This is Not a Man

I remember when I was a sophomore in high school, I went to Los Angeles with my dad for the state Academic Decathlon competition (I know, dorky, but it helped get me into college!) We stopped by the LA County Museum of Art and explored some of the modern art collection. Modern art always annoyed me to some degree (how a painted white canvas can be worth a million bucks, I'll never know), and I remember coming across one particularly frustrating painting.

It was a famous work by René Magritte. It was simple. Just a beige canvas, a perfectly styled pipe in the center. And below that, the words "Ceci n'est pas un pipe." ("This is not a pipe.") I can still remember my incredulity at seeing the painting:

Me: This is ridiculous! What does he mean? Of course it's a pipe!
Dad: OK, OK, but is it really a pipe? Can you smoke it?
Me: No...
Dad: Can you touch it?
Me: No...
Dad: So it isn't really a pipe. It's a picture of a pipe. It isn't reality, it's an imitation of reality.

I don't know if I fully appreciated that message at the time. But it's one I’ve come to understand today. There is a difference between a man and a picture of a man. The picture is an illusion, a fantasy. It’s an expression of what that man wishes himself to be perceived as; and an impression of what the viewer wishes to perceive. The man is the man.

I realize that posting pictures of ourselves online is a double-edged sword: On the one hand, you put your image out there and hopefully find support and meet people who like what they see; on the other, your image can become the object of interest, not you.

And there's a fundamentally important question that we need to be honest about: Does posting images online help us find meaningful relationships/encounters/friendships? Or does it enable objectification that expressly impedes anything meaningful? My personal answer is in the gray area somewhere between the two.

To find that answer, we must first look at the causes. Ultimately, I think objectification in our community sprouts from two sources: our obsession with a single body part and—to a much larger degree—the slow process by which we gradually learn to live with (and eventually love) this kink.


Q: WHAT DO YOU CALL THAT FLESHY THING AROUND A BELLY?
A: A PERSON

I joked about it in my last post, but easily the single most common greeting I get online is “How’s the belly?” Most guys don’t want to know how I’m doing, they want to see what’s shakin with my food processor (and I don’t mean my Cuisinart). Our kink is focused heavily on a single body part—the belly—and that simple fact makes it all too easy to de-humanize the guys we see online.

I’d try to act incredulous, but I’d be a hypocrite for doing so. Because I too am guilty of objectification of my brethren from time to time. I’ve spent many a subway ride ogling the belly stuffed into a too-small shirt. And I sometimes let my fantasies run wild looking at pictures of icons like sfgutmuscle and hogbelly, ignoring the fact that I know them personally.

And I too am guilty of manipulating the “reality” of my own pictures. I’ve taken photos to accentuate my finer features and at times pushed my belly out more to create a larger silhouette. I’ve posed in ways to project a more masculine image, to project a certain fantasy. And I certainly have enjoyed the attention paid to my body, my belly, my accomplishments.

We love bellies. There’s not much we can do about it. We like what we like. And sometimes that love can lead to objectification. But I think we can love a single body part without always objectifying the man who possesses it. Most of the time, objectification is more the product of our state-of-mind, than our simple love of bellies. It’s less about the photos we take or the image we project and more about the mentality of the viewer.

In the end, it’s mostly about the walls the viewer had built in his own head.


MR. GORBACHEV, TEAR DOWN THIS WALL

Walls are useful. They help keep things out that we don’t want in, and they protect us from possible threats. But they can also be harmful.

When coming to terms with our kink, we go through certain phases. First is denial—we’ve all been there. Then when we get over that, there’s a cautious acceptance: “Yes, I have this kink, but it’s not really a part of me. It’s just some weird quirk that I dabble in.” It’s at this moment in our development that we begin building a wall in our brain. On one side of the wall are all our gainer kinks, fantasies and desires. On the other side, is everything else.

I’ll be the first to admit that when I started to meet men online, I objectified and de-humanized them. I made sure I kept my encounters with anyone from the gainer community separate from my “normal” life. To me, it was safer to keep them on one side of the wall I’d built. It had nothing to do with whether or not they had photos or videos (many just didn’t back then, it was the dark ages of 2002, after all).

