It seems like a simple concept. I mean, you’re the only soul that is with you all the time. It would make sense to love yourself. Just being comfortable in your own skin seems like it should be easy, yet so many people hate themselves. Their too short, too tall, too fat, too skinny, too loud, too quiet. There seems to be no end to the things people are insecure about, and in turn people end up loathing themselves for it.

But why? How do these insecurities come to be? For me I find one and only one culprit: Marketing and Advertising.

I’ve been at odds with my figure since before I can remember (weird coming from a guy right?). Throughout high school and still today I’m conscientious about my weight. Regardless of all the compliments, or reassurance that I’m not fat or ugly. I’ve always looked at myself in the mirror and had something to obsess over: “Belly too bulgy, acne is outrageous, your arms have no tone or definition,” the laundry list could continue but I wouldn’t want to burden you with my own insecurities. I worry about these things, for what? I’m never going to have abs like Zach Efron, or be as jacked as Hugh Jackman is in X-Men, and I’m certainly not going to be The Rock.

Yet, when we watch television we are assaulted with images of ‘perfect people’ living ‘perfect lives.’ Smiling, laughing, and looking absolutely stunning, even if they are trying to sell us ass cream. Hell, the old people in Viagra and Cialis commercials look better than me!

These images train us to incessantly loath ourselves for the single motive of buying whatever product they want to shove down our fugly throats. As Don Draper in Mad Men says: “You are the product[the consumer]. You feel something. That’s what sells.” Marketing executives and Ad agencies thrive on you feeling inadequate about how you look.

Its madness (pun intended)! Cigarette commercials were pulled from the air because they worked too well! Yet, when McDonalds or Burger King roll out their new, “$5 for cancer in a paper bag,” nobody bats an eye. Then we turn around and see a half naked model in a semi-pornographic commercial rubbing facial cream all over her face, or Ryan Gosling eye fucking us while riding topless on a horse. It’s no wonder why I’m eating a half a tub of Haggen-Dazs every night, and using the other half that’s melted as a lubricant to jerk off in a self loathing stupor.

Sorry, got off track, where was I? Ah yes, loving thyself, listen people: let’s stop holding ourselves to God-like standards and realize that we don’t get paid to work out. Why do we think so many kids are getting diagnosed with depression at an early age? Is it because their parent wants them to be David Beckham, both the star soccer player and the underwear model?

We all have to realize at the end of the day that all that glitters is not gold. For all we know Ryan Gosling uses the other half of his Haggen-Dazs ice cream as lube too.

“I love my self, Illuminated by the hand of god, boy don’t seem shy…One day at time”-Kendrick Lamar

Signed,

An Angsty Almost 20 year old

P.S. No Haggen-Dazs did not sponsor this post

 

I’ll just put it bluntly: I’m sorry I’ve been absent from this blog. I could blame it all on the fact that I’m taking summer classes, or blame it on the fact that I grossly misled myself about the amount of free time that I would have over the summer. I could lie through my teeth and blame it on those things but the simple reality is: I have found that I have nothing to write about.

That’s right, zilch, zip, squat. I’ve tried countless times to try and sit down to write something, something that I thought would inspiring, profound, and exciting to read. But all I found was that I’m full of shit. That’s what writer’s block will do to you. It’s not the simple fact of “oh I don’t have anything to write about,” it’s more like: “I absolutely hate everything that I write.”

So, I sit here. Looking at my dimly lit screen, sipping my beer(shh don’t tell the cops), and watch the words appear on the page as if it’s like magic. I sit silently, hearing my fingertips make pitter patter noises on the keyboard, and hope to god that whoever is nice enough to read this finds it interesting. Because that’s what every writer wants deep down, to have someone read the words that they  painstakingly put down on paper and have somebody tell them that they enjoyed it.

That is why I have created this blog post, for those who look to my blog and hope to find something that they enjoy. In the time that I have taken off I have had multiple friends ask: “Mitch where’s the blog at?”, “Mitch, why haven’t you written anything lately?” I’d thank each and every one of you that has asked me this question, because it means that what I think about, what I create, means something to someone. All the extra time that I put in making stories, writing think pieces, and just fooling around is not wasted time.

So I say to you, WILBBlog fans, keep your eyes peeled. It may take some time, and some sweat, and maybe a tear or two, but I WILB back with hopefully a post-a-week on this site.

Signed,

The Master Wilbologist