"Don't hate me because I'm beautiful."
I wonder how many people on the planet can say that and mean it. That would take quite a bit of self-confidence. You would need to be in love with yourself. I'm not talking the "you need to love yourself before others can love you" type of love. I'm talking "if I could find a way to clone myself and fuck me, I would." SIDENOTE: If anyone discovers how to do this, I would love to watch. Because I'm a pervert.
The fact is, most people have some form of bodily dissatisfaction. Once we grow out of infanthood and look around, we are at once bombarded with images of so-called perfect bodies and we become instantly aware that WE are not like THEM. At least, I did.
When I was younger, I became obsessed with the models in the "International Male" catalogue, as embarrassing as that is. There was one issue I remember where the cover image was a beautiful man's face. He doesn't know it to this day, but he gave me a great BJ. I laid that magazine on my bed, and...well, you get the point. So did he. OH! Score!
When I first saw the Calvin Klein cologne ad with a sexy naked man being carried on the shoulder of another sexy naked man with a KILLER ass, it was masturbation material for months. I also had stacks of workout and bodybuilding magazines, some more embarrassing to purchase ("Exercise For Men Only", though I'm not certain that counts as a "fitness" magazine) than others (Muscle & Fitness). And so my obsession with obtaining the unobtainable began.
And it is unobtainable, this perfect body. There is not a bodybuilder alive who will ever get to where he/she wants to be. There is not a model alive who will ever think he or she is as beautiful as they are portrayed. Perfection is a myth and our culture thrives on it. We spend oodles of cash on things that promise to make us younger or more beauiful and in this way the world keeps going round. There is no end because no one will ever be perfect. We're all just playing along. We are sexy guinea pigs.
Having played a bit in the bodybuilding world, I can tell you every big pair of biceps I've ever met is just as body wary as you. The mirror mocks, but politely. As if saying, "Almost, but not quite." Nothing is ever good enough. Nothing is ever big enough or symmetrical enough or defined enough. Sometimes bodybuilders pick on each other, like kids in a clique, to make themselves feel better. This is human, to mask our jealousy.
This struggling with our bodies, from what I gather from older friends, goes on and on. It doesn't stop once you reach a certain age. Women and gay men are the two groups who seem the most prone to bodily dissatisfaction, but straight men are gaining. Just look at how pretty - I mean, pretty - straight guys have gotten in the last ten years. Metrosexuals and bromances, right?
Sometimes I feel bad about posting all those photos of pretty men on my Daventry Blue site. Like I'm adding to the world's insecurity. I hate to think of someone looking at some of the pictures on my blog and feeling the worse for it, feeling like they don't matter as much because they don't think they have an ass like this guy or arms like that one.
Too, I wonder about the models in the photos. Are they present enough to appreciate, if only just a little, their physical beauty? Can they take their hands and move them along their thighs and truly appreciate what they have and how little time they have it? And finally, are they just as lovely on the inside?