Misc Archives - Page 2 of 6 - Imme Visser
archive,paged,category,category-misc,category-153,paged-2,category-paged-2,ajax_fade,page_not_loaded,,select-theme-ver-3.8.1,vertical_menu_enabled,paspartu_enabled,menu-animation-line-through,side_area_uncovered,wpb-js-composer js-comp-ver-5.1.1,vc_responsive


Gisteren las ik een drugs-log. Hierin vertelt iemand stap voor stap wat hij ervaart bij het nemen van een specifieke drug. Ik las dingen als ‘leip de hond uitlaten’ en ‘relaxed een banaan eten’. Sowieso werden er erg veel drugsige woorden gebruikt, zoals dus ‘leip’, ‘relaxed’, ‘strak’ en ‘hard gaan’. Ik besloot dat ik niet die persoon ging worden die het had over ‘zijn witte hobby’.

In plaats daarvan zit ik nu half op een stoel. Mijn ogen houd ik open met denkbeeldige stokjes. Ik doe alsof ik mijn collega hoor. Maar ik hoor niets. Ik voel niets. Mijn hele lichaam voelt als een te lang ingehouden lens. En ik heb niet eens lenzen. Ik heb wel een raam. Soms kijk ik daar uit. Het werkt beangstigend, want ik voel een reusachtige drang om naar buiten te vliegen. Weg, samen met de vogels, vliegen in een V.READ MORE

Working Girl

Yes, fun, I’m a prostitute, ha. Whatever this used to mean – women only having one job – it doesn’t anymore. I am an Office Girl now! I took this job after about six months of being rejected for every job there seemed to be: too old, over-qualified, or didn’t have enough social job skills. It wasn’t much fun. But at least I had my freedom.

For a week and a half I’ve been going to bed early every night like a good girl, waking up Grumpy Cat-ish at 7 every morning. BIKING 30 minutes to work over bridges and through fields, by houses with huge (vegetable) gardens, and coloured sheep. Experiencing Arnhem wake up. Going for little walks during my break, making new friends and talking about everything that’s important and anything that’s not. Sounds healthy, doesn’t it?READ MORE

Woensdag (droom)

We lopen over het stukje van het pretpark waar alle eetkraampjes en stalletjes zijn. Mijn vader en ik. Er is een openlucht supermarktje opgezet, alle vormgeving lichtgroen en kalm. Een beetje als een Marks & Spencer’s. Ik zie allebei mijn opa’s met schorten in de kleuren van de supermarkt, de een prijst artikelen en de ander vult vakken. Mijn opa’s zijn allebei overleden.

“Kijk,” zeg ik. Mijn vader en ik weten allebei dat dit een illusie is, dat we dit dromen, dat de beelden die we zien niet echt zijn. Maar het pijnigt hem meer dan mij. Ik ben alleen een beetje bezorgd over de rug van mijn opa die vakken vult.

Dan is het opeens tijd om de trein te pakken naar de uitgang van het park. Helaas zitten mijn mocassins bij de kassa in een kluisje en heb ik geen tijd meer om ze op te halen. Dus loop ik op mijn sokken. De trein stopt te ver van het perron en Maarten en ik lopen over een regenachtig stuk steen langs de trein en een muur terug naar het perron. Daar wacht ik, op mijn natte sokken.

Why I post

I could tell you all about the amount of coffee I drink in a day, what my opinion is about Billie chasing my feet around the house, how you ALWAYS fart on sleepover parties while lying very still in the hopes no one is still awake, how much bullshit articles exist in most women’s magazines that are there to sell you stuff, how much I like the bird on my mug, how I always disappoint myself dying my own hair cause it’s never 100% the right colour, or that I don’t have the right posture when I’m sitting here typing this.

But I won’t. I know it’s really important for many people – and it once was for me – to post as often as possible on their blog, but I decided to only post things that matter. Articles I’ve written about significant matters, tiny stories about what I’ve dreamt, attempts to write in Dutch, short stories, stories I wrote for my online course, travel stories from when I was feeling lonely and happy, it can really be anything. I kind of live on emotions. And that should show.

