Dating body type descriptions is dale earnhardt jr dating anyone
Heavier guys often find themselves exposed to more blatant fetishising and patronising from other app users – either break out that hulk smash to make it clear you’re not taking any shit or, if you don’t care either way, take full advantage.
If you’re on the svelter side, there’s not much available moniker-wise unless you are, surprise surprise, a white gay man – then it becomes a whole periodic table, including delights such as twink, chicken and otter for the more hirsute among you.
Ask friends who’ll lie and tell you what they think you want to hear? Bodies are unreliable witnesses and the state of yours may have no bearing on your lifestyle at all.
How pumped do you actually need to be to call yourself “athletic”? And as for “slim” – I may see a great shapeless sausage in the mirror but perhaps others think me a sylph. You could be a wiry type who eats as much as they want yet can’t put on an ounce, or the guy who lives in the gym and screams at the sight of carbs yet has a glacial metabolism, or glandular issues, that keeps him stuck firmly at the same size.
Dating apps cannot see beyond the superficial, so unless you want to explain your thyroid in your bio, you must select an option and hope for the best.
But if “dad bod” is the most evocative way to say you’re average, what’s your body type saying about you? Take abs, for example, the six-pack, the “washboard stomach” of old. What does it say to someone romantically interested in you?
I feel like they expect someone equally as fit as him so I’d always worry about it.
The dawn of the ‘dad bod’ trope felt like a new age of body acceptance for men, but, actually, it continued to suggest almost impossible targets of being both laid-back and vain.
It’s strange how evocative a term can be, can’t it?
As your mind palace attempted to come to grips with the words “dad” and “bod” becoming adjacent, did you feel comforted or a creeping dread?
The dad bod movement was all about attraction – a sop for those of us who never matched up to the Greek gods prowling the gym or, even more devastatingly, had fallen into the age-old trap of “letting ourselves go”.
It was that old devil knocking at the door again: masculinity.
Think of the dads and their bods slightly more lumber in the back of the truck, swigging a beer and prodding at burgers on a sizzling barbecue.