This Butt Photo Project Aims To Show That No Two Behinds Are Alike

Because butts are beautiful.

We all have butts. But no two butts look the same.

We all have butts. But no two butts look the same.

Fox

Which is why Montreal-based artists Emilie Mercier and Frédérique Marseille founded 1001 Fesses — which is French for 1001 Butts.

Which is why Montreal-based artists Emilie Mercier and Frédérique Marseille founded 1001 Fesses — which is French for 1001 Butts.

youtube.com

Their mission? To showcase the wonderful array of backsides in the world, and to challenge traditional notions of beauty.

Their mission? To showcase the wonderful array of backsides in the world, and to challenge traditional notions of beauty.

1001 Fesses Project

The pair started documenting butts in Quebec, and have since taken photos of volunteers in Mexico, Cuba, Switzerland, Malaysia, and the US.

The pair started documenting butts in Quebec, and have since taken photos of volunteers in Mexico, Cuba, Switzerland, Malaysia, and the US.

“Our goal is to show the beauty in any kind of body,” Mercier and Marseille told BuzzFeed. “We hope to show another side of the female body outside of sexuality, a more poetic and intimate feeling that we all share when we open ourselves to authenticity and simplicity.”

1001 Fesses Project / Via 1001fessesproject.com


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Hey, Teens, Tell Us Why You Keep A Diary/Journal

Sorry, adults, this one’s not for you!!!

Keeping a diary is typically associated with teens (and teenage girls), and, as a result, is often treated as silly or not worthwhile.

Keeping a diary is typically associated with teens (and teenage girls), and, as a result, is often treated as silly or not worthwhile.

Dorioconnell / Getty Images

But…I take umbrage with this characterization! Diaries and journals are awesome, and so are the teenagers and young adults who keep them.

But...I take umbrage with this characterization! Diaries and journals are awesome, and so are the teenagers and young adults who keep them.

FOX

So, if you’re a teen or college kid*, we want to hear about why you love your diary/journal.

So, if you're a teen or college kid*, we want to hear about why you love your diary/journal.

*Sorry, adults! This one's not for you!!!

Zsv3207 / Getty Images

Maybe keeping a diary has improved your mental health, or helped you stay grounded during a turbulent time in your life.

Maybe keeping a diary has improved your mental health, or helped you stay grounded during a turbulent time in your life.

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Why Venmo Is My Favorite Sympathy Card

Andrew Richard / BuzzFeed

When something awful happens to a friend, our first instinct, as decent people, is to do one of two things: send flowers or bring food. These are the classic “sorry everything is terrible” options that have stood the test of time. Except they…kind of haven’t, at least not since we've all started moving further and further from our hometowns and hopping cities every few years. If you’re in Maryland and your friend is in a suburb in Michigan, it’s not like you can just leave a casserole on their front porch, and sending not-shitty flowers long-distance (to their house? to their office? WHO KNOWS???) can be surprisingly difficult. Even if you live nearby, these options aren’t for everyone — some people don't like flowers, or you may be a terrible cook. Enter Venmo, the dark horse third when it comes to expressing sympathy.

Yes, Venmo, the app that lets you seamlessly send and receive money from friends without ever paying any fees. Venmo, used most often to cover your share of bar tabs and Lyfts and Airbnbs and utility bills. Venmo, where there are very few words but a lot of emojis. That Venmo. Since I’ve entered my thirties — a time when shit starts getting REAL real, turns out — I’ve discovered that the PayPal's sexier younger sibling is also a fantastic way to be there for someone when they are in crisis, in whatever way they need you to be there.

Last year, after a friend’s miscarriage, our friend group discussed sending her flowers. But in the end, I just collected money from everyone via Venmo, and then Venmoed the sum to the friend privately with a note to use it for Ubers to and from doctor’s appointments, Seamless orders, wine, and snacks — anything that might make one of the worst days of her life a tiny bit less bad. Another time, when I was having a very shitty week, a friend Venmoed me $15 with the bouquet emoji. “I couldn’t get flowers delivered to you that quickly,” she said. “So pick some up for yourself on your way home.” I don’t think I ever bought the flowers, and instead spent the $15 to have a burrito delivered that night. I also could have gone and blown it on some new Essie nail polishes at Target, or spent it on margaritas. Who cares? Not my friend; it was important to her that I got some kind of nice thing for myself, not that I got the exact nice thing she believed I needed. We both understood that the cash was meant to be a choose-your-own-adventure care package.

