Hair
They say that hair holds stories, that the style is what makes a man.
They say long locks make you a pansy and a real man should have it short lest they be mistaken for a girl.
Where I grew up, every man buzzed their hair down.
It was a shame for it to be long and shaggy, and mothers would fuss over you, insisting upon a haircut.
For girls, it was fine.
They could have hair as long as they wanted or as short as they needed, so long as it wasnt buzzed as short as a man’s.
Being anything else just wasn’t a thing round these parts where churches chimed every sunday, pastors clammoring around resturants and filling their quotas in a single lunch.
So I buzzed mine.
I tried as hard as I could to seem as manly as possible
To appear as bull of a brute as any cowboy should.
I wore all the boy things and had all the short boy hair.
My scalp was sensitive anyways, so I thought it didn’t bother me.
It was better shorter.
Wasnt it?
I still gazed and clammored about the anime boys I saw on screen or in Otome games though.
I gushed about how pretty they were with hair down their backs like a silken curtain, or whipping wild through the air like the mane of a lion.
Legolas was never deemed as not manly enough
Beither was Zen or inuyasha or the undertaker.
A crush, I supposed.
Because of course thats all it was.
I was a gay little boy with gay little crushes and my type was men with long, Beautiful hair.
Right?
My hair was a dull, discolored brown from the shimmering blonde it used to be, the blonde I remember from kindergarten.
I tried to return to that blonde with bleach.
My school didnt allow unnatural colors, so anything was better than that matted, oily brown.
Shaved short and as platinum as a ken doll, I should have been as man as ever.
4 years, I stayed like that, and while the short hair was easy to take care of, I felt as hideous as a pile of sludge.
It didnt matter if I was loved for my looks, I supposed.
Wouldn’t that be too vain of me?
Boys weren’t supposed to care about what they looked like, they werent supposed to coo and admire Beautiful hair or seethe in jealousy that their sister looked so much better and has such long, goregous hair.
It wasn’t until after high school that I began to explore.
Covid let me grow my hair out more, though I still trimmed the sides.
I let my bangs grow long and shaggy over my face, like a veil to hide me from the world.
Eventually I dyed it again, this time going with that green I had always wanted to try, the one I had seen on my favorite youtuber growing up, fluffy and emerald.
Still, for years more, I kept it short. Only allowing that fringe to hover over me as some sort of style.
Recently though, I’ve realized I want that hair that those anime men had.
I want that soft curtain rolling down my back like waves of an ebony river, flecks of mossy green dotting it like a miasma of toxin flowing through the oily black stream.
I want the hair like the ring girl
The people around me are foolish and prudent to think the length of ones hair makes you more or less of a man.
I know that now, and I’m glad I do.
I want to stop pretending not to like things
21 notes
·
View notes
I am being bitchy about it, but I do think it’s sad that people from these groups are well aware that if anyone ever started a Controversy tm about them they’d lose their friends overnight. No one wants to risk standing up for someone if it means getting thrown under the bus with them. If I had to guess I’d say they keep trying to go after Wimsie because they’re frustrated that a lot of people genuinely like them as a person and they can’t do anything to change that. They’re not used to any pushback so it drives them crazy.
4 notes
·
View notes
it's so fucking frustrating to be in college and know everyone uses chatgpt and to be tempted by it constantly while also knowing intellectually that it doesn't work and it's a bad idea. like, i hang out in the library a lot, and i see people using chatgpt on assignments almost every day. and i know it isn't a good way to learn, because it's not really "artificial intelligence" so much as it is an auto text generator. and it gives you wrong information or badly worded sentences all the time. but every week i stare down assignments i don't want to do and i think man. if only i could type this prompt into a text generator and have it done in 10 minutes flat. and i know it wouldn't work. it wouldn't synthesize information from the text the way professors want, it wouldn't know how to answer questions, it just spits out vaguely related words for a couple paragraphs. but knowing my classmates get their work done in 10 minutes flat with it while i fight every ounce of attention deficit hyperactivity disorder in my body is infuriating.
31K notes
·
View notes
because sometimes there are invisible tests and invisible rules and you're just supposed to ... know the rule. someone you thought of as a friend asks you for book recommendations, so you give her a list of like 30 books, each with a brief blurb and why you like it. later, you find out she screenshotted the list and send it out to a group chat with the note: what an absolute freak can you believe this. you saw the responses: emojis where people are rolling over laughing. too much and obsessive and actually kind of creepy in the comments. you thought you'd been doing the right thing. she'd asked, right? an invisible rule: this is what happens when you get too excited.
you aren't supposed to laugh at your own jokes, so you don't, but then you're too serious. you're not supposed to be too loud, but then people say you're too quiet. you aren't supposed to get passionate about things, but then you're shy, boring. you aren't supposed to talk too much, but then people are mad when you're not good at replying.
you fold yourself into a prettier paper crane. since you never know what is "selfish" and what is "charity," you give yourself over, fully. you'd rather be empty and over-generous - you'd rather eat your own boundaries than have even one person believe that you're mean. since you don't know what the thing is that will make them hate you, you simply scrub yourself clean of any form of roughness. if you are perfect and smiling and funny, they can love you. if you are always there for them and never admit what's happening and never mention your past and never make them uncomfortable - you can make up for it. you can earn it.
don't fuck up. they're all testing you, always. they're tolerating you. whatever secret club happened, over a summer somewhere - during some activity you didn't get to attend - everyone else just... figured it out. like they got some kind of award or examination that allowed them to know how-to-be-normal. how to fit. and for the rest of your life, you've been playing catch-up. you've been trying to prove that - haha! you get it! that the joke they're telling, the people they are, the manual they got- yeah, you've totally read it.
if you can just divide yourself in two - the lovable one, and the one that is you - you can do this. you can walk the line. they can laugh and accept you. if you are always-balanced, never burdensome, a delight to have in class, champagne and glittering and never gawky or florescent or god-forbid cringe: you can get away with it.
you stare at your therapist, whom you can make jokes with, and who laughs at your jokes, because you are so fucking good at people-pleasing. you smile at her, and she asks you how you're doing, and you automatically say i'm good, thanks, how are you? while the answer swims somewhere in your little lizard brain:
how long have you been doing this now? mastering the art of your body and mind like you're piloting a puppet. has it worked? what do you mean that all you feel is... just exhausted. pick yourself up, the tightrope has no net. after all, you're cheating, somehow, but nobody seems to know you actually flunked the test. it's working!
aren't you happy yet?
46K notes
·
View notes