The Vegan Fashionista

800 notes

Anonymous asked: Overpopulation of animals is a real problem. If we don't eat deer, we will hit them by our cars and risk killing ourselves and passengers. Please answer with your counter argument.

vegan-veins:

Every creature on this earth somehow contributes to the well being of the planet…except for humans. Humans are most comparable to a parasite, a disease on this planet. If we were gone the rest of earth would thrive.. Humans are the most over populated and useless species on this planet, we contribute less good to this planet than the ants and bees and we do more bad to the planet then every single species combined. 

Deer on the roads are not the problem. That was their home, before we cut it down and built a highway for our convenience. This planet is not ours, these animals are not ours and what they do and if they live is not for us to decide. Let’s also keep in mind that many species of deer are endangered and most likely all will be extinct by 2050 like the rest of the beautiful animals on this planet due to the overpopulation and over consumption of human beings. 

409,251 notes

eatfithappiness:

zingey:

pumpkinpieinyoureyes:

jessiesula:

pizzaforpresident:

I’m so done with this planet

she saved two lives and all they care about is her nipple.

this is sexism, my friends.

This is just fucking ridiculous! I’m sure the last thing she gave a shit about was her nipple coming out while she was SAVING HER CHILD AND THEIR NANNY! 

Gotta love he fact that the story is about the nip slip and not the rescue.  The rescue is just an afterthought.

Ridiculous

(via tightdressesandskinnytights)

219,519 notes

Women are afraid of meeting a serial killer. Men are afraid of meeting someone fat.

When Strangers Click, a 2011 documentary about online dating.

It reminds me of that famous Margaret Atwood quote: “Men are afraid that women will laugh at them. Women are afraid that men will kill them.” It also reminds me of something written by one of the mods of Sex Worker Problems: “Misandry irritates. Misogyny kills.”

I mean, it’s just true.

(via tealeafprincess)

“Misandry irritates. Misogyny kills.”

That’s it.  That’s it right there.

(via oddpicturesoddpeople)

(via thethriftyvegan)

8 notes

wildfiremagazine:

This would be our incredible #rawvegan #banoffeepie we enjoyed for #dessert at #rasayana #vegetarian #rawretreat #bangkok #thailand (: #heaven #delish When I get home I’m going to make my own version (: #veganfoodshare #raw #rawlivingfood #banana #chocolate #dates #walnuts #love <3 @welovel1fe

wildfiremagazine:

This would be our incredible #rawvegan #banoffeepie we enjoyed for #dessert at #rasayana #vegetarian #rawretreat #bangkok #thailand (: #heaven #delish When I get home I’m going to make my own version (: #veganfoodshare #raw #rawlivingfood #banana #chocolate #dates #walnuts #love <3 @welovel1fe

2,981 notes

tofu-wizard:

Spot a difference!

Aha, got it! There are dogs in the first picture and meat-animals in others, easy.

Sounds absurd?

Not to everyone. Every day people kill innocent beings, while at the same time they (think they) are:

  • Against animal cruelty and violence whatsoever
  • Support freedom
  • Hate injustice

You supporting violence. You are against freedom.
You are the injustice.

Stop being hypocrite.
Go Vegan.

(via officialteamgreen)

122,721 notes

When I was seventeen and preparing to leave for university, my mother’s only brother saw fit to give me some advice.
“Just don’t be an idiot, kid,” he told me, “and don’t ever forget that boys and girls can never just be friends.”
I laughed and answered, “I’m not too worried. And I don’t really think all guys are like that.”

When I was eighteen and the third annual advent of the common cold was rolling through residence like a pestilent fog, a friend texted me asking if there was anything he could do to help.
I told him that if he could bring me up some vitamin water that would be great, if it wasn’t too much trouble.
That semester I learned that human skin cells replace themselves every three to five weeks. I hoped that in a month, maybe I’d stop feeling the echoes of his touch; maybe my new skin would feel cleaner.
It didn’t. But I stood by what I said. Not all guys are like that.

When I was nineteen and my roommate decided the only way to celebrate the end of midterms was to get wasted at a club, I humoured her.
Four drinks, countless leers and five hands up my skirt later, I informed her I was ready to leave.
“I get why you’re upset,” she told me on the walk home, “but you have to tolerate that sort of thing if you want to have any fun. And really, not all guys are like that.”

(Age nineteen also saw me propositioned for casual sex by no fewer than three different male friends, and while I still believe that guys and girls can indeed be just friends, I was beginning to see my uncle’s point.)

When I was twenty and a stranger that started chatting to me in my usual cafe asked if he could walk with me (since we were going the same way and all), I accepted.
Before we’d even made it three blocks he was pulling me into an alleyway and trying to put his hands up my shirt. “You were staring,” he laughed when I asked what the fuck he was doing (I wasn’t), “I’m just taking pity.”
But not all guys are like that.

I am twenty one and a few days ago a friend and I were walking down the street. A car drove by with the windows down, and a young man stuck his head out and whistled as they passed. I ignored it, carrying on with the conversation.
My friend did not. “Did you know those people?” He asked.
“Not at all,” I answered.
Later when we sat down to eat he got this thoughtful look on his face. When I asked what was wrong he said, “You know not all guys do that kind of thing, right? We’re not all like that.”
As if he were imparting some great profound truth I’d never realized before. My entire life has been turned around, because now I’ve been enlightened: not all guys are like that.

No. Not all guys are. But enough are. Enough that I am uncomfortable when a man sits next to me on the bus. Enough that I will cross to the other side of the street if I see a pack of guys coming my way. Enough that even fleeting eye contact with a male stranger makes my insides crawl with unease. Enough that I cannot feel safe alone in a room with some of my male friends, even ones I’ve known for years. Enough that when I go out past dark for chips or milk or toilet paper, I carry a knife, I wear a coat that obscures my figure, I mimic a man’s gait. Enough that three years later I keep the story of that day to myself, when the only thing that saved me from being raped was a right hook to the jaw and a threat to scream in a crowded dorm, because I know what the response will be.

I live my life with the everburning anxiety that someone is going to put their hands on me regardless of my feelings on the matter, and I’m not going to be able to stop them. I live with the knowledge that statistically one in three women have experienced a sexual assault, but even a number like that can’t be trusted when we are harassed into silence. I live with the learned instinct, the ingrained compulsion to keep my mouth shut to jeers and catcalls, to swallow my anger at lewd suggestions and crude gestures, to put up my walls against insults and threats. I live in an environment that necessitates armouring myself against it just to get through a day peacefully, and I now view that as normal. I have adapted to extreme circumstances and am told to treat it as baseline. I carry this fear close to my heart, rooted into my bones, and I do so to keep myself unharmed.

So you can tell me that not all guys are like that, and you’d even be right, but that isn’t the issue anymore. My problem is not that I’m unaware of the fact that some guys are perfectly civil, decent, kind—my problem is simply this:

In a world where this cynical overcaution is the only thing that ensures my safety, I’m no longer willing to take the risk.

r.d. (via vonmoire)

(Source: elferinge, via queermerooooar)