Smashing windows and throwing tear gas back at cops is a working class tradition, don’t let anyone tell you it’s something only ungrateful youths do today.
When someone says harem to people, these kind of paintings come up in people’s mind.
L.F. Comerre. (1850 – 1916)
But, people who drew these paintings, they are called orientalists, have never seen a harem because NO STRANGER WERE ALLOWED TO ENTER THE HAREM UNLESS THEY WANT TO LOSE THEIR HEAD. So they painted what they dreamt of, since they were grown up with Western beauty concepts, they painted Harem girls as what their culture accepted beautiful.
BUT, at 19th century Persia, the Western beauty standards were not dominant. So of course, they had their own beauty standards and their own concept of beauty.
The more masculine a woman was, more beautiful she was accepted. The opposite was also true for men. Women with heavy brows and faint mustaches considered so attractive that they were sometimes painted on or augmented with mascara and young beardless men with slim waists and delicate features. In 19th century portraits of lovers, the genders are barely distinguishable, identified only by their headgear.
Young men without beards were the idols of beauty that time. Sexual mores and erotic sensibilities of 19th century Iran permitted homosexuality between these young men and older men.
BUT, after Iran started to be more modern, aka more Westernized, this beauty standards were lost. West beauty standards started to be more dominant and homosexuality was no longer permitted. Today, it is a crime to be homosexual at Iran.
This book, women with mustaches and men without beards, is about the beauty standards of Persia at Qajar dynasty. If you are interested, you can buy it and read. HERE is an interview with the author, Afsaneh Najmabadi.
At that time, Qajar princess was considered beautiful. Today, uncultured internet memers are making fun of her. Shame @ all of you.
EDIT: That’s not Pricess Qajar ffs….. Qajar is the name of dynasty, not the princess….
Her name is Zahra Khanom Tadj es-Saltaneh, she was the daughter of the King of Persia in the early 19th century. Not to forget that she had a university education.
So my dad used to teach human evolution at the University of Minnesota, right? And his favorite thing was discussing Native American cultures and bashing misogyny.
So he’d start off class by going “Raise your hand if you think you know why men hunted and women stayed back in the settlements” and most kids would raise their hands. He’d list off a few various reasons and kids would slowly start participating. Then he’d go “How many of you think it’s because men are stronger” and of course most of the males would raise their hands with a few girls. He’d then proceed to rip apart the patriarchal views they had all been taught. “No,” he’d say, “It’s because if five men went out and three or two came back no one would bat an eye. They’d grieve sure, but society would go on. Now if five women went out and three or two came back you know what would happen? Society would collapse.”
And it was true. For many Native American cultures the only reason women did what they did was because the men couldn’t do it. We are (usually) taught a twisted, self-aggrandizing form of history despite evidence suggesting the complete opposite of it.
This was present in a lot of cultures in the past before white colonization (see: imperialism and genocide)
In Australia the Aborigines believed that women were more powerful than men and closer to gods because of their ability to give birth, and men would make themselves bleed just to be like women when they came of age
In the Philippines many people held practices which celebrated a woman’s first menstruation, encouraged free sexual exploration before marriage for young men and women, and believed women to be spiritual leaders, so that the only way a “man” could be one was to become a woman (transwomen were able and even encouraged to marry, and were identified as women within the community)
Also in the Philippines economic structures defined power, so a man who was poorer than his wife would take her name, and daughters would inherit and become heads of the family if they were the eldest
Westerners love to flout how great they are at women empowerment when it comes to other cultures that treat women badly, but actively try to hide the fact that there are thousands of other cultures who treated women better centuries ago than they do even today
My bros I have been doing a lot of
reading about Wacky WWII Hijinks lately and I want to tell you a
story because I love it okay
once upon a time there was a dude in
Spain named Juan Pujol Garcia. Pujol was a chicken farmer. Pujol
hated him some goddamn fascists.
