I’ve always played it safe.
Not in life — I’ve had my share of risks — but in presentation. Plain tees, chinos, trainers. The kind of wardrobe that screams, “I’m gay, but not threateningly gay.” The kind that gets approving nods from strangers and acceptance from straight friends who love saying things like, “You’re gay, but you’re not like, you know… gay.”
(Insert slow blink and internal screaming here.)
But then something happened. A small act of rebellion. A bit of colour in the grey. I got my hair permed. Wore longer earrings. Painted my nails. And just like that, I went from being the acceptable face of gayness to someone who apparently has an agenda. That agenda? Self-expression. Shocking, I know.
Now, most of my friends were cool with it. They understood that a little creative flair doesn’t change who I am — it just lets a little more of me shine through. But one friend wasn’t cool. In fact, he wasn’t just uncool — he was aggressively uncool. He lashed out. Verbally. Loudly. Like my OPI “Lincoln Park After Dark” manicure was a direct attack on his masculinity.
Here’s the thing: I’m 47. I’ve dealt with homophobia since before it had hashtags. I’ve walked through that fire, darling. I’ve had beer bottles thrown at me for holding hands. So I’m not fragile. But when it comes from someone you love? It hits different. It carves a space in your chest you didn’t know was open.
The Fragility of Masculinity: Spoiler Alert — It’s Paper Thin
Now let’s talk science for a minute — because yes, this is a TED Talk in disguise.
Studies have shown that traditional masculinity — especially when it’s hegemonic, or the dominant ideal — is incredibly fragile. In one study published in the journal Personality and Social Psychology Bulletin (Bosson, Vandello & Caswell, 2013), men who had their masculinity “threatened” (like wearing a pink shirt or being told they throw like a girl) reacted with more aggression, defensiveness, and attempts to “reassert” their manhood. Sound familiar?
This is what’s called “precarious manhood.” It’s not earned once and kept — it’s a performance that has to be proven again and again. So when I walked in with painted nails and some glam-rock earrings, I wasn’t just expressing myself — apparently, I was triggering an existential crisis.
And let’s not ignore the political backdrop. In today’s climate, where gender roles are being questioned and dismantled (rightfully), a lot of men are gripping their masculinity like it’s the last slice of pizza at a party. Except nobody else wants their bland, cold slice. We just want our own.
Heteronormativity Is the Real Drag
See, heteronormativity — the idea that straight men and women are the default — is a boring old script. It tells men that vulnerability is weakness, that softness is shameful, and that expression is only valid if it falls within a very tight, very beige spectrum.
But here’s the gag: expression isn’t about them. My hair, my nails, my earrings? They’re not a billboard for my identity. They’re just a part of how I play with the world. A little colour in the gloom. A bit of sparkle in the sludge. Creativity in a culture that often demands conformity.
Did you see that man in the pub Crocheting!?
So here’s a wild tale: I, a man, started crocheting. I know — brace yourself. It’s a scandal. The moment I picked up a crochet hook, I didn’t realise I was apparently launching a full-scale assault on the very foundations of manhood.
You’d think I’d told some bloke I was planning to knit my feelings into a sweater and cry into it. The looks I get are a mix of confusion, fear, and that tight smile people reserve for when they think you’ve just confessed to something deeply unsettling — like enjoying decaf or wearing socks in bed. One guy literally said, “That’s… interesting,” like I’d casually admitted I collect human teeth.
But here’s the thing: crocheting is awesome. It’s calming, creative, and I can make stuff with my own two hands — what could possibly be more traditionally manly than that? (Spoiler: not much.) The real issue isn’t crocheting. It’s the fact that something labeled “feminine” immediately makes some men uncomfortable when a guy does it. Because apparently, masculinity is so fragile, it can’t survive exposure to soft yarn and a Granny Square.
Toxic masculinity thrives on these unwritten rules — the ones that say men can’t enjoy beauty, gentleness, or anything that involves counting stitches instead of reps at the gym. But I’m not interested in performing some outdated version of manhood just to keep the crochet police off my back. I’d rather be cozy, creative, and unbothered — and if that makes me less of a man in someone else’s eyes, they can take it up with the scarf I just made.
And yet, here we are.
For anyone — queer or straight — struggling to understand why this matters, let me put it plainly: When you police the way someone expresses themselves, you’re not defending masculinity. You’re just showing us how little of it you actually have. True confidence doesn’t bark when someone else wears lip gloss.
To the Straight Lads: It’s Not About You (But Also, Kind Of, It Is)
If you’re a straight man reading this and feeling confused, defensive, or curious — congratulations, you’re doing the work. Lean in. Know that no one is asking you to wear a crop top (though honestly, you might look cute in one). We’re just asking you not to flinch when someone else does.
Because masculinity that’s rooted in strength doesn’t need to crush others to prove it exists. And if a friend paints his nails and you feel personally attacked, maybe it’s time to ask yourself why.
Here’s the kicker: My expression is my fucking business.
I’m not doing this for attention. I’m doing it for me. Because the world is hard and grey and full of boxes we were never meant to fit in. Sometimes, painting your nails is a tiny rebellion against all that. Sometimes, a dangling earring is a middle finger to every time you were told to “act like a man.”
And sometimes — just sometimes — it’s about reminding yourself that you still get to be the artist of your own life. Even if the canvas is your hands.
So if you see me with sparkles on my nails and silver hoops brushing my jaw, just know: this isn’t a cry for help. This is joy. This is resistance. This is freedom with a topcoat.
And to the friend who couldn’t handle it? Sweetheart, the world is changing. You can either evolve — or get out of the damn way.