Venmo also comes in handy when the thing your friend needs isn’t flowers or Essie polish or margaritas, but…money. Because tragedy isn’t just emotionally catastrophic; it’s also incredibly inconvenient. There is unexpected travel. There are errands to run that you would likely avoid doing in the best of times. There is paperwork that needs to be printed but your printer has been broken for the past year and also now you also have to FAX the damn thing??? In the year 2017???? There are entire homes to be packed up and moved. The easiest way to take the edge off of most of these inconveniences is to throw money at them. But in that moment of unexpected awfulness, your friend may not have the money. Or they have it, but won’t give themselves permission to spend it. And that is where you can, on occasion, step in.

We both understood that the cash was meant to be a choose-your-own-adventure care package.

Money can put gas in your friend’s car so they can drive three states to be with their sick parent. Money can pay for a babysitter to watch their toddler while they meet with a lawyer or go to therapy. Money will erase the late fees on the bills they forget to pay in the aftermath of their sibling’s suicide. Money can pay movers to come pack up all of their belongings after their spouse unexpectedly files for divorce. Money can cover the two-day shipping on the black dress shoes they’ve realized they need for the funeral they are currently planning. Your exhausted pal who is leaving the hospital at midnight after spending another day at her sick wife's bedside shouldn’t have to crunch the numbers to determine whether she can afford to take a cab instead of a long, uncomfortably bright subway ride where she will likely be catcalled, even as she sits there visibly weeping. Of course you would offer to give her a ride in that situation. But if you’re eight states away, or if you don’t have a car, sending her some money for a cab is the next best thing.

Of course, this assumes that you have the money to spend in the first place…but if you were going to send flowers, then that’s a safe assumption. And, honestly, what is even the point of having money if not to be able to these kinds of things you care about?

Tragedy isn’t just emotionally catastrophic; it’s also incredibly inconvenient.

Now, to be able to get on board with this, you may have to set aside some deeply-held cultural beliefs about money and etiquette and the “right” way to respond to tragedy. And I get that delivering a sympathy gift to a grieving friend in Venmo's pizza emoji-laden interface might sound a little…newfangled. Perhaps you are reading this and thinking that these damn kids need to get off your lawn (pretty sure we're the same age but okay) because you would NEVER do something so COLD or IMPERSONAL. (“MILLENNIALS ARE KILLING THE CASSEROLE INDUSTRY” —A Forbes headline next week, probably.) But not everyone mourns the same way, or wants a lot of attention when they are grieving. One of the more difficult aspects of experiencing loss is managing other people’s reactions to it; there's something to be said for offering support from a distance — especially if your friend is dealing with the sort of loss that tends to be stigmatized. Beaming a sympathy gift directly to someone’s phone (arguably one of the most personal objects they own) lets them receive it and react to it privately. Venmo doesn’t demand an immediate response, or force them explain to the coworkers who had no idea that they even had a brother that the flowers they just received are actually a sympathy bouquet because he overdosed a week ago.

(To be clear, I'm not here to knock flowers. I love receiving flowers when I'm sad! But not everyone does, which is why I prefer Venmoing money in a lot of situations. It's just good to have options in your “be a good friend” toolbox.)

Jacob Ammentorp Lund / Getty Images

Will giving a grieving friend cold, hard cash feel a little weird? I mean…maybe! Money is pretty weird! You know what else is weird? Trauma. Death. Anyone who has experienced tragedy knows that it is incredibly weird. And its aftermath is actually a great time to rethink the longstanding traditions that perhaps aren't serving us well anymore. Because when someone is suffering, they are less likely to be concerned with a bunch of arbitrary cultural rules; they just want to feel less sad.

