I was recently sitting in Battlecat working on a project—minding my own business—on a chilly Saturday afternoon when a woman sitting at the table across from me motioned to get my attention.
“Excuse me, sir,” she said. “Do you know the meme about wholesome masculinity?”
Now, I probably spend a bit more time than your average guy my age (maybe?) on the internet by proxy of what I do, and especially because of the recent projects I’ve been working on, I probably spend more time than your average person thinking (and researching) the topic of masculinity, but I admittedly don’t spend that much time digesting memes, and I consciously stay away from what I consider Tik-Tok driven therapyspeak, which is to say I’d never heard the term “wholesome masculinity.”
“I haven’t,” I said, feeling compelled to add, “What is it?”
“It’s the opposite of toxic masculinity,” she said, which wasn’t all that helpful. “I was watching you over there and couldn’t help thinking you’re the embodiment of it. You could be the meme yourself!”
For context, on the afternoon in question, I was wearing an O’Donnell’s Pour House hoodie, a pair of grey hiking pants, a New River Gorge baseball hat, and multi-colored Tevas (I’d attempted a hike that morning). I looked like a stereotypical Ashevilian.
Thought the tiny contrarian asshole that occasionally likes to sit on my shoulder wanted me to dig a bit deeper, and ask if the clothing choices one made meant I was inherently masculine, and point out that someone whose face lit up with an annoying kind of pride when they said the term “wholesome masculinity.” probably doesn’t like stereotyping, and what she was actually doing was stereotyping my outfit based on societal notions of a term I’d assumed she’d used before; social constructs.
This tiny contrarian asshole might also point out that Tevas, for example, are pretty unisex and have connotations of a hippie, granola type that isn’t all that concerned with masculinity or that a hoodie/baseball hat combo leans bro-y, which typically shares a large part of Venn Diagrams with toxic masculinity, but I didn’t let the tiny contrarian asshole dictate what I said because A) I wouldn’t feel comfortable betting money that any of those points are scientifically sound and B) I’m also the type of guy to be unfailingly polite in person, and reserve my snark for behind the safety of my computer screen (colloquially known as a keyboard warrior). .
“It’s a compliment,” the woman said. “It’s just you look so rugged, and outdoorsy, and here you are, doing such a wholesome, non-toxic activity.”
“Well, thanks,” I said, attempting to end the conversation, because what else was there to do at this point? Point out that West Asheville is full of hipsters with trust funds cosplaying blue-collar, so really, in this environment, no one was actually what they seemed. Point out that despite her chunky fisherman-style sweater and toboggan—North Carolinian for…beanie—I wouldn’t have assumed she spent that much time outdoors, nor any time manning a fishing boat? Or my biggest point of all: point out that writing is not an inherently wholesome activity? I could’ve been writing a fan letter to Joe Rogan, a threatening email to my immigrant neighbors, or a series of tweets pontificating on how men who are vegans must be beta cucks with deep-set vaginas. There’s an entire cottage industry of men who make money writing things that fall squarely under the umbrella of “toxic masculinity.” I mean, if I really wanted to be an asshole, I could point out that Mein Kampf was written, possibly in a coffee shop, by a man wearing outdoorsy attire.
I don’t know why this woman, attempting to pay me some kind of compliment, rubbed me the wrong way so badly. Maybe it’s an aversion to empty words? Perhaps it’s a growing aversion to a particular type of Ashevillian who beams with pride when they mention a new, social-justice adjacent buzzword meant to show how enlightened they are. Or, maybe I’m actually just a little bit toxic (though we can hold the masculinity in this case).
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