As any of you who’ve tried the same know, that’s not a charade you can keep up for long. Sooner or later, you have to start melding the two worlds. And as soon as I started tearing down that wall, the objectification of other guys with this kink began to fade.

De-humanizing someone who is perceived as a threat is a perfectly natural human response—it's what enables soldiers to kill their enemies with little hesitation or allows you to turn your nose at homeless panhandlers without feeling like a total dick. Though this reaction is natural, it's far from ideal. De-humanizing others allows us to be OK with the shitty things we do to them. It’s why some guys can stand you up in the rain and not think twice.

For those who still have some or all of that barrier up—and let’s be honest, that’s probably a majority of guys who have this kink—the walled world is all they know. It’s just easier to think of a man as an object, the sum of his parts (his pictures, videos and web chat) than to see him as simply a person.


CECI EST UN HOMME

So what does all this mean for that nagging question: Should we or shouldn’t we post photos of our ourselves online? Well, regardless of whether or not we post photos or videos of ourselves, some will objectify us and some will not. Those who are more at ease with their kink will see us as equals—as real human beings—no matter what and those with heavy gainer baggage will continue to see us as objects of lust.

The good news is that the more guys who are confident and honest about themselves online, who stand for something positive and empowering, the more our community’s collective confidence seems to come out. And as that happens to a greater degree, we’ll see more of those walls come tumbling down.

While I’ve felt objectified more than a few times since first posting pictures of myself online, I can safely say that the reward—the truly amazing mix of guys I’ve met and friendships I’ve forged over the years—has been well worth the trouble.

The ones who matter know that “This is a man.”

When is a Gainer Not a Gainer?

I get a few common questions from new contacts online. The top three are usually: "How's the belly?" "Cam?" and "Is Beefyfrat acting up for you too?" To which the answers are: Fine. No. And of course it is. But toward the top of that list is one deceivingly simple question: "Are you still gaining?" It's one that I struggle to answer.

I’ve thought a bit about why I have a hard time answering what should be an easy question. I struggle with it because there is a difference between being a gainer and actually gaining. After giving it some thought, I’ve realized that we have a problem in nomenclature.

The labels gainer and encourager are confusing because they are action-oriented. I’ve known a number of guys who are reluctant to accept their interest in gaining and encouraging, because acceptance of the gainer identity means—ipso facto—that they need to follow through. For better or worse, we’re stuck with a label that’s essentially a verb, when it should be an adjective. I’m not saying we need new terms (gainer and encourager work just fine), but we need to be aware of what we mean when we use them and the implications of an action-oriented sexual identity.

The truth is, being a gainer isn’t really about gaining weight. It’s not about pounds packed on or belt notches added.

For all its physical implications, gaining/encouraging has a dirty little secret:


IT'S ALL IN YOUR HEAD

OK, I hear your collective moan… so let me clarify. It’s not ALL in your head. Obviously there’s a wonderful physical element. Having gained more than 150 pounds since starting my journey seven years ago, I can soundly attest to the pleasures of growing. From the feeling of mass that wasn’t there before, to the gradual tightening of clothes that used to fit to the undeniably awesome end-product (belly!), it’s a mind-blowing ride.

But I was a gainer long before I packed on my first pound—from the very first time I stuffed pillows under my shirt and play acted what it would be like to have a big belly at age 8. And should I someday need to lose weight to safeguard my health, I will continue to be a gainer then and beyond.

Those things are true because gaining is really just an idea—and that should give us all comfort. To paraphrase V for Vendetta: “Ideas never die. They are immortal. They are bulletproof.” No matter what I weigh or what direction I’m heading, gaining is always a part of who I am. It’s in my DNA. And if you’re reading this, it’s probably part of yours too.

I remember when I was just starting to gain, and thought I was only attracted to bigger, chunkier, bellied men. But along the way, I discovered something interesting—I always ended up having more fun with skinnier guys who were into gaining/encouraging than with crazy-sexy big dudes who weren’t. It confused me for a while, but eventually came to make sense: It wasn’t about the body, it was about the mentality. It didn’t matter if a guy LOOKED the part—he needed to THINK the part. He had to be into the idea.