See Spain had recently ended its civil
war, with the fascists taking power. So when WWII broke out in
Europe, Spain technically remained neutral but in practice was buddy
buddy with the Nazis. Juan Pujol Garcia thought this was pretty
bullshit
so soon after war breaks out Pujol
travels to his local British embassy and goes “hey I wanna spy on
the Nazis for you”
“who the fuck are you?” say the
British, and kick him out
but Pujol is not deterred! He still
wants to dunk on some fascists, so now he goes to his local German embassy instead. “hey” he
says, “I wanna spy on the British for you, I sure do hate them”
“yeah
okay” say the Germans “that seems pretty legit”
and
just like that Pujol now officially works for the Abwehr, the German
intelligence agency. They hand him some spy gear (invisible ink and
such) and instruct him to travel to Lisbon, and from there make his
way into the UK. So Pujol heads to Lisbon, and a little while later
writes to his German handlers telling them he’s made it to England
Pujol
had not made it to England. He had, in fact, made it to the Lisbon
public library, where he checked out a number of English guide books
and set about just wholesale making shit up
this
is slightly complicated by the fact that, for example, he completely
did not understand British currency and all his expense reports were
basically gibberish. He also reported things like bribing Scotsmen,
because the people of Glasgow would “do anything for a litre of
wine” (an actual quote) because, hey, people in Spain like wine so
that’s probably the same right?
Here
is where it starts to get really crazy, because the Abwehr loves
this. “wow this dude is a
great spy” they say, because apparently none of them had ever been
the England either. In fact, they are so pumped about this new
awesome spy that the British start to get worried
you
see, by this time the British had cracked German’s supposedly
unbreakable Enigma code and were totally dunking on the Nazis by
reading basically all of their ~super top secret~ radio
transmissions. And, crucially, they’d become so good at breaking and
reading traffic that there were literally no German spies in England.
The Germans would set up a spy drop (usually dropping dudes in by
parachute in the middle of the night), the British would intercept
the message and then just scoop the dudes up as soon as they landed
in a move that must have been SUPER embarrassing to the spies
so
there are no German spies in the UK because they’re all sitting in a
prison run by MI5 (although some are being run under supervision as
double agents, feeding Germany bullshit). But suddenly MI5 is picking
up all this traffic from the Germans talking about their super great
spy- a spy the British do not have in their jail
“oh
shit” says MI5, and starts rereading all the transmissions they
have to and from this mysterious super spy.
“hey
wait” says MI5, upon actually reading the shit the spy was sending.
“someone is playing silly buggers, pip pip cheerio”
At
this point, Pujol, still in Lisbon, had actually been approaching the
British embassy again, repeatedly, but apparently “I am literally
an Abwehr agent and would like to offer you my services” wasn’t
interesting enough, because he was repeatedly turned away, again. It wasn’t until MI5 started
asking around that one of the embassy staff was like “oh yeah we
know that guy”
so in
1942 the British finally make contact with Pujol and he officially
becomes a spy for MI5. They move him to London and assign him a case
officer so he can start making up even better bullshit
and he
does. Once actually in London, Pujol reports to the Abwehr that he’d
recruited a whole slew of informants- from a bunch of Welsh Aryans to
disaffected army officers. He ends up with a network of 20+
sub-spies, all feeding him information from around the UK
none of these people actually exist
Pujol
just straight up invented like 20 people, keeping careful track of
their fake personalities, names, and activities. With the help of
MI5, the information he sends becomes even better- a mix of true but
ultimately useless facts and actually important intel timed to arrive
in Germany just slightly too late to be of any use. He and his “spy
network” become the Abwehr’s most trusted agents
Pujol,
now codenamed Agent Garbo (for his acting skills), ends up playing a
huge role in the run-up to D-Day, where the Allies mounted a huge
intelligence campaign to convince Hitler that the planned site of
attack was going to be Calais and not Normandy (this was Operation
Fortitude and you should absolutely look it up for more Wacky WWII
Adventures). Obviously you know how this ended
crazily
enough, the Abwehr never figured out that Pujol was a double agent.
