bodies, and empowering around gender. A friend just shared your page with me and I wanted to reach out and say 'hi' and that I am glad you are working on similar things. It will take a lot of us to create a strong enough counter culture that people feel supported in being themselves. Thanks and look me up! btw, Chickfly also is my pants invention so women can pee anywhere. xo

Hi Comrade, 

Nice to meet you. 

Solidarity ftw!


Developing a genderqueer aesthetic. One thing that being in Seattle allows me to explore further is further going away from the binary. But even i have to admit to having wanted to shave for optimal comfort— that couldn’t be the reason for not leaving the house, but ya know.

So i took this little look out to a poetry show and it felt really grand to be so comfy.

Everything but the boots and the bracelet belong to my mother or i should say are in the shared clothing fund. Oh and she constructed the look as well. So i guess you get it from where you come from.

Future note: don’t take photos after you come back from being out (and a glass of wine)— energy levels and lighting will just be ever so much lower.

Other note: the skirt is as old as i am— that’s rather nifty.


This semester I went to the White Privilege Conference in Madison, WI for my honors seminar about examining privilege. I made a poster about the behaviors of particular white female musicians who appropriate other cultures as a means of identity and sexualize/objectify WOC as a means of displaying sexual agency and social power. All under the guise of “empowerment”.

This is my take on the knowledge I found through seminar and readings, (esp. online articles) so in no way do I claim these ideas or concepts as my own.



Hairy Naked Ladies! A rejected bookmark design. Still need to use this for something, I am determined to get hairy naked ladies into at least one project this year…………




Hairy Naked Ladies! A rejected bookmark design. Still need to use this for something, I am determined to get hairy naked ladies into at least one project this year…………


strolling | black british women, gentrification in london & more



Submitted by cecileemeke:

Strolling | free condoms; pay for tampons, typecasting, “selling out”, angry black woman overcompensation, rape culture & more - cecile emeke 

This is a strolling episode, part of the short documentary film series where we go on a stroll with people and talk about various issues affecting young black people.

(my quick note: some men menstruate too.)


I have all of the fierce fat folks of tumblr to thank for this look. I’m arriving fashionably late to the fat crop top party.

Top is just a thrifted tshirt that I chopped and pants are from Ross.

Letting Down My (Gray) Hair


by Rachel Cohen-Rottenberg, TBINAA Content Intern


[The photo shows a woman’s eyes, glasses, and nose. Grey hair frames her face. The photo is in black and white and was taken at a three-quarter angle.]

For me, this picture is a major departure: it marks the first time that my gray hair frames my face in a photo. Much of my hair is still brown, but the right side is graying much more quickly than the rest. I usually wear my hair up or back, where the gray only shows like a streak on the top of my head. I am sure that I wear my hair that way because I can’t see the gray in the mirror and can live by the myth that others can’t see it either.

Of course, because I’m 5’1” and therefore shorter than most people over the age of 12, almost everyone can see it just fine. In the light of this truth, I decided to let my hair down so that I could see the gray, too. And then I took a photo. In fact, I took several.

Do I look a bit alarmed? I was.

I’m not sure why the gray alarms me. Perhaps it’s evidence of my mortality. Or perhaps it signals my relative lack of social capital in a youth-oriented culture – a youth-oriented culture for which, somewhat ironically, my baby-boomer generation is largely responsible.

Or maybe it’s far less complicated: In my head, I’m 20, and the gray just makes no sense whatsoever.

On the day that I took the pictures of my gray hair, I took many others. Most of them show the other parts of my body I’m in shock over. A few show areas that I just hadn’t wanted to look at. I’m a pretty shy person, but as I age, I’m getting more audacious, so I’ve decided to share some of the photos.

I’ll start with my belly:


[This black-and-white photo shows a woman’s bare belly, the top of her blue jeans, and the bottom of her sports bra, with her shirt held up.]

I have a particularly unhappy relationship with my belly. You might even call it a war of attrition, in which I attempt to flatten my belly past recognition, and my belly will have none of it. This conflict has gone on for decades. Somewhere along the line, I was told that my belly wasn’t supposed to stick out at all (God forbid I should take up any space!), and this ridiculous piece of indoctrination has taken its time crumbling. So my belly was, perhaps, the hardest thing to photograph.

Once I did, though, I thought, “That belly looks comfy. I think I’ll keep it.”

And then, I thought, “Wow, a baby came out of that belly!”

And then, I thought, “Okay, move on to the next scariest thing.” Which was this part of my body:


[This black-and-white photo shows the bottom part of a woman’s face with her nose, mouth, chin, and neck visible. Her mouth is in a half-smile. The area around her mouth is lined and she has lines around her throat. Her black shirt is partly visible on both shoulders.]

Look at those lines around my throat. They look like a multi-strand necklace. Look at them all! They just go on and on. And the facial hair. That’s new. Where did that come from? Menopause? Whenever I look at this photograph, I feel as though I’m looking at my grandmother. How can I be looking at my grandmother? It boggles my mind.

My grandmother, by the way, was an incredibly kind and loving woman. She was beautiful in my eyes. I never held her lines or her facial hair or anything else against her. They didn’t matter to me. Why do mine matter to me? Why do I hold them against myself? Why do I judge them at all? Why is this photo of my throat and chin so difficult for me to look at?


[This black-and-white photo shows a woman’s lined neck and chin, taken from beneath, with her head raised upward. Part of her right ear is visible, and some of her hair is visible to the right and left.]

Through the eyes of love, it wasn’t hard to see my grandmother’s face and neck. Not at all. But it’s hard to see mine.

And speaking of my grandmother, I’ve got those wrinkles going on just above my breasts, too, the same as she did.

(Yes. I just said wrinkles and breasts in the same sentence. Sit down and take a deep breath. You’ll be fine.) Here is a photo of said wrinkles (and a pretty impressive tan line):


[This black-and-white photo shows a woman’s lined neck and chest above the line of her breasts, with some of her hair visible to the sides of her neck.]

And while we’re on the subject of breasts, mine are losing the fight against gravity. It’s been going on for awhile, of course. When my kid was six, some of the neighborhood kids had a contest about which mom had the saggiest breasts. (It was one of the more hilarious moments of my kid’s childhood.) I didn’t win, but I was a contender. And that was almost 15 years ago.

I’ve wrestled with whether to show a picture of my breasts. It’s all right for men to show their breasts, but not women? No wonder so many women have distorted body images: we rarely get to see what most other women even look like. On that basis alone, I wanted to include the photo.

And then I realized how beautiful your body starts looking when you stop getting pissed off over the way that nature works. So I decided to show that beauty. It’s not conventional perky beauty, but it’s mine.


[This black-and-white photo shows a woman’s torso with her breasts and belly visible. Most of her left arm and a small portion of her right arm appear to the sides.]

It’s just a body, folks.

It ages.

It gets lined.

It gets wrinkled.

It sags.

It gets gray.

It means that you don’t last forever, and that it all passes.

It’s a sign that you’ve been blessed to live a long time – in a body that is beautiful because you get to experience life in it.

And there is no greater beauty than that.