In Defense of Monster Abs

In what seems like an unexceptional moment in the history of blogging, this gay Irish youngster wrote on his blog about his enormous abs and how much he likes them! But actually, it’s fascinating? We mock people who work out, and think they’re stupid, even while we demand that our famous people have absurd bodies. (Even their non-famous younger brothers have to work out.) There’s a funky stew of jealousy, desire, hatred-and, naturally, animal compulsion to look. So his explanation of what it’s like for him when taking off his shirt and having people sort of explode is really interesting.

You may be interesting, smart, sweet, nice, great. But I attract looks. When I take my shirt off, the guys look. Straight guys envy me, their own lack of discipline reflected in my abs. They’re turned on not by me, but by the life I represent, something out of the soft-porn story section in their blokey magazines. Gay guys want me, desire to touch me, their eyes like fingers unbuttoning my shirt, slowly, gently sliding the tips of their fingers along the topography of the gutters between each muscle. This gives me confidence I didn’t always have.

I used to by a quiet kid, my secrets making me shy away from people, from connections. I remember the moment it changed, when I first took off my shirt at a pool party. Everyone gasped. Mates, their girlfriends, everyone just looked. I remember that feeling. That was me, being marveled for my will, for my accomplishment.

I work hard on my abs and they remind me of who I am now. A strong young man among men who look up to my resolve, my will. Because of my stomach, I know who I am.

So if you think that’s shallow, look in the mirror. Are you happy? Do you see yourself as you think you should be? Okay. If not, do something.