After the war he received both the Iron Cross Second Class (which
require personal authorization from Hitler), and a
Member of the Order of the British Empire (from King George VI)
unable
to resist being totally fucking ridiculous,
Pujol turned down MI5’s post-war offer to continue spying, but this
time against the USSR. “no,” he said “just help me fake my own
death and then I’m moving to Venezuela”
and
that’s exactly what he did. Juan Garcia Pujol died in 1988, at the
age of 76
Okay I’m just editing my reblog to add this picture of Juan Pujol Garcia because I feel that it adds so much to the story to picture him doing ALL THE ABOVE with this expression:
What a legend.
Thank you Jess for this extremely important addendum.
he’s my hero and also adorable
This is…holy fucking shit, I have no words for how much glee this story brings me. It’s like Mother Night but not soul-crushing
He was Catalan and his real name was Joan (not Juan) Pujol i Garcia.
After the fascists won the Spanish Civil War, Spanish names were mandatory, since the Catalan language and culture were completely banned by the fascist regime, but he referred to himself as Joan. So let’s refer to him as Joan as he would have wanted, and not use the name that the Spanish fascists imposed.
Here’s an interesting interview with him from the year 1984 (in Catalan)
things linguistics has taught me: do not fuck with the welsh
Seriously though do not. This is welsh nationalism in a nutshell.
So like, 150 or so years ago, nobody cared about Welsh. Not even the welsh. But then, one day, some folks got sick of paying the tolls at toll gates. Citing bizarre biblical precedent, they dressed up as women and started seizing toll gates, at which point the (also welsh) gate owners went “WTF?” and called in (english) magistrates to resolve the dispute.
The English Magistrates looked at the situation and went “WTF?” and commissioned an inquiry loosely titled “WTF is wrong with Wales??”
Well this commission did a ton of work and looked at schools and politics and people on hillsides raising sheep and all that jazz and came to the thrilling conclusion: What’s Wrong with Wales is that Ridiculous Backwards Language they all speak there.
There was a moment of dead silence, broken only by the loud scrape as Wales, collectively, as a nation, in a fit of unity not seen since the castles came to subjugate the native tribes, pushed back its chair, stood up slowly, and said “what you just say bout me?”
And folks who’d never heard it spoken started teaching their children Welsh, and the old sheep herder on the hill became a cultural icon, and the rioters and the gate owners high fived each other and said “suck it, England!” (only in Welsh this time).
And now Welsh is a protected language, there’s a strong Welsh nationalist movement, with its own flag and spelling conventions, and there’s a Welsh channel on television (which is doubly impressive when you remember that Britain only has like three channels).
And that is how the Welsh saved their language from extinction by sheer force of spite
Just gotta add those toll booth riots were called the Rebecca Riots, the rioters were known as Rebeccas and I am named after them. It’s the one consolation to an otherwise boring name.
Also my great grandad lived to the age of 101 and never spoke a word of English that wasn’t forced out of him through threat of unemployment. Despite being fluent and having 5 great grandchildren who have the Welsh vocabulary of toddlers.
let me tell you some of the ways the English tried to kill our language
Ancient Roman prostitutes did something similar, but usually they would have phalluses inscribed in their sandals. So, if you were ever in the mood, you could just look down and follow the dicks.
They suddenly had money, fridges, freezers, and access to a variety of foods – all things that hadn’t been widely available before. Suddenly people had access to things that were beyond the dreams of people just a 100 years prior.
Enter corporations willing to go “oh yeah, you know what’s great (now that you can afford it)? Cold beef soup, served in a glass. Drink up your beef!”
Early 40s/50s foods are something I’m very passionate about.
They had no concept of what flavors tasted good together so they tried everything. The biggest ideas that were latched on to were things like loafs with layers that compose your entire meal and the suspension of basically anything/everything in jello (jello actually helped food last longer, because the gelatin sheltered whatever ingredients were used from bacteria. So, naturally, you put a fish in it).
