I was previously unfamiliar with the concept of bra euphoria:

Resulting, it seems, in hasty purchases and consequent discomfort. And so,

At which point, I should add that these bra-related dramas are from transgender Reddit, where passions run high, and agonies abound:

And,

And,

This latter detail is mentioned for the purposes of calibrating bra discomfort. I, for one, am learning things today.

Needless to say, a thread ensues, in which grumbles are aired regarding the need for repeated measurements, commission-based sales assistants, returns policies, underwiring, and the shortcomings of bra manufacturers, whose products are deemed wanting, on account of their generally being designed for the bodies of women.

Sadly, female sales assistants who find themselves helping strange men try on bras, repeatedly, did not participate in the discussion.

Update, via the comments:

I should also add that, in discussions of this kind, the term euphoria often has connotations of sexual arousal. Which raises the prospect of female sales assistants who find themselves helping strange men try on bras, repeatedly, while said men may be getting euphoric.

Not every sales assistant’s cup of tea, I should think.

Via.

Also, open thread. Share ye links and bicker.

Apparently, it’s a thing:

And because you want to know:

Not merely a woman. He is women.

Update: via the comments:

Mags notes this,

And replies,

Well, it is an odd thing to be proud of. A bit of a stretch, really. It’s not clear to me why autogynephiles should be entitled to pride any more than devotees of any other fetish. Should we applaud and affirm people who like to be spanked, or to wear nipple-clamps, or rubber hoods, or who like to visit schoolgirl sniff parlours? And what about those poor downtrodden members of the eproctophile community?

And yet there are activists who struggle to comprehend why ladies on the whole would rather not have their toilets and changing rooms invaded by porn-addled, cross-dressing misfits.

The kind of men who think that womanhood is ALL ABOUT THE STOCKINGS.

Via.

Consider this an open thread. Share ye links and bicker.

As readers may imagine, I do have some sympathy with this view:

I have no problem with my child’s teacher being gay.

I have a problem with them being incredibly strange and narcissistic about it.

It’s not because you’re gay that I don’t want my child around you, it’s because you think this is normal or appropriate behavior for a teacher. pic.twitter.com/3chE6L5Hr3

— Frank McCormick | Chalkboard Heresy (@CBHeresy) July 2, 2023

Note, in the background, the prominent reminder to the class – a countdown to the teacher’s birthday. Because, obviously, it’s all about him and acknowledging his fabulousness.

But then, it so often is.

Update, via the comments:

Mike D adds,

It has to be said, in terms of setting an example – a reference point for children of what a functional adult might look like – needy, narcissistic theatre isn’t exactly what one hopes for.

And yet.

It’s worth noting how rapidly, and seemingly unopposed, it’s become something of a norm for children to be entrusted to emotionally arrested men who think that prancing about in leggings and five-inch heels, and flapping paper fans – and looking “cute” in painted nails and make-up – are part of their job description. As if they were doing us a favour.

And so, we have children being taught by men who, in their thirties, are still buying blue and green hair dye, and who habitually film themselves miming to pop records, before uploading the results to TikTok in search of affirmation, not least from their own students.

Because, it turns out, what the children really need to learn is the importance of continual, flamboyant self-preoccupation, and the round-the-clock foregrounding of one’s “identity” and sexual inclinations, especially in office hours and among children. Along with the conceit that authenticity, being one’s “true self,” entails enacting a caricatured pantomime, a generic cartoon. And of course, the lie that the endless, tedious performance is being done for their benefit.

It is, however, curious how the men mouthing this claim most emphatically – about doing it for the children, to create a “safe space” – just so happen to like parading around the classroom in glitter, stilettos and clownish make-up, and just so happen to already have an extensive collection of rather tarty ladies’ shoes.

A coincidence, I’m sure.

Update 2:

Regarding the paragraph above, and Mr Hey-Kids-Look-At-My-Hooker-Shoes, Clam adds,

What’s remarkable is the obviousness of the lie. If you poke through chappie’s TikTok videos, it’s clearly all about him and what he wants. The children are just a pretext, a rhetorical shield. And it seems that his peers and employers are too cowed and complicit to acknowledge the obvious dishonesty.

Because objecting to narcissistic overreach – and the use of other people’s children as a captive audience – would be “homophobic,” “transphobic,” “right-wing,” etc. And so, our self-imagined hero, our champion of the downtrodden fetishist, is triumphant and boastful: “If we’re not pissing off the homophobes, we’re not doing our jobs,” says he.

And of course, the children are manipulated, dragged into his drama, made to browse his TikTok videos and read the comments, and made to side with him against any parent who might object.

To call it narcissism scarcely covers it.

Consider this an open thread. Share ye links and bicker.

I miss the concept of shame. As social correctives go, it was underrated.

Apparently, we’ve arrived at a stage of civilisation in which chunky middle-aged men dress as women and then deliberately piss themselves in public, on camera, as an erotic high, before sharing the recording on social media and awaiting likes. Which is to say, affirmation.

See also, via Stephanie, this. And somewhat related, this item here.

Lifted from the comments, which you’re reading of course. Also, open thread.

Speaking of schooling, and lifted from the comments:

A message, indeed. I’m assuming the campy paper fan is a fundamental aspect of his “full authentic self.”

Evidently, our fearless educator has determined that any gay kids in his class – or rather, kids who may turn out to be gay on hitting puberty – need aspirational role-models. Like a grown man with painted nails, wearing tinselled Deeley Boppers, and flapping a paper fan. Because hey, what else could they possibly aspire to?

See also this:

You see, authenticity requires fancy dress and elaborate accessorising. And it’s just “so important” to parade around the classroom, looking “cute,” in painted nails and make-up.

What’s that you say? A one-off, an aberration? Oh, you sweet innocent thing.