The guy with the beard
"WELCOME TO MY CORNER OF FOG (WHERE THE TRUTH ISN’T SOLD IN PIECES)"
I’m thirty-six years old, with a beard that looks like a failed architectural project and a tendency to hate the things that everyone loves: social media, life in the province, and the belief that there’s a ‘right’ way to be queer.
I grew up in a tiny village in the middle of the Po Valley, where fog isn’t just a meteorological phenomenon, but an existential metaphor. A place so small that if you banged your head against the wall, the mayor would ask if you needed a medical certificate. Here, sexual identity was measured in two ways: either you were straight or you didn’t exist. I, of course, fell into the second category. But not by choice: quite simply, there was no space to exist.
I spent nineteen years trying to fit in, in that fog. Trying to be the perfect son, the decent lad, the sort who doesn’t ask awkward questions. Then, one day, I realised that the fog doesn’t clear on its own: either you leave, or you learn to live with your vision clouded. I chose to leave. But not entirely. Because provincialism, like pubic hair, stay with you even when you think you’ve shaved them off.
WHY A BLOG (AND NOT AN INSTAGRAM PROFILE)
Because I’m tired. Tired of social media turning our lives into gift parcels wrapped in glossy paper, ready to be opened, judged and discarded in three seconds. Tired of a society where identity is a filter and vulnerability is content to be monetised. Tired of having to choose between being myself and being acceptable.
And then there’s the issue of our data. Yes, because whilst we’re adding a like, some algorithm is already trying to sell us a trip to Bali based on the fact that we searched for ‘how to escape from your own life’ on Google. Our personal data is scattered across the web like Hansel and Gretel’s breadcrumbs, only instead of leading us home, they lead us straight into the rubbish bin of digital capitalism.
WHAT YOU’LL FIND HERE (AND WHAT YOU WON’T)
This blog will be:
- A place where the fog lifts: I’ll be talking about the body, identity, masculinity and queerness, but also about seemingly trivial things like shaving, hating chinos or my first visit to the barber.
- An experiment in honesty: I’ll write about the time I cried because my first kiss with a man was a disaster, or the time I realised that my dad will never teach me how to use a razor.
- A safe haven for those who feel out of place: If you’ve ever felt like a penguin in a desert, this is the place for you.
ONE LAST WARNING
I’m not a professional writer. I’m not an influencer. I’m not even particularly good at making a coherent argument. I’m just a bloke who’s decided to start writing again, because, deep down, if I’d found a blog like this fifteen or twenty years ago, perhaps I’d have fled the province even sooner than I did.
Here I am, with my fog, my beard and my desire to tell it like it is (or at least, as I see it).
P.S. If you’re wondering why I chose to call this blog “Maschile, quasi”, the answer is simple: because life’s too short for boring titles. “Manly, almost" Mission accomplished.
#en #beard #masculinity