Also pineapple. It was harder to get before then so the sudden availability of it made people go nuts. Bananas too to a degree.
Welcome to the wild and wacky world of Aspic, otherwise known as meat jello.
jello history is a fucking trip
Hey @ both my group chats, look, my hairbrained rants about jello were not totally off the mark
That meat jello pic gave me a brain tumor.
I have a great aunt who used to bring ham in jello to every family reunion and then get offended because no one would eat it.
No, Aunt Ruby, we don’t hate you, we just hate your nasty fucking meat jello.
You do realize that like in the case of the Miracle Whip, the way it was both made and tasted in the ‘40′s and ‘50′s is totally different than it tastes now. I mean how it tasted in the ‘70′s when I was growing up is very different than it is now.
That “Ham Jello” doesn’t taste right today because you are using actual “Jello” or “Gelatin” that you buy at the store (plant of algae based). But the Original Recipe used rendered “Animal Collagen” as the Gelatin, something I can’t find at the store, and would need to make myself. (My Grandmother made that meat jello, with the proper gelatin, and it was delicious, but if you use the stuff you buy at the store today, it tastes like crap AND it doesn’t hold together very well either. The salt in the ham tends to make it come apart.)
I run into this issue with my wife all the time now. She remembers how foods tasted growing up, and she pulls out her mom’s recipe and can’t understand WHY it doesn’t taste the same, even though she is using the “Same” ingredients. I keep trying to explain to her that she isn’t using the same ingredients. “It calls for Shortening!” she says pointing at the recipe, and I look at her and ask…”Animal or Vegetable?” “There is only one type of shortening!” Sure enough, we go to the average grocer and she points to the tubs of Crisco smuggly, then points to the blocks of other brands, all of which are marked “Vegetable”. Then I point to the package of “Sno-Cap” which is Lard, or Animal Shortening. “That’s Lard, it isn’t used for baking!” she cries…
We have dumbed down our tastes to meet the mass produced standards of today. That has ruined really good foods of our pasts.
Agreed. Traditionally prepared gelatin dishes are an ENTIRELY different ballgame from modern jello products.
And GAWDDAMN BUT THERE IS ONLY ONE TYPE OF SHORTENING ACCEPTABLE IN PIE CRUST AND IT IS LARD GODDAMNIT.
My grandmother would rise from her grave and slap me upside the head if I got vegetable shortening anywhere near her pie crust recipe.
You think I’m joking but I would be on the receiving end of some Very Strong Words next time I went to change the flowers by her shrine.
I know that feel. Veg shortening isn’t right for baking IMHO, it has no taste and the consistency is weird.
It’s like replacing butter with margerine, you just can’t do that and expect it to taste right.
im putting together a couple of scottish folk mixes bc that’s what i do and im honestly curious if anyone in my country has ever been unequivocally happy about anything ever
scottish trad music genres:
Everyone I Love Is Dead
The English Have Stolen All My Sheep
You Want To Be My Boyfriend? First You Must Answer These Riddles Three
The Protestants Have Stolen All My Sheep
I Love You A Lot But You’ve Left Me And It’s Raining [fiddle solo]
The Sea Is Treacherous, Just Like The English
One Time Bonnie Prince Charlie Punched Me In The Face And It Was Awesome
The Fairies Have Stolen All My Sheep
We have of course the traditional Irish music genres to go with them:
* Everyone I Love Is An Allegorical Representation of Ireland
* The English Stole My Farm And Put Sheep On It
* You Were My Boyfriend But Now You Won’t Even Come To The Window To Look Upon Me And Our Dead Infant Child (In The Rain)
* Whack Fol Too La Roo Umptytiddly Good They’ve Stopped Listening Now Let’s Talk About Revolution
* Something In Irish, I Think It’s About Fairies, Or Maybe A Cow
oooo can I add to this? don’t forget Appalachian folk balladry, the American cousin of Scottish and Irish traditional music and just as uplifting as its Anglo-Saxon highland forbears!!!
