Hello, gentle readers. If you were to ask me why I'm walking, working out, weighing in and waxing poetically here in this blog about losing weight and gaining muscle, I could give many different responses. I could say I'm doing it for my health, which is true. I'm becoming progressively healthier in lowering my blood sugar, pressure and, after this month's blood test, possibly my cholesterol. I could say I'm doing it so my clothes will fit and look better on me, which is also true, although I'm between sizes right now and the clothes I have taken out of storage are kinda hanging on me until I get down to the next size in a few weeks. But the truth of the matter, after years of trying to convince myself to the contrary and yet to a much lesser degree than mainstream "gay culture", is that physiologically, psychologically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually and sexually, I am more comfortable in my own skin when there is less fat beneath it.
It's been a long road in allowing myself to come to this realization. I was a sensitive kid growing up, didn't want to hurt anyone and wasn't quite sure why people were being so mean to each other and occasionally to me. I didn't fit in with other kids, preferred the company of adults or a book, was introverted and didn't like to participate in group activities. And when I hit puberty with all its mysteries at about 12 years old, I snuck a porno magazine one night, saw a picture of a naked man and woman, realized I was more interested in the man, and things got worse. The immediate awareness I was homosexual was proceeded by a decade of fear, secrecy, internal bargaining, self-loathing and arrested development.
I felt I was harboring a horrible secret that set me apart from others and my adolescent brain told me if my parents or other people ever found out about my true nature, I would be shunned, ridiculed, ostracized, disowned and thrown out into the cruel world alone. I became a people pleaser, feeling I needed to be and do what other people wanted in order to be liked, much less loved, and in my loneliness and quiet despair I became a compulsive eater, shoving my feelings down with food, gathering several foods rather than friends around me on Saturday nights and doing the one thing I felt I had control over: I could sneak as much food as I wanted and nobody could stop me.
I gradually became a fat, quiet, acne-ridden kid who was asexual to my acquaintances and skirted the fringes of society while silently exploring my sexuality through porn from the age of 15 (I looked older than I was and the video stores didn't card me). First straight, then gay porn when I worked at video stores and rented such forbidden fare under other peoples' outdated memberships. I'm not effeminate by nature, gave the semblance I was straight by going to three proms with female friends in high school, and although I was accused of being queer by my first prom date when I opted to fall asleep on her rather than sleep with her, I got through high school under the gaydar.
I finally developed the courage at age 22 to come out of the closet to my parents at. Ironically, I was hiding my personal porn stash in my own closet at the time and was sitting Indian-style in front of my parents' walk-in closet when I told my mother. She asked me why I thought I was gay and I told her I'd been attracted to men sexually since puberty. But if I'd never been with a woman, how did I know? The same way a straight guy knows he doesn't want to have sex with his buddies, I guess, but I told her I'd known since I was 12. We were both seeing the same therapist at the time and when I went to my next session he said, "So your mother tells me you think you're gay?" Great affirmation and therapist-patient privilege there, doc, and my gossipy mother would continue to out me to friends and other family members willy-nilly in the years to come.
About a week after I told my mother, I came out to my father during Sunday dinner. The conversation evolved from him telling me to cut the fat off of my roast beef to me standing across the room saying, "I'm never gonna be the son you wanted!" After the truth was out, my father took it well, saying "As long as you're not hurting anyone, do what you want." Which, strangely enough, is the Wiccan Rede: "An' it harm none, do what thou wilt," that is the basis tenet of my religion of Wiccan, and perhaps coming out of the broom closet a couple years before had softened the second blow for my parents in learning that their son was alternatively sexual as well as spiritual. As I continued to come out to family and friends over the years, no one turned their back on me or reacted very negatively, and my self-acceptance has grown to the point I feel comfortable sharing such intimate details in this blog.
I confirmed my theory in practice in the summer of 1993 by having sex for the first time with another man named John, became more comfortable with my sexuality and never felt the desire to have sex with a woman. I also grew a beard for the first time, was ready to explore my sexuality with other men with very little idea how to do so, and weighed 365 pounds. I wrote and answered personal ads in local papers and got together with some rather interesting characters, but in retrospect I was comparing some flaw in the people I met to counteract my heaviness: You can't belittle me for being fat because you're older/look kinda funny/are fat too. Not the greatest way to meet potential partners, but I didn't know any better at the time.
