My "boy"—not my "friend"

I really enjoy being a man, but I don't really enjoy men. Let me explain.

If I were given a choice between being a woman or a man, I would choose man every time—specifically, a straight man—largely because I simply cannot fathom being attracted to men in any sort of intimate sense. Sometimes I get suggested these all-male healing group pages on Instagram, and I'll peek in to see what they're all about. Some of them really do seem positive, interesting, and well-meaning in their explorations of masculinity and healing as a man. And yet, I would rather die than spend any significant amount of time surrounded by men.

I'm aware that this cannot be a great thing.

After all, I am a man myself, so my disdain at the idea of being in the company of other men must be rooted in some sort of trauma or self-hatred, right?

I really don't think so.

I love myself fully and completely. The issue is, I don't see myself in the same way that I see other men—so I don't think my resistance to hanging out with men is rooted in a hatred of what men actually are (divine expressions in a human body that just so happens to have a penis)—but more so due to dissonance with what men are socially conditioned to be: dull, bland, one-dimensional, emotionally stunted beings who are really only good for fucking, fighting, and making money.

There have been several boys and men over the years who I've been close with, in the sense that I knew a lot about their external worlds and they knew a lot about mine—and I hope they aren't offended reading this post if they considered me to be their best friend. But I've never had a male friend who knew (or even showed a genuine interest in knowing) much about my internal world, and that's because I've never had a male friend who consciously shared with me that he was interested in his own internal world.

I've never had a male best friend because, in my opinion, we can't be best friends without emotional intimacy—and in my experience, both emotions and intimacy are things that most men do their very best never to be caught experiencing, especially by other men. I think this is because most men, especially in my community, are conditioned to base their masculinity on conquering, or otherwise asserting dominance over, other men. So to display vulnerability to a man who, despite what he says, may be interested in conquering you and taking what's yours seems—not just like a terrible idea—but also a kind of self-betrayal. From this perspective, being vulnerable with another man seems like the opposite of masculinity.

This is a major reason why men rarely introduce each other as friends. Instead, we'll say that's "my boy," or "my guy," or "my bro," or "the homie," or "my nigga," because saying that another man is your "friend" feels a little too sweet. Saying another man is your friend seems like an admission that you're vulnerable to this person. An admission that you care about this person enough that they're capable of hurting you. And for many of us men, that's an admission we're not comfortable making.

Brothers of Color

It seems to me that so much of homophobia is really just a projection of jealousy. Not jealousy that gay men get to have sex with other men and that straight men secretly want to too (though I'm sure that's the case in some instances, lol), but jealousy that gay men are not socially confined to the small, colorless boxes that so many straight men find ourselves trapped in. I mean—speaking of color, that's one thing that straight men aren't even allowed to fully experience and embrace.

A few weeks ago, I was playing basketball with a group of young guys I don't know that well. I was wearing a pink T-shirt, and my hoop shoes contained a variety of vibrant colors, pink included. Though it was completely unintentional—because the color sample was much closer to purple than pink—I accidentally painted my car what is essentially a hot-pink color back in 2020, after the original gray coat started fading and peeling badly. That hot-pink car was parked right beside the court where we were playing. Right before the next game started, the guy who was guarding me pointed to my car and said, "Is that yours?" I laughed, nodded, and replied, "What gave it away—my shirt or my shoes?"

I could see the judgment and confusion in his eyes. Not necessarily negative judgment, but more of a sizing-up, trying to understand what I am. On one hand, I was out there competing with the rest of the guys and was honestly giving him quite the time having to guard me—so it wasn't like I was some weak pushover. But on the other hand, I wasn't just wearing pink on my shirt and shoes—I had also painted my car pink, which meant I must really like pink or be trying to make some kind of statement about my identity.

I feel like he was really confused because I don't display many of what I would consider feminine mannerisms—at least that I'm aware of. So it was like he couldn't simply dismiss me as "gay," as he might have done with other men—and yet it didn’t make sense to him how I could boldly have so much pink in my life otherwise, lol. What was both surprising and dismaying was the fact that he couldn't seem to fathom that I could be a straight man—just like I assume he was—who just so happens to like the color pink. It was like his brain simply could not compute what he was witnessing.

And why is that? Is it because boys are born into the world knowing they're only supposed to like dark blue, black, red, some shades of green, and gray? Is it because the God of the Universe commanded that boys are strictly forbidden from enjoying the color pink? Of course not. It's because somewhere along the way, someone told them that pink is a "girl color"—because somewhere along the way, they were told the same thing.

Believe it or not, once upon a time in the not-so-distant past, pink was considered more of a boy color because of its proximity to red, a color thought to be masculine. But even back then, people didn't see colors as gendered in the same way we do now. Based on my research the association of color with gender really started to take root in America in the early 1900s, when retailers attempted to boost sales by color-coding infants' clothing. But even then, there was no hard rule that pink was for girls and blue was for boys. Still, we can thank capitalism for creating yet another useless, unnecessary, and ultimately harmful ideology in society.

Ironically, I've been told that one of the things women like most about my style is how colorful my clothes are. But what I've learned about modern masculinity is that it has nothing to do with being more desirable to women; conversely, it's about appearing more attractive to—or at least more acceptable to—other men. Modern masculinity is meant to appeal to men first and foremost, and this is clearly contributes to the divide between men and women at the present.

True Kings Sit On Their Thrones

I have a confession to make that I'm sure will bring a lot of judgment from men and even some women...