Also, are you really giving them cold, hard cash? Or are you giving them warm, soft, beep beep bloop bloop ching chings? You and I both know that Venmoing money is not the same as stuffing a couple of crumpled, damp twenties in your friend's fist as you leave the funeral home. And, bonus: unlike those sweaty twenties, a Venmo transaction isn’t going to lead to the awkward, “Oh don’t be silly — oh but you must — I couldn’t possibly — I insist — are you sure?” song and dance, which is something we should all be happy about.

You and I both know that Venmoing money is not the same as stuffing a couple of crumpled, damp twenties in your friend's fist as you leave the funeral home.

The key to making this not seem weird lies in what you say when you Venmo the money. What you're not gonna do is send $50 with “sry bout yr cancer” followed by a emoji. Instead, reference the well-known expression of sympathy that the money is standing in for. “This is for flowers” tells them “this is for you to buy something lovely.” “Snacks/wine/bourbon” is code for “something comforting.” “Seamless” or “dinners this week” clearly means “foodstuffs of any sort.” And “Ubers/Lyfts” translates to “something to make your life slightly more convenient.” When in doubt, you can always add a “Because I can't do this for you IRL” to it, e.g., “Because I can't be there to do X for you, use this to pay for Y.”

BuzzFeed

When it comes to responding to grief, trauma, and tragedy, the thought is very much what counts. And thinking about all of the ways this might suck for your friend, and then giving them something that will make it suck a tiny bit less, in whatever way they need it to suck less? Yeah, I’d say that counts.

So if ever you don’t know what to do to support someone who is struggling, maybe just Venmo them. Remember to set the transaction to “participants only.” Be sure to say “I love you and I’m here for you.” Select your finest emoji. Then tap “pay,” and be grateful that we have modern technology to make the age-old tradition of comforting the sick, the sad, and the grieving a tiny bit easier.

Rachel Miller is a Senior Lifestyle Editor at BuzzFeed and the author of Dot Journaling―A Practical Guide: How to Start and Keep the Planner, To-Do List, and Diary That’ll Actually Help You Get Your Life Together.

This week, we’re talking about preparing for and surviving the worst things imaginable. See more Disaster Week content here.

This week, we're talking about preparing for and surviving the worst things imaginable. See more Disaster Week content here.

Jenny Chang / BuzzFeed

If you liked this post, you might also like:
I'm Terrible, Thanks For Asking
13 Ways To Be A Good Friend To Someone Getting Divorced
How To Be A Good Friend To Someone Who Has Had A Miscarriage
6 Not-Shitty Things To Say To A Friend Going Through A Shitty Time

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A Friendly Guide To Exactly How A Dead Body Decomposes

You know you want to know.

Picture this: you’re watching CSI and hottie Nick Stokes shows up to a crime scene. He says that the body appears to have been dead for a few a few days but it honestly just looks like a sleeping human. Are you telling me the truth, hottie Nick Stokes?

Picture this: you’re watching CSI and hottie Nick Stokes shows up to a crime scene. He says that the body appears to have been dead for a few a few days but it honestly just looks like a sleeping human. Are you telling me the truth, hottie Nick Stokes?

CBS

I was curious and thought you might be, too. So, I recruited Daniel Wescott, director of the Forensic Anthropology Center at Texas State University, and Melissa Connor, director of the Forensic Investigation Research Station at Colorado Mesa University to help break this all down.

There are five stages of body decomposition, and both climate and the presence of insects(!) play a major role in the speed of that process. Contrary to what you might expect, extreme temperatures can actually slow down decomposition. “Generally, heat speeds up all biological and chemical processes; cold slows them down,” Connor says. “However, too much heat and the body may become too dry to support the maggots.” Rain also slows down the process — because it keeps the insects away. And as we will learn later, insects are picky eaters.

Anyway, there are so many other scenarios and variables that can change the rate of body decomposition, but we’re going to stick with the basics and cover the general stages here.

Just a heads up: these descriptions can get rather ghastly. (But! There are no photos of dead/decomposing bodies.)