I met another man through the personals who introduced me to Girth and Mirth, an organization that catered to larger men and their admirers. I was popular there in the beginning, immediately becoming a cover model and Full Monty centerfold for their newsletter, the Fat Apple Review, and wrote a column, "Musings of a Satyr," for a few months. Girth and Mirth was a place where fat was a desirable attribute to "chubby chasers" (men who are not fat but are sexually attracted to fat men) and "chubs for chubs" (fat men who love other fat men), and although I appreciated being found attractive by other men, I couldn't appreciate that these men were attracted to me for being fat because I did not feel attractive because of it.
I had finally accepted myself as a homosexual, but due to years of trying to hide it and coping through compulsive eating, when I finally came out I was pigeonholed into the only gay sub-culture that would have me. I was a chub who didn't want to be a chub or desired for being a chub. I wanted to be like some of the chasers who were attracted to me who were variably smaller, shorter, taller, stockier, leaner, beefier, hairier, balder, more muscular, more masculine and, above all, happier and more at ease with themselves than me.
I wanted to be a BEAR: those furry, flannel-wearing, buzzcut, balding, bearded, moustached or goateed, masculine, macho, manly MEN who were MEN who loved other MEN. Through my years of pornographic research, I had become very familiar with this particular archetype. As I mentioned briefly in my first blog entry, Bears originated in San Francisco in the mid-eighties to turn on its ear the mainstream gay cultural norm: effete, slim, shaved, coiffed and trendy. There was an alternative to the mainstream (there always should be) and this one was for me.
In order to get a better idea of what a Bear is and why I identify as one, here's an excerpt from Wikipedia for some further insight (the italics below are my own interjections):
Bears tend to have hairy bodies and facial hair. (I have a hairy chest and forearms and although I would like my body to be hairier than it is, age seems to be cooperating in sprouting more hair on my back and shoulders. I also have a full, trimmed beard.)
Some are heavyset. (Obviously I am heavyset and am working on it. From my own limited experiences at Bear events, Bears can be quite exclusionary due to size which is why I differentiate as a Big Bear rather than a chub. At a Bear Pride weekend in Chicago (which originated as a Big and Bear weekend for chubs and Bears alike), I was standing in an elevator with three friends who weighed from 250 to 600 pounds, and two "muscleBears" snidely informed us that "fat guys aren't Bears." They're idiots, of course, but my own internal view of the Bear I want to be is heavyset but not obese. I will always be a Big Bear due to my height and bone structure, but I do not identify as a chub.)
Some project an image of working-class masculinity in their grooming and appearance, though none of these are requirements or unique indicators. (Although I am white-collar and dress appropriately for work, on the weekends I'm more comfortable in T-shirts and shorts/sweats, and although I show no signs of male pattern baldness at 39, I buzzcut my head to a 1/4 inch in length. I'm not looking to "project an image," but I do appreciate masculine clothing and grooming and find it very attractive in other Bears).
Some Bears place importance on presenting a hypermasculine image and may shun interaction with, and even disdain, men who exhibit effeminacy. (Live and let live. I have grown to appreciate that I am a man who loves men and am therefore attracted to men who act like men. I enjoy being a Bear and socializing with other men who identify as the same, and if I fall short of the mark in what being a Bear means to other Bears, it doesn't make me less of a Bear. I understand that all us humans have a masculine and feminine side, and in past fear of my homosexuality I identified more with women until I decided to accept myself as a man who has every right to be one. These days, I don't let blanket statements made by women about men slide anymore. I am a man, not a woman or a man in a dress (which just looks silly with a beard). However, I think there's nothing sexier than a big burly guy who looks like he can punch your lights out but gives you a big Bear hug instead).
