I feel like the term ‘gaslighting‘ has gone from obscurity to mainstream in only a few years.
If you didn’t know, ‘gaslighting’ comes from the 1944 film “Gaslight” where “a husband who uses trickery to convince his wife that she is insane in order to steal from her.”
Essentially, if you gaslight someone you are trying to make them doubt their own version of events. And also at the same time make them doubt their own sanity.
It’s a good word to know. But, I feel like its true meaning has become lost as it has grown more popular and become something of a buzzword.
Essentially, too many people now say someone is gaslighting when in fact what they’re really doing is just good old-fashioned lying.
Take this paragraph from an article [c] in the Atlantic today:
For half a decade, Republicans—especially self-described moderate members of the party—have been gaslighting America on the issue of abortion rights, pretending they didn’t know that Donald Trump’s Supreme Court picks were always planning to overturn Roe.
Pretending you don’t know something is lying, not gaslighting!
I still can’t quite believe that there’s no way for me to quickly donate to an online publication once I get to the bottom of an article.
I’ve wanted something like this for years now and I even feel like I’ve talked about it multiple times. Because I hate subscriptions you see. They’re usually overpriced for how much value I get out of them, and they’re nearly always impossible to cancel.
I just want a little icon at the bottom of each and every New Yorker article, for example, that I can tap and then donate some small amount of money.
It would have to be quick and easy. But services like Apple Pay and Stripe make that simple enough.
Someone please make such a thing.
(Though maybe people have tried in the past and just worked out that it’s not viable. Flattr has almost exactly this idea. And whilst they’re still technically still going, only a small number of websites support them).
I have a strong dislike for dressing gowns. And my reasons are multiple.
Firstly, you have to wear at the very least boxers underneath. Because if you don’t your dick flops out every two minutes and you flash family members your scrotum each time you sit or squat down. So you end up wearing what you’d usually be wearing underneath the dressing gown anyway.
Always ill-fitting, it feels like 80% of the fabric is in the upper half of the dressing gown. So your upper body is boiling. But the lower extremities feel cold and exposed, like you’re wearing a child sized kilt on a winters day.
The arms are too long with wide sleeves that droop on to your plate each time you eat. And every time you move your arms too quickly you feel like Dumbledore conjuring a spell.
The belt is useless. It comes undone every thirty seconds, usually thanks to the slippery fabric it’s made of. So you double knot it, making it impossible to undo ever again. And of course it’s now so tight that you feel like you’re wearing a corset that Dita Von Teese would find cramped. And don’t forget the stupidly long tassels are just hanging there, getting in your way. And if the belt is done up good luck accessing anything you have in your pockets.
I mean, you could just not bother doing up the belt of course. But an undone dressing gown gives you the look of a mentally ill person who has just escaped the psychiatric ward.
And don’t ever let a neighbour see you outside in your dressing gown. A man outside in a dressing gown at any time of day stinks of unemployed and recently divorced.
The collar is a monstrous thing. Thick and wide. Which is only useful if you plan on wearing your dressing gown at a concert whilst a girl is sitting on your shoulders. And it would protect your shoulders in such circumstances to be fair.
You will never wash it. So food stains and your dressing gowns fabric become life partners. That soup stain will still be there in five years, encrusted in time.
And you can’t wear the dressing gown in bed because it will have travelled all the way up your body before you’ve even launched Netflix. So you have to take it off. Meaning you now need a place to store it. Not on a hanger in your wardrobe, that’s too much work. So instead it’s usually piled onto the floor. You could put it on a hook on the back of your bedroom door. But now you have around 5KG of ugly fabric in your eyeline whilst in bed. And the chances of you waking up in the middle of the night and mistaking it for a creepy intruder watching you from your doorway is extremely high.
I’ve been taking this same photograph from my bedroom window of fresh snow ever since I got my first iPhone over 11 years ago. And do you know what? For all the improvements to the iPhone camera over that time this photo still looks as crappy as ever. Low-light conditions continues to be a problem the iPhone hasn’t quite conquered yet.