The New Kid

The process of broification comes with many changes, many of which can and will surprise you once you go through the transformation yourself.

For me, all I had to do was join a gym. I had no intention of "becoming a bro" when I did. I just wanted to improve my mental health and wanted to look nice--and for the first several months that was my mindset--until something began to change in me.

The transformation can look different for everyone, but it can also have a lot of similarities. I can only speak for myself, but here are the changes I've noticed:

Feeling more confident: I noticed myself just not caring about negative opinions of me. While I try to always be nice to the people I interact with, I'm less willing to put up with bullshit and more willing to speak my mind. Boundaries will be set. Even the way I walk feels more naturally confident.

Feeling more masculine: That kinda goes with the previous item, but I also feel more confident as a man. I love my body, I love testosterone, I love having a penis, I love being a man.

Increased libido: I'm horny more often, especially with that pump of testosterone I get after a good gym session. I make a point of giving my cock the love it deserves.

Becoming more sexually dominant: While I've always felt like I had a dormant "dom side", I was always more of a vanilla kinda guy; but since I began going to the gym and embracing my masculinity, it's like that "dom side" finally woke up. And you can bet I'm going to have my fun ;)

New taste in clothes: I'm much more attracted to gym clothes, sports clothes, and clothes that show more skin, both in myself and in other people. I prefer short shorts and gym shorts, cut-off shirts, loose fit tank tops with drop armholes, basketball jerseys, sweatpants with no shirt on, among other things.

Sudden interest in sports: I was never a sports guy, but I grew a sudden interest and watching weightlifting and powerlifting competitions as an extension of my interest in fitness. That somehow led me to get curious about other sports too, like football (NFL). The funny thing is that this was a natural thing for me. At no point did I force myself to get into sports. It just happened.

Interest in meeting other bros: I began craving more brotherhood. I already had regular friends before, but I grew a sudden interest in befriending other bro types, both as people to get inspiration from as well as the fact that I now shared interests with them. I like to say that masculinity needs masculinity and that's what I felt. There's nothing like the bond between bros. You start craving people who are like you and match your bro vibes.

Changes in the way I talk: This one was more of a lowkey change, but I noticed myself become more slangy, saying things like "dude" and "bro" much more often, and even cussing a bit more (but like in a chill kind of way).

Change in personality: While I was always a chill and down to earth guy, I noticed the transformation put a layer of cockiness and upbeatness on top of my personality. There's a kind of "let's fucking go" energy about me.

Craving the gym: And of course, the gym. The more you go, the more you want it. Working out has become more than something I did just because I wanted to better my mental health or look nice. It's something I can't see myself without anymore. The gym has become my second home, because it's where I feel my best self.

I'm sure there are other changes too, but these were the ones that stood out to me the most. If you're on your journey of becoming a bro, keep at it. Keep showing up to the gym and let your mind be absorbed by it. Let it transform you. You got this, bro.

The Rookie's Figuring It Out

Going back to my dorm room, just had a meeting with Mr. Bridges, and he-- wait, who's Mr. Bridges? Anyway, just came out of a meeting with Coach, went great bro, got all the details figured out. Now I can go back to my place and relax, that was an exhausting day.

As I enter the dormitory building my phone buzzes. I take it and see I got a text from Jamie asking about... wait, what study group is he-- damn, some nerd got his numbers mixed up, I ain't joining no lame study group, no way bruh.

I enter my room and as I put my things away I feel my body aching. But i can't really say why, cause I didn't really-- dude, my muscles are, like, burning bro. Coach dragged me through a nightmare of a workout earlier, ya know, to see if I am worth putting on the roster.

i jump on the couch, now's the time to play some madden bruh, huhuhuhuh... dude, what are those books laying on the table? Intro to anthro... antrop... pology... that is, wait, I... I know, that's like-- huhuh bruh, that's some nerd shit here dude. dunno how it got here but i know where it'll go dude - straight into the trash, where it belongs bro.

bruh, where's my ps4 bro, dude? how am i s'possed to crush random losers on the internet when i don't have that fuckin' console-- dude, gotta prep some food for tomorrow, gotta get that protein huhuhuh, or Coach will get mad-- Coach says to eat enough calories and get enough protein. Coach's word is law. Coach is always right.

