Let’s get one thing straight (a double meaning word choice in this instance): “men” who use Pinterest are under strong suspicion of having a vagina. While the Williamsburg “male” tends to think himself exempt from the normal rules of masculinity, it is a widely known fact that the only type of “man” who uses this “platform” isn’t going to go anywhere near a labia anytime soon.
Nothing you “pin” will ever be masculine
No amount of Clint Eastwood images from the 70s or “fashionable” business suits (which are probably from Zara) are going to make you using Pinterest seem any more masculine. Leave the coveting of material you can’t afford to the woman you should be buying it for. You, on the other hand, should be putting your curation skills to better use, preferably by creating a romantic artistic homage to your girlfriend using every possible medium (except finger painting. Finger painting is for children and mental patients.).
One supposes that it’s understandable for the so-called masculine “man” to be uncomfortable with lengthy hugs–or hugging at all. In his mind, it’s a sign of weakness–the mark of a pussy, not a dick. This is an egregious error on the part of the “man” who feels that in evading embraces, he is somehow proving his machismo.
A tap hugger, no doubt
Even worse than the evasive male hugger, however, is the kind who taps you (usually approximately two times to indicate he’s over it and you need to let go) to conclude his flaccid hug. But when one is flaccid in dick (that’s really just a nub), what’s to be expected? The mark of a true “man,” however, is one who isn’t afraid of the long hug–one who doesn’t abruptly end it for fear of the expression of emotion that’s manifested in a meaningful physical way.
The Williamsburg aesthetic thrives on harboring thin “men” who wear tank tops to show off their meticulously chosen tattoos. To make the look even worse, these “men” are often extremely pale and untoned. While the tides may have turned in favor of women possessing a rail figure as opposed to a zaftig one, the preference for a more muscular male body has always been in vogue.
The thin “man”
Thus, it’s a little unclear as to why this North Brooklyn ilk got it into their heads that they could single-handedly alter the timeless trend in the male physique. And, to make matters worse for themselves, they like to talk about how they can eat just about anything without ever gaining weight. If you want any chance of landing a bird, at least don’t talk about how easy it is for you to stay thin. Moreover, the more bulk you have, the more likely the sex you’re able to offer will be enjoyable to the woman who isn’t fearful of crushing you with her body by getting on top (because we all know Os are rarely achievable on bottom).
In spite of the fact that there are more women in the workforce than “men” right now, it is still an abominable reality that they are paid less. To make matters more unjust, the tendency “men” have toward cheapness is another irksome detail women must deal with when going out with or dating them.
Hoard your money, never get laid
“Men,” who are content to eat slop, will pay $5 on a shitty Oasis falafel over paying, say, $15 for pizza from Fornino (as we all know, pizza encompasses far more nutritional food groups). They will also wear the same plaid shirt they’ve had since junior high as opposed to spending money on something stylish from Rick Owens. Though, of course, they don’t mind accepting lavish gifts of such a nature–they lap up luxury so long as they don’t have to pay for it. The truth is, a “man” cheap in wallet is a “man” cheap in soul. It’s not about being poor. It’s about having money and being stingy with it–hoarding it like goddamn Mr. Burns (you know he’s missing a dick on his yellow groin area). Ponder this next time you take your woman du jour to Vanessa’s.
In the modern world, falling into the category of “hipster dad” is relatively easy–and dangerous. Being “into” trends and dressing like you’ve never advanced past the age of twenty-five are all key telltale signs to determining whether or not you’re bringing shame to the original dad moniker.
Not qualified to be a dad
Apart from the fact that the spawn of hipster dads are generally treated more like accessories than entities to impart any sort of wisdom upon, it is a disgrace to forefathers of dadhood who previously instilled the fear of god in children with their disciplinarian ways. “Discipline daddies,” to borrow a term from Arrested Development, would never feed their children crème fraîche or send them to a charter school before the age of five or pay for a charter school of any kind. In the glory dads of fatherhood, a child was content to accept what was given and not demand clothing from somewhere like Sweet William Ltd. Because of these dads, the world is soon to be faced with an extremely lily-livered and incapable population. So this Father’s Day, think about what your own self-satisfaction in being a hipster dad is doing to the future of humanity.
