To be honest, it’s bad enough when women shop at Forever 21. But more unforgivable still is when men do it. I mean, do you really need to buy that Nirvana tee from there, of all places? Even Urban Outfitters would be less offensive. Plus there’s an Urban Outfitters right by your condo if you live in Williamsburg.
Is this really the fashion statement you want to make to the world?
Moreover, if you live in Williamsburg, why are you worried about cost-conscious clothing? You should be paying $280 for a Paul Smith shirt, not $14.80 for something tacked together with children’s blood and string. So next time you’re at F21 “with your girlfriend,” maybe think twice about perusing the “men’s” section.
When you’re living in your condo, using a waffle iron to make waffles and wooing post-one night stands the morning after, it’s probably very likely that you’re the type of “man” who owns a bathrobe. Whether it is crafted from terrycloth or silk is of no consequence, a bathrobe on a “man” is always both frivolous and ridiculous.
“Men” who can barely function wear bathrobes
The one so-called acceptable “man” who has ever made a bathrobe work for himself is Hugh Hefner. And no one takes him seriously. To wear a bathrobe as a “man” screams either 1) you’re extremely depressed or 2) you’re trying too hard to “live the lifestyle.” Bottom line: the only thing a “man” should be wearing around the house is his underwear. Otherwise, he can dress his ass for company, not don a bathrobe.
The disappointment one feels in “men” is seemingly boundless until you read your first Shakespeare play and realize that the imaginary “men” created by the lauded Brit are far more appealing than the types you encounter off the page and off the stage.
The Shakespearean-created “man” goes out of his way to show he cares
Even the most forgettable of characters, like Seyton in Macbeth, have more interesting things to say than your average male (in Seyton’s case, it’s: “The queen, my lord, is dead.”). They’re attentive, into–even obsessed with–you and, most notably, willing to die for you. Can any of this be said for the modern “man”? Fuck no.
In Williamsburg, it’s very important to see and be seen. I suppose that’s part of the appeal for some “men” to frequent Videology in order to watch Game of Thrones when they could just as well wait until the next goddamn morning to watch it on the internet.
But alas, Videology has been singled out by the HBO corporation for showing one of its properties in a public place. This abrupt cutting off of the Williamsburg “man’s” metaphorical dick by cutting off his Game of Thrones supply may lead to all-out warfare on the streets of Bedford. Other bars that still show the adapted series are liable to start competing hard to curry favor with the displaced Videology crowd. This might include the offer of free salted artisanal nuts with every craft beer ordered, as well as bartenders dressed like Daenerys Targaryen.
Alright, so by now we all know that 4/20 is like a way important national holiday or whatever and needs to be honored by select Travis Birkenstock types who can’t just smoke on normal days like a proper stoner. With this being accepted, what one cannot abide is the “man” who takes it too far and gets so blunted he’s goddamn comatose.
Travis Birkenstock, stoner god
As Cher Horowitz would say, “It is one thing to spark up a doobie and get laced at parties, but it is quite another to be fried all day.” And while, sure, this is the entire point of 4/20, have at least an iota of self-control. You’re a Williamsburg denizen for fuck’s sake. Act like you have the perceived class that goes with it. Weed is, after all, a plebe’s drug. At least spring for something designer, namely amphetamines–Jordan Belfort-style.
As Missing a Dick has iterated many times before, there are some things in this life that are very gender-specific. Try as we might to veer away from this sort of specificity in the twenty-first century, you can’t eradicate an ages old indoctrination. One of the things that unambiguously belongs to women is taking selfies.
“Men” who take selfies may or may not have Narcissistic Personality Disorder
A “man” who takes a selfie may or may not be suffering from Narcissistic Personality Disorder and is most assuredly missing a dick. The difference between a woman doing it and a “man” doing it is quite simply this: women are supposed to be obsessed with their looks. Their entire genetic code is founded on attracting others via appearance. All “men” have to do, on the other hand, is eat pussy, buy an occasional trinket and be able to form a string of sentences known as a conversation. Selfie-taking, therefore, does not compute in the equation of masculinity.
When you’ve fallen into the twentieth century trap of domesticity because you’re just trying to afford rent in Williamsburg and the best way to do it is by getting wifey’d up, you tend to notice a plethora of inequities between what you do versus what the “man” in your relationship does.
Even accompanying a “man” to the grocery store to show him how it’s done results in minimal equity
One of these inequities usually tends to be grocery shopping. While “men” are liable to grab a few basic and/or rando items by the armful and get the fuck out, women carefully consider the shit they throw into their cart (because, yes, a cart is required for bona fide grocery shopping). Her attention to detail also means that she is spending way more money than the “man” she’s with, proving, once again, that women give way more fucks than “men” on both the emotional and financial front.
Flakery (and fuckery) is a common trait in the twenty-first century male. More often than not the average “man” will make plans with no intention of follow-through. He merely agrees to them as a means for placation or to not come across as the dick that he is/mask the dick that he doesn’t have.
The plight of dealing with the flaky “man”
When you’re dealing with a “man” of this nature, it’s best to endure the flakery no more than three times in a row, and then cut off all communication (since you can’t cut off a wang that isn’t there). The more you indulge a “man” who makes false plans, the more he’s liable to do it to other women in the future. And if he can’t be bothered to follow through in life, then he surely won’t be bothered to follow through in bed.
No matter how quote unquote far away we get from sexism, the fact is, a “man” will always be able to instantaneously lash a woman verbally by dubbing her a bitch if she says anything that he construes as too opinionated.
For as simple and cliche of an insult as it is, it consistently proves to be effective in cutting a female down to size. Although women have done their best to appropriate the B word much the way black people have done with the derisive N word (e.g. “bad bitch,” “hey bitch,” “betch,” etc.), the fact remains that the none too pleasant epithet is the best bet a “man” has for demeaning a woman he wants to quell. Particularly if he adds the adjective “raging” in front of it.
In an ideal world, a non-dickless “man” would genuinely listen to what a woman was saying, respond with a thoughtful counterpoint that didn’t make her feel like shit and not resort to calling her a name in order to make her seem like she’s being overly “emotional” or “angry” in expressing an opinion that is antithetical to what he thinks. But then, if this were an ideal world, there wouldn’t be a condo & corporate explosion in Williamsburg.
“Men,” for all intents and purposes, are auxiliary components set against the backdrop of women. Their muted, uniform personality is always far less interesting and complex than a woman’s. That’s why it’s so unclear as to why they have this strange, unfounded belief that they are the superior gender.
“Men” should be seen and not heard–or maybe not even seen in this case
As stated previously on Missing A Dick, this is by no means to say that women are without their folly and annoying qualities (see: critical essay “Every Woman Is Madame Bovary” in The Opiate). However, “men” need to seriously check themselves if they think they have anything to offer other than money and, if they’re lucky, an orgasm. I mean, what is it with them? Why do they think they’re so incredible when they barely even have the capacity to form a coherent sentence most of the time?