so i'm lookin' at my schedule, yeah? and we gotta practice 'morrow for like 4 hours or so, but here i have, in my calendar or whatever, and there's some college shit like dude, like classes and shit, like damn, i gotta tell Coach that i have some conflict in my schedule-- huhuhuhuh damn bro, got some fuckin' class in muh schedule during practice. fuck, what pussy goes to "ancient history 101" like, what a fuckin' idiot dude

wait bro, wait... so im a football bro, yeah, right, but i play college football, and college means, uhhh... like, what was that shit dude, damn... a major, right... college means havin' a major bro, and my major's something like... bruh, its like... oh wait-- huhuhuh dude, who gives a shit about some nerd shit bro, am here to play ball and bro out BRUH!

i 'ave Coach takin' care of all that boring ass shit dude, yeah, he's takin' care of all that smart bullshit and im just workin' out and tacklin' dudes bro. fuck yeah, dude, that's right bruh. im a fuckin' football dawg, born to play and to crush every goddamn dude who stands in my way bro, not to care 'bout any of that lame pussy shit bro. ya wanna go get those guns pumped, bro?

Emergency Model

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"Excuse me, what's your shoe size?"

Bewildered I looked around to find the man who asked the random question, like out of that old episode of Monty Python. Off to the side, almost behind me, was a thirty-ish man in polo shirt, jeans, and glasses with plastic rims that looked purposefully selected to make him look like a film director or architect. He looked unsure or stressed. "Eight, eight and a half. Who's asking?"

Immediately he brightened up. "Hello. I'm Ben Atkinson, " he said and extended his hand. "We're making a photo shoot of the supplemental collection of sporting clothes," he continued without waiting for me to shake it. "It's all for the online shop, so simple stuff. White background, a few poses." Tentatively I shook his hand. "Pretty fast rotation of models. Unfortunately one of them has called in sick. You have the right look, but more importantly the right build and size."

"Uhum," I answered, sensing where this was going. It was a Saturday morning, and I was on my way to meet up with some friends at Wayland's Deli.

"This is quite sudden, but we are on a tight deadline. If you're willing to model for us I'll give you twice the normal rate."

"Ok," I said, not waiting to hear what the normal rate was. I'm sure Stuart would not stop giving me grief about it for the rest of the year, but I would technically be a photo model which wouldn't be a negative in Sarah's eyes. Turned out that it would also be double my monthly earnings as well, so maybe I could shut Stuart up as well.

We entered the building, which apparently was an office space that had been taken over for the day for the shoot. There were racks of clothes everywhere, lots of people with iPads tracking what item was where, who should wear it, and in what conference room they should shoot it. It was bustling with activity. After some exchange of information with Ben, and signing papers, I was handed over to a conference room turned makeup and styling studio. Most of the furniture was stacked in one corner and the floor was covered by transparent plastic that had been rolled out. To one side was a table with lots of makeup tools and bottles and stuff I wouldn't know how to use, except maybe the hand mirror and the scissors, and even that I'm not confident with. A pair of strong LED lamps on stands lit a chair placed at the center of the plastic. 

"I'm Julia, pleased to meet you. So you are the last one," said the stylist, carefully surveying me and in particular my face and hair. "We're short on time, so we have to work quickly. Are you ok with a buzz cut and tight fade?" Not what I would have chosen, but it's starting to get warm outside and it's only hair. I'd be back to my current length after the summer. "Sure."

She seated me in the chair and began the work with a corded trimmer, and soon a flurry of detail work with smaller trimmers and some of her tools from the table. Probably took her about ten minutes for the haircut. Then some time with a straight razor blade and a tweezer to pluck and shave all over my face and then arms. I told her that this was all new to me, having literally just been picked from the street. She reassured me that there wasn't much to it. Just be no-nonsense about it. Take whatever the stylist decides, change clothes quickly, do the poses the photographer asks for, and repeat.

