carefree white girl
where reality goes to die SUBMIT PHOTOS TO: carefreewhitegirl[@]gmail[dot]com

shroomingwithyourspiritguide: i too am a carefree white girl.

"But ya ahh Blanche, ya ahhh." 

The Radical Performance of the Carefree Black Girl

Lovin’ how the #cfbg is taking off. 

When a (Comparatively) Carefree Blackgirl Wins An Oscar.

carefree white girl smokes forever, never gets lung cancer or old leathery skin.

carefree white girl smokes forever, never gets lung cancer or old leathery skin.

(via on-a-mote-of-dust)

Carefree White Girl on the forest:
"A bunch of us were in Wade’s room, tripping. I stared at Blake, the most beautiful cherub, as she danced like a sugar plumb fairy. The forest called to me. I got up and walked out. Everyone followed. We walked, together holding hands until there was only green all around. And then we laughed. And we hugged. And we danced. And we sang. All of us, together. I awoke the next morning, groggy from the night before but clearer than I’d ever been. I walked to the river, sat on a rock and inhaled the deep mist. This is where I belong, this is my land.” 

Carefree White Girl on the forest:

"A bunch of us were in Wade’s room, tripping. I stared at Blake, the most beautiful cherub, as she danced like a sugar plumb fairy. The forest called to me. I got up and walked out. Everyone followed. We walked, together holding hands until there was only green all around. And then we laughed. And we hugged. And we danced. And we sang. All of us, together. I awoke the next morning, groggy from the night before but clearer than I’d ever been. I walked to the river, sat on a rock and inhaled the deep mist. This is where I belong, this is my land.” 

(Source: dayzea, via allureeeed)

"Perhaps, as we say in America, I wanted to find myself. This is an interesting phrase, not current as far as I know in the language of any other people, which certainly does not mean what it says but betrays a nagging suspicion that something has been misplaced. I think now that if I had any intimation that the self I was going to find would turn out to be only the same self from which I had spent so much time in flight, I would have stayed at home.” - James Baldwin, Giovanni’s Room"

Good and bad touches

Part I: Statistics

When I meet a white person in a casual space there is a good chance the white person will touch my hair. White women touch my hair way more frequently than white men. White men pretty much exclusively touch my hair when they’re drunk. Of the white women who touch my hair, a majority touch my hair soon after we meet. Brown women touch my hair nearly never but when they do it feels really good. White women who I have been friends with for a super long time touch my hair nearly never but when they do it feels really good. Excluding the brown men I have been in a bed with, no brown man has ever touched my hair.

Not all white women I don’t know touch my hair. But a lot of white women I don’t know touch my hair. 

Part II: The way it feels 

uoeno

Part III: A typical hair touching goes on for…

45 MISSISSIPPIS ABOUT.

Part IV: The  cartoonish side eye doesn’t work

During a typical hair stroke, an overwhelming majority of white people are oblivious to my discomfort.

When white people are or become aware of the intrusion they keep going anyway. That happened to me last week. With identical twins. They touched my hair three times in one night for sustained periods. Factoring in that they were identical twins I know at least one of them touched my hair twice, even though my boyfriend yelled at one of them once in front of the other one. 

Part V: Why I’m confused

Loads of brown women have addressed the issue. And I know white people be reading Buzzfeed. Buzzfeed has at least one  list item on two different lists warning against it. 

I forgot what the next roman numeral is

Once I went to a remote region of Scotland.  To my knowledge me and good friend Gaspar were the only two brown people in this particular part of Scotland on this particular day. It’s possible other brown people went to this part of Scotland on a different day but on this day I am sure we were the only two brown people. I am fairly confident about this because in this town there were no more than 8 establishments.

At some point after looking at lush green shit for a super long time we went to the center of town for a hot drink and a rest. While we waited for our beverages, I saw out of the corner of my eye a young boy. At first he was super far away but I could feel his gaze. And then in a flash he was underfoot. I took one tiny step back and he took one giant step forward. And then he touched me. Super lightly-like, not a poke or anything. 

His curiosity was gorgeous.

That kid had never seen a black person before. He was 5. At most. 

The beginning years of life are fucking incredible. If we could all operate in a dumb id stupor like we did when we were 4 there’d probably be no racism.

The perversion of that wonder is the saddest inevitability there ever was. 

Sometimes I’ll catch a glimmer of that childlike marvel in a white woman’s eyes while she tugs at my hair. But it isn’t long enough to mitigate my discomfort. The moment is too brief for me to forgive her for lounging in my subservience.

I been out the game but carefree white girl hasn’t.

(Source: mimp.findrow.com, via meinmyplace)

this purty song makin me feel a lickle carefree y’all

theindecisiveblogger: im just curious no need to post this just reply in myy ask but.. how many followers do u have?

a mill ma

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