From
esquire.com
Email Address
esquire@newsletter.esquire.com
Sent On
Sun, Jun 12, 2022 03:01 PM
Email Preheader Text
We're in the throes of a culture-wide freakout over men. Here's a solution. The Strong, Silent Type
HTML
We're in the throes of a culture-wide freakout over men. Here's a solution. [View in Browser]( [Esquire Sunday Reads]( The Strong, Silent Type Will Not Shut Up We are in the throes of a culture-wide freak-out over what is and is not masculine. You may have noticed that many of us are not taking it well. In fact, can someone please check on David Mamet? The tough guys are claiming victimhood; the men who mock you for talking about your feelings are yelling about theirs. The strong, silent type simply will not shut up. The New York Times did a roundtable with conservative men this spring, one of whom complained that America is too weak; another said heâs personally affronted when he sees a man in insufficiently masculine clothing. Itâs weird in here right now, and it has been since at least a few months before a news network told guys to sunburn their sacks so they donât end up like me. We live in a nation of talkers, braggers, yellers, and criers. When our best idea is to irradiate our scrotums to keep us mean, maybe itâs worth being quiet for a while. Standing in the way of evolution does not make anyone a man. It doesnât make them a woman, either. It makes them a child. The chair arrived last month. The guy carried it to the front porch, shook my hand, and drove off, leaving my boyfriend, Ben, and me to bring it into the house. It wouldnât fit through the front door. We had to go the back way, through the carport, in through the double doors, up over my desk, and into the corner Iâd cleared out for it. Itâs too big for the space. I have to hurdle the ottoman so I can get behind my desk. It belongs in a very serious manâs office, so it sticks out in here, underneath the framed ads for new-wave records. [Read the Full Story]( [MORE FROM ESQUIRE]( 'How Can You Still Be a Christian?' He Asked. It's...Complicated. A guy at work recently asked why Iâm Christian. Itâs not something I am particularly vocal about, but itâs also not something Iâm not vocal about, you know? In some ways, I think of it as doing improv or supporting the Patriots: If you talk about it in public, get ready for eyes to roll. But Iâd been trained for moments like this. Itâs been years since Iâve considered myself evangelical, but the indoctrination is hard to shake. The party line is that the only way to the afterlife is through Jesus, and the only way to Jesus? Well, it could be through me. I could practically hear the youth pastors from my past speak in unison, âHow blessed to be in this moment, provided through the grace of God, where this young man has queried you about your faith.â As we stood there, chatting over a cubicle wall and sipping on expensive promotional liquor in CVS plastic cups, my colleague said, in what amounted to nothing short of an invitation to put evangelicalism in action, âI just donât understand how someone could believe in that.â Former me would have mounted a spirited reply, but Iâm not former me. I understand why youâd ask the question. How can someone believe in that? For my every East Tennessee impulse to defend my faith, I have what is now an equally strong New York impulse to talk on past these moments. But the side of me that is Christianâthe word I use most easily to describe myselfâstumbled over my words, trying to find one specific anecdote that would make that question make sense. [Read the Full Story]( The Follower On the night of May 29, 2006, after seeing the documentary An Inconvenient Truth in Manhattan, Jeff Gross drove home from the Staten Island ferry to Ganas, a communal-living experiment heâd spent decades building. He climbed the steep steps up to the groupâs cluster of houses scattered among leafy walkways and squinted his way through uncut shrubs and poor lighting. As Jeff approached his porch, a figure stepped from the shadows and raised a handgun. âWhat do you want?â Jeff shouted, and then, âNo, no, donât do it!â Shots pop-pop-popped as the shooter unloaded six rounds into his hip, stomach, arm, and neck. Jeff fell to the ground, blood pumping from his wounds. His assailant stepped over him and fled. A neighbor who heard the shooting knelt beside Jeff and shouted for towels to stanch the bleeding. Many moments had delivered Jeff to this one. Since 1980, Ganas had been a community that embraced all manner of new-agey life. But his relationship with the groupâparticularly with its charismatic and often abusive leader, Mildred Gordonâhad become unrecognizable since their early days. Heâd signed over a small fortune, endured thousands of hours of âfeedbackâ sessions, and entered a four-way marriage. And now he was bleeding out in the back of an ambulance. How had Jeff gotten into this mess? And why had he stayed? [Read the Full Story]( I Tried Everything. Then I Tried Ayahuasca. Six months ago, I sat outside, on a wooden deck in the mountains, across from a white dude with a man bun. âDo you actually think this can fix me?