"All done," she said and handed me the hand mirror as if I had any say in this. I looked so different than just moments before. The hair was shorter than I've ever had it, with a razor sharp fringe line. The fade on the sides was basically just an inch tall from the head and down the temple, then skin tight down, and presumably the same around the back of the head as well. The total amount of hair I was left with could fit a shot glass. "If you go down the corridor to the break room there is a shower in the bathroom there. Ask Andy outside to let you in. Take a quick rinse to get rid of stray hairs, change into these, put your stuff in one of the plastic boxes there, and come back to me for a final touch-up." She handed me a pair of white briefs and white socks. I hesitated a bit, and she was quick to jump ahead of my thoughts. "Everyone around here are used to see gorgeous bodies without clothes. Act as if it is normal, because to us it is. You can't be self-conscious. Oh, and Andy is the only one with a key, so your valuables are safe." Another boy showed up at the door saying he needed a new application. I told Julia thanks and went to look for Andy.

Andy unlocked the door to the office lunch room for me and I did as Julia had told me. I stripped naked and put everyting, clothes, wallet, phone, keys, shoes, into one of the plastic boxes, wrote my name on it with a whiteboard marker and placed it next to all the other boxes. Eight boxes in total. I went into the bathroom, took a 90 seconds shower, and dried myself off with one of the towels from the pile. I put on the briefs and socks, had Julia apply her things to me, and within ten minutes I was dressed in Nike shoes, joggers, and a fleece hoodie, being ordered by a photographer who didn't have time to introduce himself to look left, turn around, put my hands in my pockets, pull up the hood, sit down on the floor, and on and on. Then out change, and back with the next item.

It was going non-stop since they were behind on my stuff, so I had barely time to talk to anyone. There wasn't any proper lunch break either, just a protein bar together with two of the other models, Mark and Andrew. At first they thought it was funny that I had just been snatched off the street for the shoot, but when I told them how much more money I got they were like "fuck you, go back to work". Well the break was over anyway, so I don't know how serious they were.

It continued with item after item, until I realized I was the only model left. The others had taken off without saying goodbye, not that we had any relation. People were moving things out of the office, and when I asked about the hurry they said there was a firm deadline when they had to be out so the cleaning crew could put everything back to a working office again. I could feel the pressure as it was my item changes that held up everyone. I swapped into a pair of MRKNTN underwear that probably was like half a size too small but decided to just power through with the shoot. As soon as the last photo had been taken, they started to dismantle the light rigs. As I walked back to the lunch room I could see that most of the clothes racks were gone. The makeup room was back to looking like a conference room. I couldn't find Andy anywhere though, and the lunch room with my stuff was still locked. I wanted my stuff for sure, but more importantly I wanted to get out of the underwear that kept squeezing and chafing. I couldn't go more than 30 seconds without having my hands down the joggers to adjust them.

Ben wasn't anywhere to be seen either. I asked one of the remaining people and he said they had all left, working on getting all the stuff back and preparing the "delivery pipeline" for the photos. Probably Andy had checked off everyone from his list, and it was printed before I was recruited. "Just keep the clothes you have on and you can come back here Monday and pick up your stuff," Ben said.

Fuck.

No point in hanging around any longer. Everyone wanted to leave as soon as possible, so I just left and headed towards the bus stop. It was getting late and with no phone on me I couldn't call home and say what was going on.

Fuck.

I didn't have anything to pay the bus fare with. I could perhaps go back to the office building and see if I could catch anyone exiting, use their phone, and call for someone to pick me up. But there was no telling if and when I would get hold of anyone. Just walking back there would make me miss the next bus, so that would set me back at least an hour. I could just as well ask someone else to use their phone. Or perhaps ask them to cover the bus fare.

That's when I saw them, a little bit further down the street, past the bus stop. Six boys huddled at the corner, talking and messing around as if no one else was around. One had a bike. All of them dressed in the kind of clothes I had spent all day modeling in, track suits, hoodies, trainers. All of them were smoking. I figured I'd have as good a chance with them as with anyone else now, looking the way I looked.

As I was getting closer one of them alerted the others and they had some kind of conversation about me. "Hello, excuse me. Could I borrow money for the bus fare from any of you?" There was a second of silence before a mixed snicker erupted, and one of them answered "No, bruv. I don't think so."

