Victorian Men. Ha.

signed, Anonymous
Jul 24, 2017 · 1 min read

i was on the phone with a brilliant man. he’s a great friend, and a remarkable thinker so he’s naturally full of gems when we wax poetic about startups, men, and often some random philosophy or theory. we debate like we are repping opposing high-schools, as chubby nerds with social awkwardness and 160+ IQs would have done, while at lunch in 1989. it’s fun. but most of the time, he’s blowing me away with conceptualizing and humanizing experiences most people in our lives can’t comprehend because they’re on line at Starbucks, Snapchatting their mocha, and we’re sitting here talking about race, politics, and poker. players that is.

he says, “since when was it okay for a man to say ‘it’s not you, it’s me’? certainly not in the victorian age where men had a higher calling to real chivalry — a time when swooning a woman from the ground beneath her window meant as much as a first dance to a live quartet. bumble was a sound. twitter was a silly person in the UK. and facebook was what a face-powder holder was called. think i’m bluffing?

men nowadays think it’s totally ok to be emotionally torn down and blaming their broken childhoods for their inability to commit to relationships and/or actually be in-love with someone. a victorian man would have beat his chest, dueled with his cousin, and written with a feather pen and ink made of ostrich blood his damn undying love for that woman; not just send her a text message. le sigh.

signed, Anonmous

signed, Anonymous

Written by

she’s got a heavy heart, a messy soul, a reckless mind, and i think it’s beautiful the way she carries herself. — sean bates

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