So if that means I’ll be posting here only once a month, so be it. Of course, if I ever write a fantastic piece on farting in your sleep, you’ll be the first to know.


Maxey for Cabiria

Maxey for Cabiria

 “I’m curvy, only 5’7 and just walked New York Fashion Week!” gushes Maxey Greene. The 23-year-old model (MSA Models) was one of the girls at the Cabiria fashion show last Friday, the first plus size collection EVER to show at NYFW. According to Cabiria’s website, the label “is dedicated to this attitude of daring audacity. We celebrate women in beautifully made, well cut, modern clothing that shows off their figures.”

 Moreover, designer Eden Miller hopes the show won’t become a big issue, explaining “I’ll be happy to get press coverage…but I’m really hoping that it’s seen just as the other offerings at fashion week.”READ MORE

How Angels Are Created Out of Clay (beautyisnotanumber.com)

For the past two years I have watched the Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show. I watch for the over-the-top lingerie creations, the cliché pop sensations that turn up, and to see who’s my favourite model this year. I watch to see the backstage footage of the girls telling stories about their lives, and to see them interact with each other — and the pop stars. Basically I watch to see a well-constructed, super-American circus show. There’s not a moment, however, when I’m thinking of the girls’ bodies and how they should affect me. Cause they don’t.

Who watches the show?

Victoria’s Secret Angels are not regular models; they are created to be multi-commercial, sporty, goody-goody role models for (I assume) young girls who want to spend money on cutesy lingerie worn by their favourite VS girl. They want that bikini because Candace is their favourite “doll.” They watch the show to see what they want to buy.READ MORE

Fat (beautyisnotanumber.com)

There comes a time when, suddenly, telling someone your weight or even just weighing yourself feels hurtful, or shameful. I used to think this was nonsense, as even I, an ex-fashion model who was never able to GET the skinny bod, didn’t care about a scale number. I used to battle against those shallow feelings of fear by casually screaming how much I weighed to everyone who was close enough to listen. My way of pretending I didn’t care was ‘shocking’ the world with my enormous stack of pounds, hoping that I could make other girls feel better about themselves. Only the truth was that my shocking numbers weren’t so shocking and it was just my brain being a huge ass.


Yes. However comfortable I thought I was, I wasn’t. It only made sense when I gained a few more of those pounds and I felt the restrained notion of scale-hurt. I am brainwashed. We are all brainwashed. The fact that any number of pounds can make us feel emotionally damaged, though it does nothing to hurt us physically, is weird. Sure, if you’re obese and walking somewhere is an issue, you should go see your GP, but little bobbles of fat in cliché places shouldn’t change your mood. Whenever I realise this, it makes me think about how hard society is on the appearance of women and how much I want to fucking rebel against it.READ MORE

Who wants to live forever?

Yesterday my dad and I visited my grandmother (his mother), who has been in a nursing home since my grandfather died three years ago. She can’t stand up, she can’t walk, she mumbles a bit and is incredulously thin. We can’t know for sure if she ‘remembers’ us or just sees kind people. So sometimes, yes, there’s the occasional thought of ‘shouldn’t she just die of old age now?’

This is a hard thought, as it isn’t particularly nice to ‘wish’ someone dead, but also because we’re not sure whether she would feel better alive. It’s easy to pass judgement but it’s impossible to say someone incapable of communication or taking care of herself doesn’t ‘want’ to live.READ MORE

Vrijdag (droom)

Ik had op de dijk gemikt, maar ik had zoveel vaart dat ik er naast vloog. Helaas. Isabel’s rozige haar fleurde op in de zon en ik voelde me op mijn gemak.

“Er zijn olifanten in de rivier,” zei ze.

Ik dacht hierover na. Vanochtend zwom ik nog in deze rivier, ik had geen olifanten gezien. Wat gevaarlijk! Ik klom op de dijk en zag, inderdaad, één olifant in de rivier. Een mevrouw probeerde langs het beest te zwemmen maar hij duwde haar onder.

Lot wilde niet dat ik haar zag.