I don't know why, but for some reason I was mortified by how I had been dismissed. I could feel my face turning red, so I quickly turned away from them to make my way back to the bus stop, without any plan of what to do next.

"Oi, bruv!" I heard from behind me. Looking back at them I could see three boys had gotten up and were heading my way. "Callum's grafting down at the barber's for some extra quid and need someone to practice on. What if he can do some practice while we cover the fare and take you home safely? Fair, innit?"

"I barely have any hair," I said and let my hand touch my fresh skin fade, almost shocking myself with how radically different it felt.

"Won't be much of a nick then, bruv."

He was right. There wasn't much he could ruin. I had only a few millimeters of hair so in the worst case scenario I could shave completely and it would be back within the week.

"Good lad. A deal innit."

"Yes," I said, unsure if it was expected. The guy who had spoken and Callum flanked me while the third lad walked behind me, enveloping me with the scent of smoke and body spray. After a silent moment the guy spoke again, introducing himself as Iwan and the third guy as Rob, and asked where I lived. I gave him the bus stop, Hillside Garden North, about 18 minutes ride. Would have been busy during the week, but at weekends there wouldn't be many on the bus.

We didn't have to wait long for the bus to arrive, but instead of entering by the driver they all bunched up again with me in the middle and entered through the exit doors as a single unit. Then they quickly moved to the back of the bus and pushed me into a seat next to Callum, facing Iwan and Rob in the furthest back seat. I half expected the driver to say something over the speakers, but there was barely a delay, if any, before the bus was moving as if nothing was out of the ordinary. I looked at Iwan with perhaps a bit of surprise and he just shrugged as if to say "what did you expect? That the driver would confront us?"

Then he nodded at Callum next to me, backpack in his lap, who answered "Aye" and got up. He placed the bag on the seat and positioned himself right in front of me, one leg on either side of mine, his knees hitting the edge of the seat, and his left hand grabbing the rail behind me. It felt both imposing and intimate. He opened the backpack and rummaged around with his right hand until he found a small trimmer in a zip-lock bag.

He opened it with both hands and threw the plastic bag into the backpack. Then he looked out and waited for the bus to drive on straight and even road before he turned the trimmer on. Then slowly he moved it in an arched line from my temple and along the side of my head until he reached the neck. Then he studied for a few seconds before he made a few additional buzzes along the same line.

"Not bad, innit?" he said while shifting his body so Iwan and Rob could see. "Fucking mint, mate," Iwan answered.

Then he turned on the trimmer again and unexpectedly extended the line by buzzing my eyebrow for a few seconds. I hadn't even considered my eyebrows. Callum reached into his backpack again to put the trimmer in the zip-lock, but without moving his feet so his body pressed even closer to me. While I couldn't see much, I could certainly feel his body spray filling my nostrils while I felt my eyebrows with my fingers. I guess there would be a lot to explain to mother anyway, so this would just be yet another detail.

I could just see it for a fraction of a second. It looked like a small glue gun in off-white plastic. Then before I could realize what it was it was pressed against my ear, it made a snapping sound, and I felt a sharp pain. "What the!" I said, more in surprise than pain.

"18G piercing. Hurts more, heals slower, but much better," Callum offered, as if it was the type of piercing that was in question, not that he had done it at all. He reloaded the piercing gun and I struggled with what to do. Just take it like the first one? Why should I? But then one piercing was the real threshold. Once you pass that, two is if anything better than one. This would soon be over anyway.

He was just as quick with the second one as the first one. "These need to stay in 30 days, you hear me?" he said, still standing essentially on top of me. "Yes, I understand," I understand, I said with a sinking feeling of all the implications. He put the gun back into the bag and went searching for something again. Finally he pulled out some sort of pliers, then held my earlobe with one hand while doing something with the pliers with the other. "Making sure they don't fall off," he explained before sitting down again on his seat. I could see Iwan and Rob again, and booth looked pleased. Iwan looked absolutely chuffed. "Fucking proper, innit" he said and pat me hard on the shoulder. "Fucking proper."