...I've been pretty much exclusively sitting down to pee for the past couple of years. I know, I know. How could I? How dare I forsake one of the greatest privileges of being male and betray my fellow men in the process.

Well, I started doing this for one reason, and I continue to do it for one reason and one reason only:

Because I'd grown sick and tired of my toilet smelling like piss!

Don't get me wrong—peeing standing up is easily one of the best parts about being a man, and I still enjoy this liberty whenever I'm in a public bathroom, at a urinal, out in the woods, or using some other toilet that I'm not personally responsible for cleaning.

But the fact of the matter is, no matter how good your aim is, it's damn near impossible to piss standing up and not have drops and particles from the stream land on the toilet rim or, even worse, the floor. It doesn't take long at all for those pee particles to accumulate and for your toilet to start reeking. And I just got tired of my toilet reeking.

In saying it out loud, this shouldn't even be something that's difficult to confess—but to many men, and some women, a man doing anything traditionally thought of as feminine, like sitting to pee, is incredibly taboo. What's bizarre is that men pee sitting down when we poop anyway—so it's not like I'm doing anything that isn't already being done.

The idea that men shouldn't sit down to pee is just another one of those silly-ass, arbitrary-ass ideas about what a "real" man is supposed to do, like not wearing the color pink. And just like the rest of the silly-ass ideas gatekeeping modern masculinity, it's completely meaningless—based far more in the fragility of the male ego than in any sort of reality.

I'm not "taking the piss" when I say that these sorts of ideas commonly held by men are the main reason I've found it so difficult to have a male best friend. I can only truly be friends with fellow free folk—otherwise, it's only a matter of time before my freedom starts to threaten their identity. And because my personal brand of masculinity is a reflection of self-expression rather than societal conformity, I feel that I can only have a male best friend who has also liberated himself from the chains of social expectations.

Logically, I know that not all men are wired this way. Logically, I know that, just like me, all men experience the full spectrum of emotions—regardless of how good they've gotten at hiding or suppressing those emotions. Logically, I know that the rejection of intimacy and femininity is really just a projection of the pain of loneliness—a projection of how incredibly lonely it is to be expected to keep all but a handful of "acceptable" emotions to ourselves. A projection of how incredibly painful it is to never truly feel seen or known beyond the surface.

"Friend" is one of those words that everyone knows, everyone says, and yet is still very difficult to define. I've felt that many of my past female romantic partners were my "best friend" while we were together, but those best friendships only lasted as long as our romantic connection did. I do think it's entirely possible for the opposite sex to be friends, and to be honest, most of my closest friendships are still with women. But I also think there are certain things that women can't fully relate to in regard to the male experience—and vice-versa—and this is why the idea of having a true, lasting, and emotionally intimate relationship with a man still sounds appealing to me.

What all humans crave more than physical closeness is emotional closeness, and I feel comfortable asserting this because emotions are closer to the center of our being than anything in the external world. So, in order to truly feel close to another being, we not only have to have some sort of emotional intimacy with them but also emotional compatibility. And because modern masculinity seems to be founded upon the rejection of emotions, the odds of me finding a male friend with whom I'm emotionally compatible seems far-fetched.

To be completely honest, I'm sure there are things within myself that still need healing before I can have this sort of friendship with a man, and I'm definitely committed to uncovering what those blockages might be. I will certainly remain open to having a male best friend someday, but for now, being my own best friend is going to have to be enough.

What's Going On With Me?

So, I've been cycling consistently for about 3 years now and yesterday I experienced my first crash! I was approaching a stop sign—which I usually run—but this car had reached the intersection a little before I did so I decided to stop and give them their right of way. The driver of the car saw me and while I was braking, I took one hand off of the handlebars to wave him on and simultaneously, accidentally squeezed my front brake lever a little too hard and subsequently went flying over my handlebars, lol.

I saw my whole life flash before my eyes and just knew that I was going to be fucked up. I've been healing a wrist injury for some months now and immediately felt heart broken that all my progress was going to be reversed since I used my hands to break my fall. But after the initial shock was over, I was extremely surprised to find that I was largely unscathed—the only thing that was truly damaged was my pride. I mean, I landed pretty hard on the road but didn't even break the skin on either of my hands—just a little bruising. And that was pretty much the extent of my injuries. I still have all my teeth. My bike is fine. My wrists are a little sore today but not nearly as bad as I assumed, nor do I feel like the healing of my original wrist injury was undone by my fall.

I'm sharing this because I feel like we all do everything in our power to never "crash" in life out of fear of how badly we might be injured—but I've learned that fate is inescapable. The crash I had yesterday could have been SO much worse. There could have been a car behind me that didn't stop in time and ran me over. I could have broken both of my wrists or knocked some teeth out. I didn't have my helmet on so I could have landed on my head and gotten brain damage. But none of those things happened. Not because I'm lucky or blessed but because on that particular day, I was not fated to be seriously injured. Perhaps on another day, I will be. But what's interesting is that I somehow feel more fearless about riding my bike after this crash. It's kinda like I've already gotten it out of the way now.

While it's never pleasant to fall on the ground, it simply reminded me that I've felt the ground many times before. And I've gotten up before. And if I crash again, then I will simply get back up again—regardless of how long it might take. One of my favorite parts of life is defying gravity but if we're going to fly, we must be willing to fall—and even more willing to dare to fly again.

With love,

Micheal Sinclair 💜