Condescending Opening Letter From The Editor About Being A Man

Senior Millionaire Smoking Cigar

I’m paid a significant sum of money by a publishing empire that’s teetering on the brink of bankruptcy to do a job I would have difficulty explaining to someone in the Third World without having them slice my throat open using the nearest sharp implement. And yet, because I was graced at birth with the correct configuration of chromosomes, I’ve decided that I’m completely comfortable with reducing the definition of masculinity to a simple anecdote from my past.

Perhaps this short, yet poignant moment in time involves my father. Or maybe it touches on a conversation I had with a veteran who served his country in a way I never did. Sometimes, I draw from a vast well of emptiness inside of me that takes the form of a figmentary best friend I never had in childhood who nevertheless is useful in illustrating some point that advances either my own personal agenda or that of the advertisers whose lifestyle products fuel ad sales for this publication.

Or I might just pick one of several current social trends and somehow tie them into my own perception of what it actually means to be a man. I can easily ignore the fact that human beings are complex, and their interactions even more so, by drawing on some kind of folksy wisdom that appears to elucidate on the question at hand but really just serves as a way for me to express my own personal beliefs using masculinity as a channel into my insecurities.

However I choose to do it, know this: you are doing it wrong, and by ‘it,’ I mean being a man. Never forget that somewhere, out there, lies a vast reservoir of wisdom and knowledge that informs my own pathway through life that you will never be able to tap into. That’s why you have me. To remind of that fact. Always. And forever.



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