The Bear concept can function as an identity, an affiliation, and an ideal to live up to, and there is ongoing debate in Bear communities about what constitutes a Bear; however, a consensus exists that inclusion is an important part of the Bear Community. (I see the concept of Bear as an identity and an ideal to live up to rather than an affiliation. Inclusion should be our goal because if Bear communities are in fact debating about what constitutes a Bear, I will leave the community and be a lone Bear because I don't want to belong to a community that is going to dictate how I have to dress, act and live. THAT'S WHY THE BEAR ARCHETYPE WAS CREATED IN THE FIRST PLACE!)
And that is why I identify myself as a Big Bear. I am big but I don't identify as a chub because I do not embrace my size, and I am actively working to change my weight and musculature and make my body into the Bear that my mind and spirit finds more appealing for ME. I am a Bear because I identify as one, and I will continue to be a Bear while, and after, the Bear Community debates about whether what I am constitutes as a Bear; I don't need to be a card-carrying member, thank you very much. Thanks for creating an identity that I can finally embrace as my own; I'll take it from here.
I continued in the grand tradition of coming out of the closet, broom closet and Bear cave when I was talking to my long-distance partner on the phone one evening a couple of months ago (we touch base about twice a week to see how the other is doing and to share our lives and love with one another). I'd mentioned to him before that I'd been walking and working out for the past few months and had lost some weight, but I had been about 380 when I first met him. He joked with me about becoming a "twink," which is a slang term for a young gay man with a slender build, a smooth body and no facial hair (the antithesis of a Bear). I joked back that me being a twink was genetically impossible, but I did ask him if he was okay with my weight loss efforts because he liked me just fine before and now I was making some changes.
He told me I had to do what I thought was best for me and said that my looks were about 10% of why he loved me. He also appreciated my my good heart, my intelligence, my strength, the caring I have for others, how articulate I am, etc. Of course, he did mention he was rather fond of my belly and my butt, and I said I'd still have those but they might be a little higher, firmer and have more muscle than fat behind them the next time we met. He was fine with that, and I love him too for much more than his 200-pound frame, balding head, salt and pepper goatee, furry torso, droopy-dog eyes and sexy Southern drawl. All those things are great, but his attentiveness, sense of humor, caring for his mother, pug, and me, laid back attitude, etc. will still be there if he happens to shave or finds the 50 pounds I lost.
Even though I may not be the "Bearest of them all", beauty (or, in this case, "Bearity?") is in the eye of the Bearholder, and I see its reflection in the Bear I love, the other Bears I meet, other people who appreciate and affirm my self-identification as a Bear and, first and foremost, staring back at me in that mirror.
It's been a long road in allowing myself to come to this realization. I was a sensitive kid growing up, didn't want to hurt anyone and wasn't quite sure why people were being so mean to each other and occasionally to me. I didn't fit in with other kids, preferred the company of adults or a book, was introverted and didn't like to participate in group activities. And when I hit puberty with all its mysteries at about 12 years old, I snuck a porno magazine one night, saw a picture of a naked man and woman, realized I was more interested in the man, and things got worse. The immediate awareness I was homosexual was proceeded by a decade of fear, secrecy, internal bargaining, self-loathing and arrested development.
I felt I was harboring a horrible secret that set me apart from others and my adolescent brain told me if my parents or other people ever found out about my true nature, I would be shunned, ridiculed, ostracized, disowned and thrown out into the cruel world alone. I became a people pleaser, feeling I needed to be and do what other people wanted in order to be liked, much less loved, and in my loneliness and quiet despair I became a compulsive eater, shoving my feelings down with food, gathering several foods rather than friends around me on Saturday nights and doing the one thing I felt I had control over: I could sneak as much food as I wanted and nobody could stop me.
I gradually became a fat, quiet, acne-ridden kid who was asexual to my acquaintances and skirted the fringes of society while silently exploring my sexuality through porn from the age of 15 (I looked older than I was and the video stores didn't card me). First straight, then gay porn when I worked at video stores and rented such forbidden fare under other peoples' outdated memberships. I'm not effeminate by nature, gave the semblance I was straight by going to three proms with female friends in high school, and although I was accused of being queer by my first prom date when I opted to fall asleep on her rather than sleep with her, I got through high school under the gaydar.