genres include:
I Left Everyone I Love Back Home In The Holler To Be With This Guy Who Doesn’t Wear Shoes Or Have Teeth But He Plays A Mean Jug
The English Told Us Not To Move West Yet, We Ignored Them, My Entire Family Was Killed
You Were My Boyfriend But You Tied A Sack Of Rocks To My Petticoats And Threw Me In The Creek (And My Baby Too)
Mama Loves All 14 Of Us A Lot But She’s Weary Of Our Shit And Now She’s Dyin’ (Gather Round)
The McCleans Stole A Firewood Log From Our Pile So We Won’t Rest Until The Last Of Their Male Kin Is Laid In The Cold Ground
We Knew The River Would Rise But We Still Didn’t Fix The Levee
The River Rose, The Levee Broke, Everyone Died, It Was Just As We Reckoned (dulcimer twang-a-lang)
When The Rebels Come A-Marchin’ I’m A Southern Man And I Feed Their Horses My Best, When The Yankees Come A-Marchin’ I’m A Northern Man And I Feed Their Horses What The Rebels Left
The Tennessee Valley Authority Killed All My Sheep Somehow
Don’t forget that old standby “The Mine Collapsed and Everyone Died”!
I think someone needs to put in a word for the English folk tradition though:
I Met a Girl and We Went Hunting (It Was a Metaphor for Sex)
I Met a Girl and We Caught Some Birds (It Was a Metaphor for Sex)
I Met a Girl and We Found Her Lost Pet (It Was a Metaphor for Sex)
I Met a Girl By Staying At Her Parents’ House and She Made My Bed (It Was an Especially Thinly-Veiled Metaphor for Sex)
I Am a Girl and I Regret Engaging In Metaphors for Sex Because Now I’m Pregnant
I Met a Girl and Bribed Her Into Sex But She Stole My Horse and Ran Away With It
I Met a Girl At an Inn and We Had Non-Metaphorical Sex But She Stole My Stuff The Next Morning and Now I Have Syphilis
Your Fiance Died Either at Trafalgar or Waterloo, Let’s Get Married, I’m Glad You Said No Because I’m Really Him In Disguise
Lord Nelson Sure Was Awesome
The Press-Gang Dragged Off All the Important Men in My Life (And Now They Are Dead)
Farm Laborers Are The Salt of the Earth And Are Never Grindingly Poor
Begging Is a Completely Viable Career Option With Flexible Hours and Unlimited Access to Alcohol
behold mongolian folk music genres
I Went Out Riding and Noticed Mongolia
We Fought a Bunch of Guys (On Horseback)
Witness My Many Ungulates
(While On a Horse) I Met a Hot Girl Who Reminded Me of a Plant
On Three, Say What That Terrain Feature Looks Like to You (One, Two, Three, A Horse)
Witness My Many Ancestors’ Many Ungulates
I Also Enjoy Heavy Metal, Especially If It’s Made of Horseshoes
Oooorrrrweeeeuuurrrreeeeuuuuwwwwwrrrrrrrr (Is Tuvan for “Horse”)
You Might Not Know This About Me, But I Own a Horse
Reblogging again to add some of the Romanian ones
I Long For The Sweet Embrace Of Death So Here’s All The Elaborate Things You Need To Do For My Funeral So That In The End It Looks Like No Humans Ever Gave A Shit
Song That’s Just An Excuse To List Half The Plants That Grow Around My Village
May All The Curses Fall On He Who Loves And Leaves, Even Tho He Left Me By Dying
My Buddies Are Going To Kill Me For My Sheep And Imma Let Them
The Cuckoo Doesn’t Care About My Misery
A Meta Song About Singing
An Unspecified And Untranslatable Longing Looking For An Excuse
These Are All The Reasons Why I’m Cursed With Eternal Bad Luck
this post literaly gets better every time i see it
The Cuckoo Doesn’t Care About My Misery –> my current victor for making me giggle out loud like a lunatic.
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