After than Iwan opened up and started to ask me all kinds of questions, starting with my name, which I realized I hadn't given him when he presented everyone. I was soon giving the highlights of the day as a photo model until we arrived my stop. To my surprise everyone got off with me. "Said we would take you home safe." We continued to chat all the way home and it turned out me Iwan and Rob had the same taste in electronic music while Callum was more of a rock guy.

"Ok, this is my stop," I said once we reached my house. "Meet us Monday, same time and place," Iwan said. "What?" "You owe us £2 for the bus, bruv." "But..." "You going back on our deal?" "No, I'll come by." "And wear the same clothes. Underwear too." "No! I have classes." "You'll figure it out, bruv." Callum opened his backpack again and tossed something to Iwan. "And use this," he said and handed over a can of Lynx Jungle body spray. "What if I don't? What if I don't do any of that?" "Where you live isn't a secret, innit? See you Monday, bruv."

Power incarnate

Be careful staring at spirals for too long. They have a way to get deep into your head and start transforming you. Before you know it, you won’t be able to think of anything else. You will just need to obey the spiral and do as it commands.

So You Wanna Be a Meathead

dedicated to anyone who is just starting out, or who wants to start out

The day comes, and you’re all like, fuck yeah, I’m gonna start working out.  And it takes awhile, it always kinda does at first, you’re just kinda pissin along, you do a ton of cardio and maybe play with some of the machines.  Like testing the waters, you know?  That’s how it starts.  You don’t even know it yet, but there you are, on the elliptical, or the treadmill or whatever, and you come up for air sorta.  You kinda shake your head from side to side and refocus on the digital numbers in front of you.  One is counting down, one is counting up.  You’re halfway to halfway there, and you’re so out of breath, and you keep going, pumping, pushing, and there’s no real reason to stop going, so you just keep going.  The months pass like that.  Sure, from time to time, you get a little frustrated.  You ask yourself, why do I keep going to the gym?  But there’s no answer.  There isn’t even really a question.  It’s like shouting into the wind.  Your voice gets ripped away from you.  It might be a little tiny hiccup of doubt, but there’s a louder, gusting roar going on inside of you.  Something is building.  You start getting a little, oh, what’s the word, obsessed.  Old habits are shedding like dead skin.  It isn’t huge, not like those fantasy stories you read.  It’s a little bit at a time.  Little flickers of thought that lick their way into your head without your even really stopping to notice them.  It’s like seeing something move out of the corner of your eye as you whiz by on a freeway.  Was it real?  Was it really there?  There’s no way to go back and check to see if it was, because you’re hurtling forward, you’re moving so fast, there’s no way you can slam on the brakes.  You actually end up hitting the gas.  You lunge forward.  You’re watching a game on TV.  Could be streaming it, could be at a bar, could be on your TV, whatever.  It’s gonna happen - sports is everywhere, you can’t really escape it.  It trends on Facebook.  You click the hashtag, the link, idly scroll through.  You don’t realize that you have been doing this for some time now, that you seem to continually expose yourself to sports.  You see logos of teams more often than you used to - are more people wearing sports swag, or are you just noticing it now? - but it doesn’t matter, it’s just sort of there, out of the corner of your eye.  You wouldn’t say that it’s an obsession, not really.  Not yet.  Well, maybe a little.  And then there’s the whole world of the Internet spread out in front of you, a buffet of information.  You can choose what goes on your plate.  You look at your bookmarks and you’re genuinely surprised how many of them have the word Bodybuilding or Muscle or Nutrition in the titles.  You don’t remember bookmarking those, saving those links on Facebook.  There’s your watch list, on eBay, and you seem to be constantly getting notifications on your - bling - phone, because another tank-top or sleeveless t-shirt or basketball shorts is ending, and you just gotta cop that shit, you can see yourself wearing it, wearing it to the gym again in the not-too-distant future, and you honestly don’t know what to say when you get a package in the mail like, every day or some shit, and your roommate is like, yo, what the heck are all these packages you’re getting lately?  There’s no way to make up a story, and man, lying about it, coming up with something, just seems so hard, your brain is really fried from the last workout, and you just shrug and say “Gym clothes, bro” and oh my god you just flexed your arm in front of him.  