What Do You Mean by “Manly”?

My quest to be like the other guys

Here’s a letter I sent (actually, it was an email) to Brett McKay, creator of Art of Manliness.com.

Brett,
I began listening to the “Art of Manliness” podcast several years ago. Since then, I’ve had friends invite me to the chat groups there, seen you in the movie, Mansome, shared your site blog with friends, and last week, heard you on a podcast.

SHORT QUESTION:
When you speak of “manliness” on your website, what context do you use that in? Are you speaking of modern definitions of manliness vs. classic definitions? Is it manliness vs. boyishness? Or is it being manly vs. effeminate? And if it’s a combination of those things (and others), which did you primarily have in mind when you started the original blog that became your website?

That’s the brief version of this email. I’d love an answer to just that if you have the time or interest. And if you care for more background on my question and how it applies to me, please read on.

LONGER VERSION:
I was raised with a dad who loved me but didn’t know how to connect with me — I felt different. I had four sisters several years older than me. I felt more comfortable indoors than outdoors. I didn’t like to get dirty. I didn’t measure up to the other boys — I was slower, weaker, much skinnier, and had almost no athletic aptitude. I listened and watched my sisters do girly things and became more familiar and comfortable with soft clothes and talking and watching movies and listening to music (as opposed to playing in the dirt, throwing rocks, competing, and following sports).

I didn’t want to fight and wrestle and compete and be uncomfortable.

Growing up, I remember wishing I were a girl because they had it so much easier — they could stay indoors where it was warm and clean, they got to wear more comfortable clothes, it was all right for girls to admire aesthetics and be observant, and they didn’t have to fight and wrestle and compete and be uncomfortable.

I am now married with two grown daughters (again with the girls!), and I’m very happy I’m male. I now think we have it much easier than women. At the same time, I still don’t see myself as a “man.” I’m definitely male, and I never wanted to dress in women’s clothes or be female. As a kid, I certainly saw myself as a “boy,” but I didn’t feel like I fit in, and my self-perception never settled in as being a “man.”

Now as I write this, I’m thinking there’s no way you’ll understand what I’m saying.

I have always perceived a “man” as being strong, big (bulky if not tall), hairy, deep voice, drawn to sports and cars, capable with home repair and auto mechanics, able to grow a decent beard, knowledgeable in politics and finance and football . . . and confident. A man is confident in his own manhood. He knows he’s a man (or just takes it for granted, like a fish doesn’t know what water is). His speech, his interactions, the way he carries his body, his disinterest in other men’s manliness . . . all of this comes naturally to him, and he’s not even aware of it. It just is.

All of that is what I’m not. Most people, upon meeting me, would not think I’m effeminate. But as they get to know me, many think I’m on that end of the spectrum (at least I think so). I’m the guy they ask if “those colors go together.” I’m not the guy they call to help someone move. I’m the music guy at church. I’m not the guy who gets invited to play football on Thanksgiving morning. I’m the guy they ask to make the presentation because I’m so articulate.

I don’t think I’ve ever said this (or written it), but I’m just as interested, fascinated, and curious about a guy’s body hair or thick beard as I was at age 12 when I noticed Gary Winter’s newly sprung thick pelt of fur on his lower legs. The fact that I grow hair on my face, legs, and armpits STILL seems new and different to me. This was an awkward paragraph to write — there’s NO WAY I’d say that out loud if you were sitting here with me.

And I know this is just WEIRD to any other guys — at least to the “manly men” I want to be like.

I just see men as being “other” than me, a species or class or fraternity that I don’t feel part of.

What I have wanted for a long time is to have a “manly man” take me under his wing, make me his brother, and know that I want what he takes for granted and doesn’t even know he has.

I realize this probably sounds like I’m from Mars to you. Can you relate at all?? Yes, I know you’re not a shrink and that I need professional help [again with the self-deprecation!]. I’m just tired of therapists who have wanted me to consider being gay or “transgendered” or “queer” or any of the other fashionable labels flying around. It’s just not like that with me! (and if that’s not politically correct enough, then I just don’t identify that way.)

