Lolita is sexual. Literally. The definition of lolita is a sexually attractive adolescent girl. It's not just a cute 'kawaii' fashion statement. You can't sexualise something that is already sexual by default.






Wrong, wrong, and wrong. Literally. If I got a dollar for every person who thought this because they couldn’t be assed to do their research, I’d be a happy girl indeed.

Lolita is a book written by Vladimir Nabokov about a girl named Dolores Haze, but her nickname is Lolita. The protagonist of Lolita falls in love with Dolores despite him being 42 and her being 12. He is a pedophile who abuses, rapes and takes sexual advantage of her after becoming her stepfather.

Lolita FASHION is something else entirely. Lolita FASHION is a fashion trend that started in Harajuku, inspired by victorian fashion, victorian dolls, sailor dresses and femininity, and most of all, self-expression. It has NOTHING to do with the book by the same name. The only thing they share is their name. Lolita FASHION has nothing to do with sex, because it’s just that; A FASHION. 

Lolita is a term misguided and misinformed people (such as yourself) use about attractive girls when, in truth, it stems from a book about a pedophile rapist.

Do your research before you try to start a discussion on something you have no clue about. There is absolutely no reason for you to be this much of an arrogant know-it-all when you haven’t even done the research to back up your arguments. Don’t be overconfident before you’re 100% certain that you’re right. 

Can I just add a thing here

When my mum heard about / discovered that this weird fashion I started trying to wear at 16 was called “lolita,” she had a miniature heart attack. She thought I didn’t understand that that word was used in the wrong context often. She thought that the fashion was intended to be sexual and that I was too naive to understand that, and that I just took it to be a cute fashion. Here’s the thing tho: it IS just a cute fashion. And after explaining this, she was then worried that other gross people would sexualise me against my will or target me and therefore I shouldn’t be wearing it.

Wrong. It is other people’s fault for sexualising me, not mine. It is never my fault, if I am sexualised against my will. It is never anybody’s fault.

Especially when, personally, I liked the idea of lolita because it was so darn sweet and elegant, and in my opinion, so not-sexually-charged in a world that shoved sex in my face every day. It was a breath of fresh air. I’ve had more sexual connotations associated with me when I was fucking 12 and wore a tank top and shorts to grade 7 orientation on a hot summers day and everyone who didn’t know my name called me ~the girl with the boobs~ for two years straight. Like ????

And then we fast forward to when I met my dad’s partner and she heard about lolita and had a minature heart attack because, in juxtaposition to my mum, it was so adorable, she couldn’t believe it. In her native culture, Lolita was a nickname for Dolores and had little-to-no sexual connotations with it. She even, if my memory serves me right, mentioned that lolita or dolly was just something you called sweet young girls. So the word was really fitting and it was all just so sweet and cute. She even pronounces it with a Spanish accent despite having an Australian accent because that’s what you do with totally native words.

So I’m emphasising a cultural difference here.

And here’s my thing, here’s a bit of TL;DR:

Have pedophiles and misogynist pigs who sexualise young girls seriously infiltrated every aspect of our society that it is somehow more fucking plausible that girls who want to dress in cute and feminine fashion are doing so because they want to be sexualised? Or that they should expect to be sexualised? Is that what people are saying now? That girls cannot take charge over their lives and their aesthetic for one god damned second before being, yet again, sexualised in every aspect of their being?

I don’t want to use ‘you’re damned if you do, and damned if you don’t’ but hey, that’s all I can muster up right now because I feel like I’m on a different fricking planet.

And, as a not-so-subtle side note, if you don’t think mainstream porn and it’s culture has something to do with this, you are dead wrong.

Amazing new concept: If girls want to be sexual, they can be sexual. If they don’t, they don’t. Either fucking way it is impossible to win when mainstream society oversexualises young girls and their fashion in an ~adult way~ and if you somehow take a different path you’re fetishised as an ~innocent sex nymph doll~ like where the fuck do we draw the line?

I will tell you where we draw the god damned line: where ever the fuck the girl in question draws her own m o t h er fricking line.


Thank you for writing this. I thought they were the same thing and I was really disturbed so I’m REALLY glad to learn that the fashion and the book are not related at all, whew. Also gross men stop it and go away.

holy mother of Jesus PREACH IT MINA

My big question is why, in 2014, people still read that freaking book and are not able to think ‘Wow, it’s HER NICKNAME not some sexual connotation with her being underaged! omg! News!! News!’ I’m glad I can tell people here where I live that I like lolita fashion because no one thinks it’s some sort of trap to catch predators or something since people know it’s a NAME.


The first time a Muggle boy shouted at Amarice Kelley on the street, she was so startled, she hardly knew how to respond.

Pure of blood and strong of will, Amarice had grown up ensconced in an all-wizarding community. There and at school, she knew everyone by name, knew what to expect from them. It had been lovely, safe, but so small. She loved the big Muggle city she now worked in, loved the noise and the bustle and the smells, loved the ingenuity of the Muggles she moved among, their resourcefulness and cleverness and humor. But this — this, she had not expected, such open vulgarity, and from a stranger.

The second time, she delivered a hexing so thorough it sent the portly electrician to St. Dymphna’s, and only a friendly cousin working at the DSO spared Amarice an uncomfortable inquiry and embarrassing mention in the Sorcery Standard.

Thereafter, Amarice learned to temper her vengeance.

A memory charm on the man who stroked her thigh on the subway made him miss his stop and an important appointment. A drop of tentacula essence in stale beer retaliated for a forced kiss at a party. A rearrangement charm cost the banker who propositioned her half a day’s work in sorting out his files. Little things, hard to trace, nothing that would draw attention from the authorities. They satisfied the momentary urge to bite back, Amarice found, but did little to quell the fury in her heart.

What baffled her even more was that the Muggle women hardly ever fought back, hardly even seemed to acknowledge the slights.

When Amarice, home on holiday, asked her parents about this strange quirk of Muggle culture, her father had huffed superciliously. “Of course they don’t know better, these Muggles,” he said. “Our boys grow up seeing what witches are capable of. That breeds respect. Muggle men might think so little of Muggle women, but wizards don’t think that way about witches.”

Her mother had a different response. She sighed, hardly looking up from her case files, and said, “Of course we’re not immune, sweetheart. It’s just difficult to express it so openly when a witch can fight back the way… well, the way you did. But it’s there. Of course, it’s there.”

And Amarice thought of the boy who’d refused to speak to her for the rest of the year when she’d turned him down as a date for the spring dance. She thought of the teacher who’d suggested that she’d overloaded her schedule in her EWE years, yet hadn’t given the same council to the male classmate with the same goal and lower grades. She thought of the mothers of several of her friends, who stayed home and kept house while their husbands jockeyed for position in the bureaucratic hierarchy.

Amarice wondered how she’d missed it until it had been shouted at her.

[Mod Note: This post is a wizarding-world response to the #YesAllWomen phenomenon that has dominated Twitter trending for several days.]




Please note: “everyone who works retail, admin, or labor” is pretty much everyone. I can’t remember the last time I worked somewhere without “security” cameras that monitored employees.

I’m having a good laugh right now because our associates just got collectively reprimanded for leaning on the counters during 8 hour shifts on their feet, because it isn’t “professional” looking.  So apparently they can put up with a camera over their shoulder to make sure they do their jobs correctly, but a cop with a gun cant?  

The people in retail get reprimanded for leaning on the counter, and yet a cop can execute someone and not even be arrested.