I finally developed the courage at age 22 to come out of the closet to my parents at. Ironically, I was hiding my personal porn stash in my own closet at the time and was sitting Indian-style in front of my parents' walk-in closet when I told my mother. She asked me why I thought I was gay and I told her I'd been attracted to men sexually since puberty. But if I'd never been with a woman, how did I know? The same way a straight guy knows he doesn't want to have sex with his buddies, I guess, but I told her I'd known since I was 12. We were both seeing the same therapist at the time and when I went to my next session he said, "So your mother tells me you think you're gay?" Great affirmation and therapist-patient privilege there, doc, and my gossipy mother would continue to out me to friends and other family members willy-nilly in the years to come.
About a week after I told my mother, I came out to my father during Sunday dinner. The conversation evolved from him telling me to cut the fat off of my roast beef to me standing across the room saying, "I'm never gonna be the son you wanted!" After the truth was out, my father took it well, saying "As long as you're not hurting anyone, do what you want." Which, strangely enough, is the Wiccan Rede: "An' it harm none, do what thou wilt," that is the basis tenet of my religion of Wiccan, and perhaps coming out of the broom closet a couple years before had softened the second blow for my parents in learning that their son was alternatively sexual as well as spiritual. As I continued to come out to family and friends over the years, no one turned their back on me or reacted very negatively, and my self-acceptance has grown to the point I feel comfortable sharing such intimate details in this blog.
I confirmed my theory in practice in the summer of 1993 by having sex for the first time with another man named John, became more comfortable with my sexuality and never felt the desire to have sex with a woman. I also grew a beard for the first time, was ready to explore my sexuality with other men with very little idea how to do so, and weighed 365 pounds. I wrote and answered personal ads in local papers and got together with some rather interesting characters, but in retrospect I was comparing some flaw in the people I met to counteract my heaviness: You can't belittle me for being fat because you're older/look kinda funny/are fat too. Not the greatest way to meet potential partners, but I didn't know any better at the time.
I met another man through the personals who introduced me to Girth and Mirth, an organization that catered to larger men and their admirers. I was popular there in the beginning, immediately becoming a cover model and Full Monty centerfold for their newsletter, the Fat Apple Review, and wrote a column, "Musings of a Satyr," for a few months. Girth and Mirth was a place where fat was a desirable attribute to "chubby chasers" (men who are not fat but are sexually attracted to fat men) and "chubs for chubs" (fat men who love other fat men), and although I appreciated being found attractive by other men, I couldn't appreciate that these men were attracted to me for being fat because I did not feel attractive because of it.
I had finally accepted myself as a homosexual, but due to years of trying to hide it and coping through compulsive eating, when I finally came out I was pigeonholed into the only gay sub-culture that would have me. I was a chub who didn't want to be a chub or desired for being a chub. I wanted to be like some of the chasers who were attracted to me who were variably smaller, shorter, taller, stockier, leaner, beefier, hairier, balder, more muscular, more masculine and, above all, happier and more at ease with themselves than me.
I wanted to be a BEAR: those furry, flannel-wearing, buzzcut, balding, bearded, moustached or goateed, masculine, macho, manly MEN who were MEN who loved other MEN. Through my years of pornographic research, I had become very familiar with this particular archetype. As I mentioned briefly in my first blog entry, Bears originated in San Francisco in the mid-eighties to turn on its ear the mainstream gay cultural norm: effete, slim, shaved, coiffed and trendy. There was an alternative to the mainstream (there always should be) and this one was for me.
In order to get a better idea of what a Bear is and why I identify as one, here's an excerpt from Wikipedia for some further insight (the italics below are my own interjections):
Bears tend to have hairy bodies and facial hair. (I have a hairy chest and forearms and although I would like my body to be hairier than it is, age seems to be cooperating in sprouting more hair on my back and shoulders. I also have a full, trimmed beard.)
Some are heavyset. (Obviously I am heavyset and am working on it. From my own limited experiences at Bear events, Bears can be quite exclusionary due to size which is why I differentiate as a Big Bear rather than a chub. At a Bear Pride weekend in Chicago (which originated as a Big and Bear weekend for chubs and Bears alike), I was standing in an elevator with three friends who weighed from 250 to 600 pounds, and two "muscleBears" snidely informed us that "fat guys aren't Bears." They're idiots, of course, but my own internal view of the Bear I want to be is heavyset but not obese. I will always be a Big Bear due to my height and bone structure, but I do not identify as a chub.)