Chrischrisw / Getty Images

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Rich People Are Hunkering Down For The Apocalypse In Incredibly Elaborate Bunkers

High living during low times.

The apocalypse: Not exactly fun to think about. BUT! If you HAVE to consider it, why not think about where you might live out your last days?

The apocalypse: Not exactly fun to think about. BUT! If you HAVE to consider it, why not think about where you might live out your last days?

GIphy

But for THE RICH? A nuclear apocalypse or world war or whatever is no reason to downgrade.

YUP, this is INSIDE A BUNKER.

Instagram: @luxury

Bunker manufacturers like Rising S Company and Vivos are creating underground bunkers with ~all the amenities.~

Instagram: @risingscompany


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23 Things ER Employees Want You To Know

“Some days you remember that you’re saving people’s lives and privileged to know their deepest, darkest secrets. Some days all you do is pull objects out of people’s butts and subdue wildly drunken assholes for their own good.”

“The emergency department is nothing like Grey's Anatomy or Code Black. It's faster-paced and people do not hook up with each other in the hospital!”

ABC

“It's like the Saw franchise. At first you're excited for every day, then there's lots of blood and screaming and crying and it's terrifying. And there's plenty of riddles, like, 'What exactly did you shove up there?!'”


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I'm Terrible, Thanks For Asking

Charlotte Gomez / BuzzFeed

Fine. Fine. Fine. Fine. Fine.

In 2015, I was totally fine. Finer than fine. And why wouldn’t I be? Just a few months before, I’d lost my husband to brain cancer, my dad to cancer of the everything, and my second pregnancy. By “lost them,” I mean that they died. I didn’t lose them at sea, or in the dairy section of Costco.

Everyone from close friends to Internet strangers wanted to know how I was doing. And everyone heard the same thing: “I’m fine.” “I’m fine.” “I’m fine, fine, fine.”

If you can believe it, I was not actually fine. Watching as my husband’s brain tumor reduce him to a thin, gray replica of himself? That had a negative effect. Having our second child vacuumed from my uterus? Made an impact. My dad going from a healthy to dead in five months? It took a toll.

But nobody wants to hear about how you’ve spent the small hours of the night hunched over your husband’s laptop, reading emails he sent people years before you met, trying to absorb any part of him that was left, however small and digital. Or that’s what I thought. I assumed that the feelings I found so icky and uncomfortable I could only experience them in private would also be unpalatable to the people around me. So I concealed those emotions, or coated them in sad-but-witty Instagram captions until they were the kind of thing you could double-tap.

Before Aaron and my father died, before I had a miscarriage, I’d had very little experience with disaster. When I’d observed others in crisis — a friend’s father dying unexpectedly, a co-worker’s child suddenly hospitalized — I was uncomfortable with their discomfort, unable to meet their gazes, eager to avoid the topic that sat between us and instead focus on something more…pleasant. For their sake, of course. Because who wants to be reminded of what they lost, or what they may lose? Who wants to talk about the hardest thing they’ve ever gone through, when they could instead discuss the weather, or how it totally feels like a Thursday but it’s only a Tuesday?

{{Everyone who has ever lived through something awful raises their hand.}}

I assumed that what the people around me wanted was for me to make lemonade, and not dwell too much on the fact that I had absolutely not ordered lemons in the first place.

It wasn’t denial — there was no denying the empty space in my bed, the crushing solitude of being an Only Parent. It was that I didn’t know what grief was supposed to look like. As a child, I rarely saw my parents cry. Their grief over their dead parents seemed to end at the funeral, and I assumed that mine should, too. Without any real social customs to guide me, I made my own. I wore a white shift to Aaron’s funeral. I gave the eulogy in bright red lipstick and lavender hair. In Victorian times, widows wore black. They donned a widow’s cap. Their dress was a signal to the world of what they’d experienced, and how they should be treated. The social norm was to be so not fine that you needed an outfit to convey it. The social expectation was that you should be in mourning for at least two years, and that your wardrobe should be, too.

There was no widow’s cap for me, no way to signal to the people around me that even though I looked exactly like a 31-year-old mother in the Midwest, I was in fact an emotional Dorian Gray.

