Don’t Absorb Me, Bro: Beauty, Belonging & Boundaries

Alright,

So,

Here's where we stand.

People want to love themselves.

I know,

Radical idea,

Wild stuff.

But no,

Really,

We're talking about the freedom to like your own face.

Maybe throw on a crop top,

Post a picture,

Feel good about it,

And,

You know,

Not get dragged.

Revolutionary,

I know,

And at first glance,

It sounds simple.

What monster wouldn't want everyone to feel beautiful?

We're all out here with these bodies.

Weird,

Creaky,

Soft,

Lopsided,

Sometimes glittery bodies.

So,

Why not just hand out self-love like it's Oprah giving away cars?

You get a selfie,

You get a mirrorball moment.

But then,

Things get tense.

Because body positivity,

It didn't just pop out of a yoga studio in Portland.

Actually,

It came from fat black women who were surviving a system that told them,

Loudly and repeatedly,

That they shouldn't exist.

This wasn't some cute little affirmation.

This was a life raft.

And now,

Fast forward,

Men want in.

Not every man,

But some of them.

Queer men,

Men of color,

Expressive men.

Men who cry in public and own lotion.

Which is a flex,

My guy,

Not a weakness.

And therefore,

The question is,

Can we let them in without turning the house into a fraternity?

Because on one hand,

Yeah,

Of course,

Everyone should get to feel human.

But on the other hand… But on the other hand,

It does feel a little bit like trying to repaint the Sistine Chapel with Axe body spray.

So yeah,

This isn't just about sparkly eyeliner or shirtless Instagram posts.

It's about power.

It's about who built the mirror,

Who had to fight just to be seen in it,

And what happens when people start adjusting the lighting.

Alright,

So here's something people forget while scrolling through pastel Instagram quotes about loving your thighs.

Body positivity didn't start with a selfie.

It started with survival,

Like actual life and death survival.

Fat Black women created this movement because the world told them everywhere,

All the time,

That their bodies were wrong.

That they took up too much space,

Or the wrong kind of space.

That they had to shrink themselves to be loved and to be safe.

So yeah,

This was never about getting brand deals or likes.

This was about not disappearing.

And now,

Well,

We've got the menfolk showing up to the party.

Now hold on,

I know what you're thinking.

But Catherine,

Don't men have feelings too?

Well,

Sure.

I've seen it.

I work in theater and academia.

The men there,

Well,

They definitely cry.

But here's the thing.

When men,

Even marginalized men,

Walk into these spaces,

They don't always come empty-handed.

Sometimes they bring luggage.

And by luggage,

I mean systemic privilege.

Even the fabulous kind.

Even the queer kind.

It's still privilege,

But with glitter.

And what happens next is,

Well,

Familiar.

Suddenly,

The focus shifts.

The camera pans.

The lighting gets adjusted just a little,

And before you know it,

We're selling brave crop tops for $39.

99,

And the women who built this movement are once again in the background.

Like extras in a movie they wrote.

Wrote.

And that's the fear.

Not that queer men are bad guests,

But that they don't always realize they walked into a house someone else built with their bare hands while dodging bricks and bullets.

It's not malicious.

It's just history.

And capitalism.

And vibes.

Powerful,

Male-centered vibes that sneak in and still somehow,

Somehow,

Still end up in the spotlight.

Alright,

So picture this.

Someone just wants to paint their nails,

Wear a mesh tank top,

And cry a little in peace.

And suddenly,

It's a debate.

But let's slow down,

Because here's the other side of this whole body-positivity thing.

Maybe self-love isn't pie.

Maybe if someone else gets a slice,

Your slice doesn't shrink.

Maybe you just have more dessert.

Like one of those a rising tide lifts all boats kind of things.

This way of thinking says,

Hey,

Expressing joy in your body,

That isn't just for women.

It isn't just for fat women.

And it isn't just for femme people.

It's for anyone who's ever looked in a mirror and gone,

Ugh,

This is awful.

So yeah,

That includes queer men.

Trans mask folks.

Men of color.

People who've been shoved into the stoic and silent masculinity box so hard that they forgot what a full breath feels like.

These folks,

They're not busting through the door demanding space.

They are dragging themselves up the stairs,

Bleeding from all the times they tried to show softness and got mocked for it.

They're not storming the stage.

They're whispering from the wings,

Is it okay if I dance too?

And when they do find joy,

When they see a photo of another brown queer kid smiling in the mirror,

Crop top and all,

It's not vanity.

It's survival.

That eyeliner isn't about glamour.

It's about saying,

I'm still here.

Now,

Here's the important part.

And I mean this with all the awkward intensity I can muster.

This doesn't mean,

And will never mean,

That we tossed out the history.

We're not here to break the mirror.

We're just making it a little wider.

Enough to fit more faces.

Because identity?

It's messy.

Intersectionality is real.

A lot of people don't get a neat checkbox to live in.

And maybe we should make space for that too.

But also,

Let's not forget who paid the rent.

Okay,

Deep breath.

Let's talk about the shift.

Because as lovely as it is to imagine everyone holding hands in a glittery field of self-worth,

There's a reason people get nervous when men show up to a movement.