â I asked him. The man went by âKapétt,â a name he picked up while studying indigenous culture in a Peruvian forest, though his legal name was John Thomas Caldwell III, and he was raised in Greenwich, Connecticut. âI canât promise that,â said Kapétt/John III, moving his left leg to cross under his right. âBut Iâve seen people speak with their deceased loved ones. Others whoâve had their depression instantly cleared. Things you wouldnât believe.â Neither of those possibilities interested me. Iâm not depressed and I donât believe in ghosts or God or an after-life. When we die, we turn off, at least I think so. And if Iâm wrong, and my dead relatives do exist, I have no desire to hear from themâloud Jews from the world beyond, floating around my bedroom, judging me for the gay-leaning porn I consume when I believe Iâm alone. But regardless, I, at 31, came to this retreat because of a vestibular balance issue Iâd been dealing with for three yearsâsomething wrong with my left ear. Every moment that Iâd been awake, on a first date or a job interview, on a run, or in a chair, drunk at a concert or sober in bed, standing up or upside down, Iâd been mildly dizzy. [Read the Full Story](
The 60 Best Father's Day Gifts For the Coolest Dad Around We all know a thing or two about dad. He might occasionally let some awkward dad jokes slip out, wear the occasional cringe-inducing T-shirt, or waste time muttering aloud to himself about the state of the world while scrolling through Apple News. But deep down, you know heâs a cool dad with great taste who's probably ushered you into a life of drinking nice whiskey, handling nifty gadgets, or stocking up on luxury accessories. Hence, every year, you always come up short in unique Fatherâs Day gift ideas to get dad's approving nod. But we have the tools right here to help you finally switch things up this Father's Day. The trick is to get him a gift that's equally as cool as it is thoughtful,âi.e., an equally nice whiskey, an equally nifty gadget, or an equally luxury accessory that heâs schooled you in the art of. Here, weâve rounded up the 60 best Fatherâs Day gifts for every kind of dad so you can get that smile from him this time around. You deserve it. [Read the Full Story]( Confessions of a Not-Bad Dad It's not clear why parenthood was such a surprise to me. By the time our son Raffi was born, I was 40 years old. I knew what a baby was and how one was made. Many of my friends had them. My wife, Emily, even gave me a book to read, The Birth Partner, to prepare me for the big event. I didnât read it. And I didnât visit my friends who had kids. I thought they had entered a different world. I imagined them disapproving of me and my frivolous life. And I, in turn, found them boring. They were obsessed with their tiny little children, with what they ate and where theyâd go to school. What did it matter? Though children were all around me, I avoided them. Then our son was born. It was terrifying. He could die! That was the number-one fact about him: He was tiny and fragile. When he was an infant, I carried him like a football, his butt in my hand, his legs draped over my wrist, his head in the crook of my elbow. I was convinced that I would trip while holding him and his head would smash against the ground. There was nothing to prevent this from happening and a lot of things to encourage it. Yet it never happened. He fell down some stairs once and another time almost drowned in a small koi pond, but aside from that, more or less, he emerged from his infancy unscathed. [Read the Full Story]( Follow Us [Unsubscribe]( | [Privacy Notice/Notice at Collection]( esquire.com
©2022 Hearst Magazine Media, Inc. All Rights Reserved.
Hearst Magazines, 300 West 57th Street, New York, NY 10019
EDM Keywords (246)
yet
yelling
wrong
wrist
wounds
would
worth
world
word
well
weird
wear
ways
way
vocal
visit
use
us
upside
unison
understand
underneath
two
turn
trick
trained
towels
tiny
time
throes
thoughtful
thought
think
things
thing
terrifying
talking
talk
taking
surprise
supporting
sunburn
stumbled
stood
stocking
still
sticks
state
standing
stanch
stairs
squinted
space
son
something
sober
smile
sipping
since
signed
side
shut
shouted
short
shirt
shake
shadows
sees
seeing
scrotums
scrolling
schooled
school
sacks
run
roundtable
rounded
roll
right
retreat
relationship
regardless
read
raised
quiet
question
queried
promise
prevent
prepare
porch
picked
patriots
past
parenthood
ottoman
one
office
obsessed
noticed
nothing
night
neighbor
nation
name
mounted
months
moments
mock
mess
men
may
masculine
many
manner
man
makes
make
lot
live
like
life
less
leaving
least
know
knew
kids
jesus
irradiate
invitation
infant
indoctrination
improv
imagined
hurdle
house
hours
holding
help
heard
hear
head
hard
happening
handgun
hand
guy
group
ground
grace
god
go
gift
ghosts
get
ganas
friends
fragile
former
football
follower
fled
fix
fit
fell
feelings
father
faith
fact
eyes
exist
evolution
evangelical
esquire
equally
entered
end
encourage
emerged
embraced
elbow
easily
drove
documentary
disapproving
die
desk
desire
deserve
describe
depressed
defend
deep
dealing
day
dad
cross
crook
criers
could
corner
cool
convinced
consume
considered
concert
complicated
complained
community
cluster
climbed
cleared
clear
christian
child
chatting
charismatic
carried
carport
butt
bring
born
boring
book
blessed
bleeding
big
belongs
believe
back
baby
awake
avoided
ate
asked
ask
aside
art
around
amounted
america
ambulance
also
alone
afterlife
action