“Grief was not a skill I was born with, or a fate that I could avoid.”

I spent that first lonely year after Aaron’s death growing resentful, digging myself deep into the anger phase of grief. I was angry at how lonely I felt, angry that the people around me still had living husbands and luxurious worries like whose turn it was to give the kid a bath tonight. I was angry that sweet, kind, wonderful Aaron was dead and that some people could drive drunk, crash a car into oncoming traffic, and walk away without a scratch. I was mad at everyone who told me how well I was doing for not seeing how destroyed I was, and mad at myself for making the hardest year of my life appear to be easy.

This story does not have an a-ha! moment. The light bulb that lit up was on a dimmer switch, and it took time for me to notice what was being illuminated: that I was not fine. That grief was not a skill I was born with, or a fate that I could avoid.

“How are you?” is a reflexive greeting, one we casually toss to everyone we pass (especially in the Midwest). Turns out, many people were…not prepared to hear the real answer from me. Nor should they! The person bagging your groceries is not getting paid enough to deal with an emotional dump truck. Your friends and family? They are also not getting paid enough, but they should be able to handle you saying, “Actually things are really hard right now.” That’s who I really wanted to be honest with, so I started out in the the only way I knew how: through writing. Of the text message variety.

“Things are really hard right now.”

“I’m really fucking sad.”

“I’m sorry I’ve been a shitty friend, I didn’t know how to be close to you.”

Most of my relationships have gotten stronger since I started answering the “How are you?” question more honestly.

In some areas of India, widows are driven into exile from their homes by their family, who consider them to be bad luck. That…did not happen to me. My loneliness was not imagined, but was not entirely imposed upon me, either. I’d had a hand in building my own little prison of loneliness. It was made with every “fine” and every smile, with every Instagram post where I tried to convince everyone that I was getting an A+ at grief. I am still trying to Shawshank my way out of that place, day by day. I’m getting there by acknowledging the hard days without dwelling on them, and reminding myself that some days, it’s perfectly fine to be terrible.

Nora McInerny is the author of It's Okay to Laugh (Crying is Cool, Too), the host of the American Public Media podcast Terrible, Thanks for Asking. She is very tall.

This week, we’re talking about preparing for and surviving the worst things imaginable. See more Disaster Week content here.

This week, we're talking about preparing for and surviving the worst things imaginable. See more Disaster Week content here.

Jenny Chang / BuzzFeed

If you liked this story, you might also like reading these:

I Was Pregnant, And Then I Wasn’t
Shopping At 7-Eleven Got Me Through Losing My Father
27 Things That Can Really Help You While You're Grieving

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These Easy-To-Make Pancakes Are Essential For Your Next Camping Trip

Pour, flip, and dig in.

Ahhh, a hot breakfast in the woods—there’s nothing like it. These campfire pancakes are so easy to make, you’ll wonder why you’ve been eating granola bars all this time. And the best part? The mix keeps for up to six weeks, so you can make it way before your next outdoor adventure.

Ahhh, a hot breakfast in the woods—there's nothing like it. These campfire pancakes are so easy to make, you'll wonder why you've been eating granola bars all this time. And the best part? The mix keeps for up to six weeks, so you can make it way before your next outdoor adventure.

BuzzFeed

  • 4 ½ cups flour
  • 3 tbsp baking powder
  • 2 tsp salt
  • 1 cup non-fat dry milk
  • 3 tbsp sugar
  • 1 cup shortening
  • 1 egg
  • 1 cup water
  1. Mix all ingredients except egg and water in a blender.
  2. Put 2 cups of mix in a 1 quart mason jar. This will store at room temperature for up to 6 weeks.
  3. In a bowl, mix the egg and water until well combined.
  4. Put the egg mixture in a mason jar. Refrigerate until you leave for your trip, then immediately transfer it to a cooler.
  5. When ready to cook, pour the egg mixture into the batter jar and shake vigorously until the batter is mixed and there are no lumps.
  6. Pour batter into a skillet over the campfire. Cook 5 minutes, flipping half way.

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