Missing A Dick
PBR has long been the official beer of the Williamsburg “man.” To try to change that by switching to the now chicer cheapo brew, “‘Gansett,” is a blatant attempt at masking one’s lack of genitalia over drinking cheap beer that tastes like piss in the first place.
The new PBR in Williamsburg
The moniker that’s been so dicklessly given to Naragansett is, one assumes, an attempt to make it sound edgier, or quite simply an indication of the average “man’s” lust for monosyllabic caveman speak. While Naragansett is admittedly a step up in the taste realm, “men” of Williamsburg can’t conceal their long history of sucking down PBR with glee. Once missing a dick, always missing a dick–especially if you’re categorized as being among “price-sensitive beer drinkers at hip Brooklyn bars.”
If you’re not familiar with 90s Fest, you’re either a) too young to care or b) in possession of a dick. For those who don’t know, it’s a music festival happening on September 12th in Williamsburg featuring artists that anyone with taste would prefer to forget they ever listened to twenty-five years ago. This includes Coolio, Smash Mouth, Tonic and Lisa Loeb and leaves Naughty By Nature and the remnants of Blind Melon as the only bearable auditory offerings. Not only does it speak to the very core of impure hipster nostalgia lust and all that’s annoying about it, it also dredges up Pauly Shore. That’s right, he’s hosting the event.
You want to put this into your body? Has your dick not eroded enough already?
Tickets ain’t cheap either. With the lowest tier starting at $60 and the highest being $150 (they’re “VIP”), you’d not only have to be a rich dickless “man” with money to waste in order to go, but you’d also have to be a rich dickless “man” lacking any self-respect. Really? You’re going to listen to Smash Mouth and drink Crystal Pepsi voluntarily?–as in for enjoyment? This is what makes a map of the vagina look like angry satan. It’s the sheer breadth of your dicklessness.
Short of being a sumo wrestler, there’s very little excuse for the “man” who fashions his hair into a bun–what is colloquially referred to as a “man” bun. Even though there is no such thing as a “man” bun, the Williamsburg ilk are all too fond of trying to make it real–especially as the dog days of summer approach.
Fabio didn’t put his long locks into a bun, neither should you
To begin with, a “man” should not have long enough hair to be able to even use a rubber band to put it up in. The only “man” allowed to have long hair is Jesus and Fabio, and you didn’t see them putting their hair up in buns, now did you? So take a cue from those celestial chaps and chop your bun off the way your dick long ago was.
Lana Del Rey may be a sucker for a “man” who likes his video games, but if you’re dealing with a woman who doesn’t wear New York Yankees dresses, chances are, she’s not going be to be into your obsession with an alternate reality. Considering the plethora of options in the video game world (we’ve come a long way from the simplicity of Super Mario Bros.), a “man’s” propensity for entering virtual k-holes is much higher–and causes a far greater chance for a low libido.
Women don’t expect much of “men” these days (how can they when most “men” don’t work?), but they do expect regular and zesty sex. And the “man” who plays video games full-time cannot provide that. He would, instead, prefer to engage with the women in his video game. A porn addiction would almost be more bearable because at least she can try to get involved in it. With video games, all a woman gets is ennui and carpal tunnel.
In one of many iconic scenes in Empire Records, Corey (Liv Tyler) has a meltdown after her best friend, Gina (Renee Zellweger), calls her out for being a speed freak in front of everyone they work with. Subsequently, Corey starts freaking the fuck out, especially after her manager, Joe (Anthony LaPaglia), tries to calm her down by saying, “It’ll be fine.” Corey then starts knocking shit over and raging, “No! It’s not going to be fine! Nothing’s ever fine!”
The touch that spurs on more anger
It is every woman’s right to scream in a flurry of frustration. When a “man” tries–whether from a good place or not–to quell her anger, it merely serves to fan the flames. The best course of action is to allow her the luxury of seething, occasionally bringing her food or water as she endures the all-consuming bitterness of being alive. When you touch her shoulder or pat her condescendingly, it’s like saying, “Suppress your feelings ’cause it’s making me uncomfortable.” But you have to deal with the discomfort if you want the pussy.