It’s like time stands still, like everything is frozen, even you, and then you drop your arm and laugh a little, and he laughs too, and everything swells into a kaleidoscope of colors in front of your eyes, something like a spiral has been laid over everything you see.  “Gotta show off my gains, right?”  And it’s half-a-joke, half not-a-joke, and he shrugs too, and laughs easily, says something about how you’re a real meathead, and it’s half-a-joke, half not-a-joke.  And he’s telling you about this book he’s reading, and how he knows you’re gonna be super into it, because it’s meta-post something and - bling - Your phone is going off in your pocket, and you ignore it at first, you’re really trying to pay attention to your roommate, and you find yourself kinda nodding, and saying “yeah” a lot, but not really like, connecting, you know, to what he’s saying.  And your phone just keeps going off, and you’re going crazy with distraction, until finally he can tell you’re not paying attention and goes into his room and you dig out your phone and scramble to see what it is. It’s a chat dialog.  Someone with a ridiculous name, actually, not even a name, a number.  Like they’re on a team or something, and a part of you is kind of intrigued. And there’s a game on the TV, and you’re watching it, and you’re lifting a 15-pounder handweight while staring at the screen.  It’s not like you know why, but it kinda makes sense to be doing that.  There’s a mirror nearby too, and you keep looking at yourself, watching the muscle grow and move and shift underneath your skin.  And before you know it, you’re back at the gym.  And then you’re home again, mixing up your first protein shake that you got the protein from that supp center, that one that sells the tanks you see everyone at the gym wearing all the time.  You might get one of those one day, you think to yourself.  You should, it’s like repping, and you wanna rep your supp center, you want people to know where you get your supps.  Right?  Of course.  When you think about it, it’s really kinda weird, it doesn’t make sense.  The day came, you said you were gonna start lifting, working out, going to the gym.  You told everyone.  You posted about it on Facebook.  You don’t remember that you did that, but you did, and you got all these likes, and people are all like, good for you, and how exciting, and keep it up.  Soon enough, that turns into wow, you look good and have you been working out and you’re flexing for people you know - at first, privately, secretly, just to show your friends your work - but then, more and more, in public.  You stretch your arms over your head when you’re tired, showing off your triceps.  Showing off your biceps.  You find excuses to stretch out where people can see.  You wear shorts even when it’s cold.  You want people to see your legs, your calves, your quads.  The day came, and you did it, you started doing it, you never looked back.  You can’t hit the brakes, you’re going too fast.  And sometimes you think about it, you think, why did I make this choice, why did my life change so radically and - bling - You look at your phone, and it could be anything.  Someone commenting on your most recent profile pic on Facebook, your friend #37 just chatting about his leg day at the gym, showing you pics of his quads, the teardrop and the outer sweep starting to really show through, it could be another item of gear ending on eBay that you just have to have.  What were you thinking about?  Something.  It’s hard to recall.  Must not have been that important.  What is important?  Well, it’s getting late in the evening.  Gotta get that protein.  Gotta get to bed.  Gotta rest up for the gym tomorrow.  Leg day, and you wanna be able to show #37 just how hard you worked because you want your own number someday, don’t you?  Sure you do.  It’ll come to you.  One of these days, you’ll just remember that you have a number in mind for yourself.  And then the day comes - you look at the last selfie you took, the dumb one, the one of you with the blank eyes and the big fuckin muscles and well, yeah, you’re shirtless, you’re almost always shirtless at home now, and you’re pretending like you’re surprised, surprised that you got so big, surprised that all the hard work you did is paying off, surprised that you can’t remember your life before, and just for a second, something out of the corner of your eye flickers, and you almost turn your head to look at it, but then you press down on the gas, you leap forward, you lunge ahead, you pick up the weights, you grunt, you sweat, you grow.  And what, you ask yourself, is more satisfying than that? The answer comes loudly, in a rush, like a crowd standing on its feet to cheer:  nothing.  Nothing is more satisfying than that.  And you answer yourself, you grunt to yourself, under your breath: Fuck yeah.