Some project an image of working-class masculinity in their grooming and appearance, though none of these are requirements or unique indicators. (Although I am white-collar and dress appropriately for work, on the weekends I'm more comfortable in T-shirts and shorts/sweats, and although I show no signs of male pattern baldness at 39, I buzzcut my head to a 1/4 inch in length. I'm not looking to "project an image," but I do appreciate masculine clothing and grooming and find it very attractive in other Bears).
Some Bears place importance on presenting a hypermasculine image and may shun interaction with, and even disdain, men who exhibit effeminacy. (Live and let live. I have grown to appreciate that I am a man who loves men and am therefore attracted to men who act like men. I enjoy being a Bear and socializing with other men who identify as the same, and if I fall short of the mark in what being a Bear means to other Bears, it doesn't make me less of a Bear. I understand that all us humans have a masculine and feminine side, and in past fear of my homosexuality I identified more with women until I decided to accept myself as a man who has every right to be one. These days, I don't let blanket statements made by women about men slide anymore. I am a man, not a woman or a man in a dress (which just looks silly with a beard). However, I think there's nothing sexier than a big burly guy who looks like he can punch your lights out but gives you a big Bear hug instead).
The Bear concept can function as an identity, an affiliation, and an ideal to live up to, and there is ongoing debate in Bear communities about what constitutes a Bear; however, a consensus exists that inclusion is an important part of the Bear Community. (I see the concept of Bear as an identity and an ideal to live up to rather than an affiliation. Inclusion should be our goal because if Bear communities are in fact debating about what constitutes a Bear, I will leave the community and be a lone Bear because I don't want to belong to a community that is going to dictate how I have to dress, act and live. THAT'S WHY THE BEAR ARCHETYPE WAS CREATED IN THE FIRST PLACE!)
And that is why I identify myself as a Big Bear. I am big but I don't identify as a chub because I do not embrace my size, and I am actively working to change my weight and musculature and make my body into the Bear that my mind and spirit finds more appealing for ME. I am a Bear because I identify as one, and I will continue to be a Bear while, and after, the Bear Community debates about whether what I am constitutes as a Bear; I don't need to be a card-carrying member, thank you very much. Thanks for creating an identity that I can finally embrace as my own; I'll take it from here.
I continued in the grand tradition of coming out of the closet, broom closet and Bear cave when I was talking to my long-distance partner on the phone one evening a couple of months ago (we touch base about twice a week to see how the other is doing and to share our lives and love with one another). I'd mentioned to him before that I'd been walking and working out for the past few months and had lost some weight, but I had been about 380 when I first met him. He joked with me about becoming a "twink," which is a slang term for a young gay man with a slender build, a smooth body and no facial hair (the antithesis of a Bear). I joked back that me being a twink was genetically impossible, but I did ask him if he was okay with my weight loss efforts because he liked me just fine before and now I was making some changes.
He told me I had to do what I thought was best for me and said that my looks were about 10% of why he loved me. He also appreciated my my good heart, my intelligence, my strength, the caring I have for others, how articulate I am, etc. Of course, he did mention he was rather fond of my belly and my butt, and I said I'd still have those but they might be a little higher, firmer and have more muscle than fat behind them the next time we met. He was fine with that, and I love him too for much more than his 200-pound frame, balding head, salt and pepper goatee, furry torso, droopy-dog eyes and sexy Southern drawl. All those things are great, but his attentiveness, sense of humor, caring for his mother, pug, and me, laid back attitude, etc. will still be there if he happens to shave or finds the 50 pounds I lost.
Even though I may not be the "Bearest of them all", beauty (or, in this case, "Bearity?") is in the eye of the Bearholder, and I see its reflection in the Bear I love, the other Bears I meet, other people who appreciate and affirm my self-identification as a Bear and, first and foremost, staring back at me in that mirror.
Until next time, Good Night, Woof, and Blessed Be.
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