(Source: fatnomimalone)
i love etsy. i really really do. i have been selling (handmade + vintage, over 3200 items) there for almost 6 years the featured artists selected quote every three days makes us “artists” “crafters” and etc seem like such bullshit. how can anyone possibly express my passion for making: turning my work into micro production, hawking it for a fraction of what its worth, whoring myself over all the social networking sites (and faking a smile about it), “branding,” packaging, post office trips— waiting in line, inane conversation with post office folk, USPS fuck ups—having to replace items which may not have even been ‘broken’ or ‘lost’ in the first place; itemized taxes, saving receipts, dealing with rejection coming from all places, unnecessary verbal/written threats of negative feedback being held over your head, people blatantly stealing my images, my designs, my image descriptions—my ideas, my creative property.
etsy captioning statements such as “this has always been my dream!” or “i love being my own boss” or some other simplified statement that don’t even begin to express all the shit we go through just to “make our dreams come true.” we love what we do, i love what i do, but it is damn hard to make a living this way. it is hard work, everyday. we may love what we do, but our initial creative process is probably 10% of the work that selling our work entails. it isn’t just creativity + passion. you need drive and gumption and to put your life on the back burner to get your product moving.
the economy is awful (but people are still spending, and it isn’t right to place blame on the economy alone). etsy is up to 800,000 sellers and growing. etsy doesn’t advertise or entice buyers into its site, it sells makers on “the dream” of selling your art (read above as why they use such simple language to express featured sellers job satisfaction). handmade jewelry (which is what i sell) is the largest category. since 2011, etsy also has had talks of an ipo buyout. which really all that means is that instead of the hippy dippy ideals that etsy was founded on (the original founders of etsy jumped ship three years ago, i believe) etsy will be traded (in the NYSE) based on its “value” aka output$$. “value” not “values.”
i’m not really sure if you read regretsy, but its etsy anarchy at its finest, and it also jabs at horribly made crafts, celebrity/fandom inspired crafts and any crafts that look like genitalia, also, my favorite new category is cultural appropriation, which really, can’t wait for that one to develop. one of my pieces has even been featured on there for some gaudy hideous stuff, no shame. anyway, there is a pretty amazing article on how etsy’s ceo is going to fuck us all over by letting cheap mass produced shit on the site, amping the competition to sell anything up. why buy my piece for 30$, when someone could get it from a Hong Kong reseller for 3$?
so, overall, i’m here to tell you, i’m quitting handmade selling on etsy. i’ve marked my handmade down to 50% if you want to purchase it with code “blogluvah” you need the code to get the discount.
my handmade site, opulent oddities, is here. my vintage site, decadence and decay, is here.
Dragonfly brooch by René Lalique
shikocerbeapuscarie
i remember seeing this piece in a book, and knew i was in the right business.
omgggg LOL
YUS!
(Source: doctor-mambo)
why would you do this? OMG
Whoever wrote that is a world-class dick, and my new hero.
Lynn Skordal. Summer in a Teacup.
How about a “Game Of Thrones” supercut to get you through your Friday? Tyrion’s best lines from Season 2, for your enjoyment!
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sometimes i just want to get a fake orange spray tan and bleach my hair blonde and wear hollister and a&f and american eagle and uggs exclusively and wear frosted lipglosses and make ducklips faces and care about jersey shore and gossip girl. because apparently “nice” dudes hate when girls that because it’s “fake”, it’s “slutty”, it’s overdone/tasteless/”dumb” but fuck you. everything is fake. all persona is persona including what you’ve been conditioned to perceive as a “neutral”/”inoffensive” appearance.
because i don’t want your “respect”, and i certainly don’t need your advice on how to “respect” a body. i don’t need your fake concern about skin cancer and burns on my scalp when my body doesn’t even feel like mine sometimes. when breast cancer becomes selling sex to teenage boys who wouldn’t tell you about the lump in your breast they felt while they were feeling you up. your concern for my body will always be mediocre until it is mine to create/destroy/create, and even then it wouldn’t even matter because you do not inhabit this flesh, or these organs, or this mucus/snot/bile/blood/spit/fluid/fluid/fluid. so stop trying to crawl into my bed of skin, asshole. stop trying to own my ugliness. you can’t have it. too bad, so sad.
i don’t want you to wait before i leave the room to talk about how gross i am. i want my skin to be greasy and leave big orange stains on every man who touches me and who i choose to touch. i want my hair to make you puke. i want my clothes to remind you of how capitalism lives in tube tops and booty shorts just as well as it does in jeans and a t-shirt or whatever the fuck makes you feel like the girl you wanna fuck is real “authentic”, real “down-to-earth” or whatever. i want to remind you that every picture is posed. no expression can be pure when you can see the camera and the camera can see you. i want you to know that i spent three goddamn hours straightening my hair and putting on my eyeliner over and over again and removing it over and over again so there’s light grey rings under my eyes and when i reapplied my lipgloss for the 20th time tonight in the backseat of my best friend’s car it hit a pothole so it’s smudging against my lipliner and i’m still not “sexy” to your pretentious jonh lennon art school ass. my labor is MINE, and it’s ugly because god loves ugly. i wasn’t put on this earth to give you a hard on. i want to scream and drink and grind to shitty club music because i want to scare the living shit out of you. i want you to go home and post a facebook update about how “our generation is doomed” and get twenty likes from all your pretentious john lennon art school friends and all your fedora-wearing self-entitled pasty sarcastic bros and all your edgewatch xvx police officers and all your “nice guy” indie rock microbrew date rapists who all secretly wish they could make a man want to remove himself from this earth just by getting a spraytan.
i don’t want you to want to fuck me, BRO. i want you to have to look at me. i want to be the bright orange flesh you don’t want to fuck but you also can’t ignore. i want you to be very, very scared of what is going to come out of my mouth. i want you to cringe at the sound of my voice because it is both too feminine and too loud. your disgust makes me even louder, even more powerful. and it’s so funny to me, so funny to me, because you know and i know we are both just pretending we aren’t aware that deep down you so badly wish you could be a monster, too.
Hnrfujejhudhjuedued!!!!
Wearing UDs heavy metal glitter liquid liner on lower lid. Bought three of these and am just not pleased with the way they look alone.
