Man in pink pussyhat showing solidarity at the Women’s March, January 2018
Be a tough guy. Play with Tonka trucks, toy guns, and G.I. Joes when you’re a kid. Have the know-how to be a Mr. Fix-it when you grow up. Get your hands dirty. Drink beer. Watch football. Play violent video games. If you have kids, be the disciplinarian. Take the driver’s seat when you cart your family around and definitely don’t ask for directions no matter how lost you are. Play it cool. Hide your feelings. And, above all, never let anyone see you cry.
That’s the message we males get from our androcentric culture from the earliest stages of our lives. Those are the things tough guys do.
I’m here to tell you that being a real tough guy is totally different. By these definitions, I definitely don’t qualify as a “tough guy” in the traditional sense of the word.
But in fact, in my opinion, tough guys do cry. Real men cry. Real men know who they are and what they want. They tell it like it is and live their own truth.
The last time I had a major depressive episode was ten years ago, and I cried every day for a year, oftentimes for no reason at all. Sometimes I sobbed and other times I cried hysterically. Sticking it out and not committing suicide despite the horror I experienced every day is about as tough as it gets, even though I didn’t adhere to all the predefined “tough guy” qualities.
Thankfully, that tide seems to be turning. In the wake of #MeToo and Trump, the definition of masculinity is changing. Today, real men respect women. They go to the women’s march. They vote for female candidates. They don’t brag about grabbing women “by the pussy,” like our president did on that hot mic on the Access Hollywood tape.
I’m gay. There are stereotypes that go along with that, too: All gay men must worship Lady Gaga, Florence + The Machine, and Madonna. All gays go to gay bars. All gays must go to the gym every day and have a hard-as-rock gym body, complete with six-pack.
I don’t fit into any of those stereotypes either, although I do count myself as a Madonna fan. (The early stuff. Wink.) What can I say? I had an older sister in the ‘80s.
I would even go so far as to call myself an unabashed feminist. I believe that women should be treated equally in all aspects of life. I believe in a woman’s right to choose.
Kathleen Hannah at Pitchfork 2015. Photo by Conor Bezane.
I idolize Portland musician Kathleen Hannah, singer of the riot grrrl group Bikini Kill and current singer of The Julie Ruin. Riot grrrl was a movement of powerful women in rock ‘n’ roll that started in the Pacific Northwest in the early ‘90s and Hannah was its poster child, a feminist icon and genius woman of punk rock. And I admire her because she is infiltrating the social norms and constructs of what it means to be male or female. When they said girls don’t rock, Kathleen Hannah rocked and screamed louder than most guys on the radio or MTV. When they said you can’t be a punk while wearing a skirt, she defied them with every shake of her pink-skirted rump with pigtails to boot.
These days, more and more people are embracing non-binary identities. That means, people who don’t believe they are masculine or feminine per se, but on the contrary, a combination of both. Some of them would refer to themselves as queer.
The queer / genderfluid movement reminds me of the Britpop band Blur’s 1994 song “Girls and Boys.” The lyrics go:
Girls who are boys / who like boys to be girls / who do boys like they’re girls / who do girls like they’re boys / always should be someone you really love
The liberating chorus was quite avant-garde for its time.
I’m not about to pick up a chainsaw or get into a barroom brawl any time soon. I gave up beer and all alcohol years ago. I’m not afraid to be vulnerable. Yet, I am a man, in the truest sense of the word.
I’m telling you to be a real man. Don’t be afraid to cry or get emotional. Like what you want regardless of what you’re “supposed” to like. Liberate yourselves from the social constructs. Be tough. Really tough — in the newest sense of the word. Like my psychiatrist always tells me: “There is no should.”