It's not personal.

It's historical.

Because we've seen it happen.

A movement starts off radical,

Raw,

Built by people society ignored.

Then suddenly,

A few men show up.

Still marginalized,

Yes.

But guess what happens?

The camera pans.

The playlist changes.

There's a new spokesperson,

And somehow,

He's got a podcast and a skincare line.

And it's not that these men are doing anything wrong.

They're just there.

But systems?

Systems love a familiar face.

Even wrapped in a feather boa.

So,

Folks start asking.

Is this about liberation?

Or is it becoming a lifestyle brand?

Are we lifting up the invisible,

Or are we spotlighting the slightly less visible dudes who look good in lipstick?

And the solution?

It might not be,

Everyone squeeze into this house.

Maybe it's,

Hey,

Let's build on some additions.

Let's throw up a guest cottage.

Heck,

Let's fund the guest college.

Let queer and expressive men create their own language.

Let them build their own ballrooms,

Not just crash someone else's.

Because solidarity isn't shouting,

Me too,

Me too.

It's showing up with a hammer,

A paintbrush,

And a respectful whisper of,

What can I do to help?

That's called contextual empowerment.

It's like showing up to a potluck and not bringing a dish,

But also not trying to rename the whole thing after your great uncle.

It's solidarity,

But with boundaries.

Alright,

So here's the thing.

Sometimes,

Inclusion turns into a group project no one asked for.

And I get it.

Everyone wants in on a good thing,

Especially when that good thing is about loving yourself,

Wearing cool clothes,

And not being crushed by societal shame.

Very compelling.

But movements,

Especially movements born out of survival,

Aren't just themed parties.

They're not some sort of open mic night with a $5 cover either.

They have context.

And sometimes,

Boundaries.

Historically,

And I know you know this movie,

Men enter a space and,

Without even trying,

They become the headline.

They don't do it on purpose.

Usually.

Most are not standing in the mirror,

Rubbing their hands together like a villain,

And whispering,

Ha ha ha,

I shall now dilute their revolution.

They're just there.

Existing.

But structures love men.

Even sad ones.

Even sparkly ones.

Even the ones with piercings and poetry Instagrams.

And slowly,

The original story,

The one about fat Black women refusing to shrink themselves out of existence,

Gets pushed to the background.

Suddenly,

It's less resistance and more men in linen pants doing yoga on a rooftop with an expensive camera crew.

Yeah,

Not quite the same vibe.

Now,

Important note.

This is not about blaming queer or expressive men.

They didn't break through a window.

They're knocking on the door,

Politely,

Probably holding a plate of gluten-free cookies.

But it is about what the house does when they enter.

It rearranges itself.

Subtly.

Systematically.

So,

The solution?

Let's get architectural.

Don't move into someone else's house.

Build a new one.

Add a room.

Pitch a tent with fairy lights.

Create a space rooted in the language of your own resistance.

Ballroom.

Dragged.

Softness.

Masculinity that cries during Pixar movies and wears velvet with pride.

That doesn't mean you can't visit other rooms.

But maybe… Wipe your feet first.

Know the floor you're standing on.

Who built it?

Who bled for it?

Ask if you're adding weight.

Or shifting the foundation.

That's what they call contextual empowerment.

Yeah,

We're back to that fancy phrase.

It just means,

Do your homework and don't make it all about you.

Contextual empowerment.

Because real solidarity?

It doesn't roll in like,

Hey,

What if we made this all one big thing?

But,

With my face at the center,

It shows up with listening ears and labor gloves.

It doesn't remix the narrative.

It respects it.

Adds to it.

Elevates it.

Without turning it into a fashion campaign.

So yes,

Expand the mirror.

But don't block the reflection of who was there first.

So,

Where does that leave us?

Well,

Right here.

In the middle of the dance floor.

Holding a disco ball in one hand and a history book in the other.

Trying to figure out how to spin without dropping either.

And maybe,

Just maybe,

The answer isn't picking a side.

Maybe it's not Team Let Everybody In or Team Respect the Velvet Rope.

Maybe the real challenge is figuring out how to build a bigger house.

One with good lighting and a massive mirror,

Yes,

But also plumbing and a foundation.

And a plaque on the front that says who laid the first brick.

What if inclusion didn't mean just pulling up a chair,

But asking,

Should I be in the kitchen right now?

Or is this a time to just help with cleanup in the dining room?

What if celebrating ourselves came with a side of reverence,

A sprinkle of self-awareness,

And a dash of,

Maybe this moment isn't all about me.

We don't need to blur every line to build solidarity.

We just need to recognize that some lines were drawn in blood,

And they deserve more than a motivational hashtag in return.

So,

To the men,

Especially the beautiful,

Queer,

Brown,

Vulnerable ones,

You are loved.

You are needed.

And yes,

You absolutely deserve mirrors that see all of you.

Just don't kick in somebody else's when you arrive.

Bring your own.

Or build one with your people.

Or borrow gently and return it cleaner than you found it.

Because real liberation,

It doesn't shout,

Look at me.

It whispers,

I see you.

And sometimes,

That is the most radical thing we can do.