On Bodies

OR A Battle Between Working With What You Have and Idolizing What You Don't... And Losing

CW: Discussions of various mental health-related topics, and some of it gets a bit dark. You have been warned.

    This is a Bear Pride flag hanky. There is no formal meaning of a Bear Pride flag in hanky code terms, and while some may see the trees and not the forest (which considering the colors on the Bear Pride flag is... interesting,) I've personally took it to mean, at least in the right pocket, to suggest an interest in Bears. 

    I don't remember exactly when the switched flipped, but as I was starting to realize I was into wrestling, I began to gravitate towards the burlier, the bulkier, the manlier men. Guys like Stan Hansen, Arn Anderson, A-Train. The hairier and beefier the better. As I made my way to Tumblr, turns out the Gays™ had a term for this type of man: Bears. Combined with my fascination with Leather, cigars, etc. a picture began to form of the type of men I was attracted to. I never really looked at bodies like mine the same way. Maybe if they were significantly older, but certainly no one within the ballpark of my age; perhaps if kink was involved they'd get a head turn but they would always be overshadowed by the hirsute and burly.

    But for me "Bear" goes beyond just a turn-on, it's also an aspiration.

    A YouTube creator I thoroughly enjoy known as ContraPoints produced a video essay on the concept of envy, and at work one day I heard an excerpt I didn't remember hearing the last time I was listening to it (you can listen to the specific clip here but the whole essay is solid,) and I had to take a step back and digest what I had heard. She observes how envy can manifest particularly in those who are attracted to the same sex, which she illustrates with a pair of questions: "Do I want you? Or do I want to be you?"

    Yes. The answer is yes.

    Now, I can remember looking at the men in my Tumblr feed through that lens of aspiration. I wanted it not only in my life, but wanted for myself, if that word vomit makes any sense. I wanted to be like them, in a way. And perhaps that lens was... untainted (a great word choice in the land of the kinky,) because once I stepped into the "real world," attending events, meeting people, not just engaging with kink and gay life virtually but physically, something changed. And things got bad. My Twitter feed would be covered in guys I found incredibly attractive, doing things I could only hope to do, wearing gear I could only dream of pulling off as well, and when it came time to share social space with many of these men I were attracted to, it was as if I didn't exist (not helped by my debilitating shyness in public and my constant anxiety of encroaching where I'm not wanted, especially as a boy, but I digress.) Even with those I had talked to previously, whether online or at other events, the best I got were quick pleasantries and water cooler conversations, and I would leave these interactions feeling dejected and worse about myself.

    And so we now turn to my body, or rather, the way I perceive it. The inbred offspring of a high school senior and the broom he keeps in the closet for kissing practice. A physical form that'd be clocked as jailbait from afar saved merely by a positive tidal shift in the war of attrition between my facial hair and my diminishing patience. I look at myself in the mirror and on a good day I have the same expression I give to the Victoria's Secret models posing in lingerie: perhaps an acknowledgement of conventional attraction, but underscored by complete indifference.

    And while the folks I find myself around have made tiny jabs in jest about my size (no, I will not crawl under the damn table to get to the empty seat,) or about how I look like a kid, most will vehemently disagree with my personal analysis. And, well, they're not wrong. I get to play from time to time, I've received kind words about my body and gear. In the grand scheme of things, I'm about as average as they come, even if my BMI is barely of legal drinking age (as if anyone cares about BMIs anymore.) No one is, at least not blatantly or in front of me, actively shaming my body. But one of the things I want to try and acknowledge is while they may find me attractive, I'm about as far from my type as you can get with my 5/10 beard and hairy-ish lower body being saving graces. None of them have to live with this body, see it in the mirror every day, like I do.

    If I had a gun to my head and was told to describe myself via Gay Zoology (a term I just came up with and will be copyrighting so watch out,) in spite of such terminology being convoluted and perhaps a bit diluted I'd say "the uncanny valley between cub and twink;" too svelte for cub status but not quite a twink (although I'm sure some would beg to differ because if #twinkdeath was any indication, no one really knows what a twink is.) While, sure, I could be an otter some day, I'd still loathe my lack of bulk. And despite how often I've heard the adage "Bear is a state of mind" (I even polled about it and a majority agreed with the sentiment,) I have a sinking feeling that if I were to identify as such, I'd become the Gay Internet's Villain of the Day, more specifically the Bear Internet's Villain of the Day. After all, how dare some skinny boy try to appropriate our title? Perhaps "bear trapped in an average body" would be applicable? I don't know, I don't make the rules.

    I also acknowledge that I'm young, that I'm "still growing," but I don't know how much longer I can go living in a body I despise, or, hell, even if there's even a possibility of an alternative to what I have now. If I was told tomorrow by someone, a medical professional, prophet, time traveler, anyone that knew what my body was capable of, that I would never be able to get to that point of bodily satisfaction, I genuinely, earnestly do not know how I'd live with myself.

    I don't know what it is. Is it body dysmorphia? I don't know, because instead of these drastic behavioral changes that, at least to my NOT A DOCTOR analysis, seem fairly core to such a diagnosis, I just don't have, I'm too busy rotting in my bed most days to shove food down my throat or vigorously work out out of fear that all of that would be for nothing. Is it depression? Maybe, not like I've really ever had spectacular self esteem, or a lack of anxiety, etc. 

    But should I be complaining? Hell in the grand scheme of things I'm sure the experience of gender dysphoria has to be destructive compared to "boo hoo the average-looking white boy has issues with his pesky lil body." In a culture that is relentless towards those without chiseled abs to the point where major gay fashion brands are now trying to undo the mess they themselves created, what do I have to bitch about? I don't have enough digits to count the number of times guys have said something to the effect of "if I could give you some of my weight I would" or "I wish I had that problem." We all, whether in the past or at current, struggle with the way we see ourselves, but in spite of  where my heart lies I feel like I'd look more in place at a circuit party with the twinks in jocks than I would at Lazy Bear Week or TBRU. I should be happy with the body I have and yet here I am, loathing and longing. It's a battle between working with what I have and idolizing what I don't...  and I'm losing.

To Leather, love, and living truthfully,

-TNS