You know, as I write this, I’m thinking of people with ‘body dysmorphic disorder’: the girl who, no matter how much weight she loses, still sees herself as fat, or the guy who, no matter how much muscle he puts on at the gym, still feels skinny. I sometimes see myself on video, and I see someone that’s actually masculine. I think, am I really that manly? Do I really come across masculine like that?

Brett, if you’ve read this far, thank you! I want so bad to be understood by another man. I don’t expect you to respond — you don’t know me from Adam, and why should you respond about a topic that you’ve likely never even thought of. I realize you can’t start corresponding with every whack job who creeps onto your website [more self-deprecation]. It does feel good to write this stuff out, though (some of it for the first time ever).

Best,
Tim

I still haven’t received an answer from Brett. I think, he’s just too busy to be bothered or this was too strange to respond to. I’ve felt weird for most of my life. Not in a gay or transgendered way, so I don’t want to hear how I need to accept and love myself.

I once had a friend who was terribly self-conscious over one of his pecs being larger than the other. I was dumbfounded when he shared this. He was really bothered by it. He had to stand perfectly straight for me to carefully look and see that, just maybe, after straining to see it, one of his pecs was indeed, slightly larger.

Telling him to simply accept the imbalance of his chest would have done no more to fix his obsession than it would to tell me to embrace “who I really am.”

Would it really help me to get affirmation from a real man’s man? Although I yearn for it, I question whether it would make a difference if some burly dude were to show concern, listen and understand, and be okay with putting his arm around my shoulders while we talk. I wonder if I’d feel part of the brotherhood if a buddy were to notice me checking out the hair on his chest and respond with a grin saying, “Awesome, huh? I love when someone admires my manly fur. You’re welcome to feel it if you want to!” In this fantasy, neither of us feel awkward, and I don’t divert my eyes in fear he’d think I’m gay. And it doesn’t feel sexual, but instead, he proudly shows off that chest hair just like he would a kick-ass car — both of those being examples of sharing mutual masculinity. [insert the Tim Allen grunt from Home Improvement]

It’s not like I’ve never tried to connect with men. I’ve even had sex with gay men. That resulted because I couldn’t risk approaching this kind of intimate closeness with a guy unless I was sure he’d be open to it. But even when I felt obligated to give him the sex he expected (and even let myself enjoy the sensation), the closeness I got never seemed to fill the hole I felt. The sex ruined the buddyship feeling I craved. I always regretted it (yeah, I went there more than once). I gave what the other guy wanted, but I didn’t get the emotional, welcoming, affirmative intimacy I sought (which had nothing to do with sex). I thought the only way I could get that from men was if they were already okay with male physical intimacy. That didn’t turn out so well for me.

So here I am sharing all of this publicly on Medium (albeit under a pseudonym — I still feel embarrassed for feeling this way and shame for having had sex outside my marriage). I’m not sure what I hope to gain from writing this. Maybe it’s just letting out what I normally keep hidden in the recesses of my mind. Maybe it’s hoping to find someone out there that can say, “Dude! I get it! I can totally identify!” If that happens, I’d love it! But maybe just one guy out there learning that he’s not alone could be worth posting this piece.

Maybe just one guy out there learning that he’s not alone could be worth posting this piece.

I remember one Saturday afternoon in my room at age 15 (this is something else I’ve never shared with anyone). The phone was in my room (on its 20' cord), and it rang. It was a guy who’d dialed a wrong number. But as soon as I told him so and hung up, I had an overwhelming sense of regret that I had not taken advantage of an opportunity to talk with another guy in a mutually anonymous way. I regretted that I had not said, “Hey, you don’t know who I am, and I don’t know who you are — would you tell me if you ever wonder if you measure up as a guy? Do you ever wonder how another dude’s dick is developing or how it’s different from yours? Do you ever compare yourself to how much other guys can lift or find yourself fascinated with how thick another dude’s facial hair is coming in?”

And in that fantasy conversation, I would have somehow asked all those questions and tons more in one simple sentence, and then he would have paused a bit before responding with, “Wow, yeah! I do think about that stuff. And I thought I was the only one! Maybe you and I aren’t so strange after all . . . ” and the fantasy just hangs there. It stays motionless while I drink it in.

Maybe, just maybe, I’m ok after all . . .