I saw a beautiful Instagram post on the Internet this weekend, wherein this extremely woke man, Robbie Tripp, praised his beautiful wife for having a body while congratulating his heart for finding that beautiful.
I was so touched by his devotion that I felt the need to pay tribute to my own boyfriend, whom I love passionately despite his being as obnoxious to be with as he is abhorrent to look at.
As a teenager, I was often teased by my friends for my attraction to boys with weak chins and receding hairlines, ones who were harrier and more pot-bellied, dudes that the average (basic) girl might refer to as “ugly” or “vomitus” or even “I think I saw that guy on America’s Most Wanted.” Then, as I became a woman and started to educate myself on issues such as hair conditioning and subatomic particle theory, I realized how the media glamorizes men by portraying them as being infinitely smarter and more powerful than women—and that’s just not the case. Take my boyfriend: he’s the weakest, stupidest P.O.S. to walk the earth. He can’t even do laundry or quote Chaucer. He doesn’t even know a single feminist writer: that’s how worthless he is.
But I love him! Oh, how I love him. For me, there’s nothing sexier than this overweight doofus with back hair right here: he’s got arms, legs, a face—all of it. His horrifying underbite might not be featured on the cover of GQ, but it’s the one featured in my life and in my heart. So what if he barely fills out two inches of his tighty whities? So what?
So many women think they need to fall in love with someone for a variety of reasons not pertaining to hair luster or penis size, and I’m telling you that’s not the case. Gals, rethink what society has told you to desire: a real man is not a male stripper or a postal worker or a Ford Taurus or a koala bear. He’s real. He has teeth sometimes, and ears, and fingers and toes, and beautiful stretch marks on his fifth nipple. A real man doesn’t have to treat you nice or be smart: he just has to tolerate you and maybe sometimes notice when you walk into a room.
Men, don’t ever fool yourself by thinking you have to fit a certain mold to be loved and appreciated. You don’t. There’s a woman out there who’s going to put up with your disgusting visage and your lazy heart because society’s bar is so low for you. Don’t try to understand the struggles of women both in the world and in your bed. Don’t bother feeling smug about your ability to love someone your peers deem “subpar”: women have been settling for less than they deserve since the dawn of time. Which is why eventually, you’ll find someone to love you like I love my Quasimodo. (JK: his name is Jeff, but I call him Quasi because… well, have you seen how ugly he is? He doesn’t even have a six-pack.)