None of this is to say that gaining is just in your head and therefore you can trap it there and never let it see the light of day. Just like being gay, if you try to suppress it, to compartmentalize it and lock it in a fetish box in the corner of your mind, it will come back with a vengeance. For better or worse this something we need to accept as an integral part of our sexuality—not a tangent to it—if we want to be mentally healthy.

And that’s why accepting the idea of gaining is so much more important than gaining even a single pound. We need to be comfortable with the adjective (being a gainer), even if we aren’t ready to take on the verb (actually gaining).


THE RIGHT TO LOSE?

So back to that yet-to-be-answered question: For all intents and purposes I am now a "maintainer" (which is a ridiculously un-sexy word, that you will never see me write again). Yes I still eat more food than the average American family, yes I still have (and love) my big belly, and no, I’m not closing the door on growing more.

But my body is limited right now, like all of ours are or will be at some time: For me its air travel, which would become near impossible if I were to gain much more.

And yet a gainer I remain.

Many of us will never reach our fantasy weight or even our real-life goals. Some may not even try. And that’s OK. We weren’t meant to look like Warren Davis pictures and still be mobile and healthy, but that doesn’t mean we can’t fantasize about them. For some, the tradeoffs of gaining (e.g. losing business or alienating friends) are too much and will keep them from become bigger or force them to lose. That’s OK too.

I have a close gainer friend who recently began losing weight for legitimate, personal reasons. We teased him in good fun about what we’d have to call him now (“If you’re not a gainer, and you’re in fact losing, then that would make you a…”), but it was friendly joking. He ended up actually getting the cold shoulder from some of his “friends” in the gaining community. They were upset that he’d reversed course and decided to stop talking to him.

I’m reminded of an expression that Deepak Chopra is fond of: “We’re human beings, not human doings.” We can’t expect to be defined by an action—it simply isn’t sustainable. Someday all our gains will come to an end. As long as we are true to ourselves, whether we choose to gain, lose, maintain or just say fuck it and go with the flow, we will be just fine.

At the end of the day, we need to live our lives on our own terms. Most if not all of us will struggle at some point with some very basic questions: “Should I gain?” “Where is my limit?” “Is this too slippery a slope?” “Should I lose for health reasons?” Each of us will come to our own conclusions.

It’s important when answering those questions though, to take a step back and remember that no matter what the answer, we will always be gainers. No matter what verb we chose to act on, we will remain the adjective. As long as we’re OK with that simple fact, everything else will fall into place.

We Are Freaks/We Are Awesome

I’ve just returned from Expansion 2009 and I have so many thoughts running through my head. First of all, I have to say that the event was amazing. AMAZING. Not only was it a great group of guys, but the host hotel and city were just so ideal for our cadre. The food was superb, though I think I’m still digesting a particularly hearty muffaletta I ate two weeks back.

I’ve chosen this topic for my first post because I think it’s one we as a community come back to often. Growing up with clearly abnormal desires, the urge for normalcy is only natural. I remember so many nights when I was younger thinking “if only I wasn’t gay, life would be easier.” That later evolved into, “If only I wasn’t into gaining, life would be easier.” What I’ve learned between then and now is that life isn’t easy. Not for us and not for them (whoever they are). It’s messy and weird, but that’s half the fun of it.

Life is full of idiosyncrasies—one of my favorite being the dichotomies of growth and change (gay shame becomes pride, for example). My love of gaining and bellies went from being my own personal shame as a young teen to something that I not only tolerate, but have grown to love (pun intended). I love my kink. And let me tell you why:


WE ARE FREAKS

It’s a fact. No matter how many times you’ve tried to, you can’t really normalize what we like. “Traditionally speaking, human society valued larger men.” That may be true, but it doesn’t normalize why you get off staring at a dude with a big gut—and imagine it growing even bigger. And it doesn’t explain why rubbing a guy’s belly in a bar is more satisfying than rubbing his crotch. Perhaps “freak” is a strong word, but this is a blog, and so I must incite. Perhaps a more diplomatic way of putting it would be “unique.”

No matter how we try to say it, we are not like everyone else. We are unique. Dan (who is Expansion’s resident philosopher-in-chief) hit on something really profound during his lecture this year. Chubs and chasers have “normal” sexual desires (the word normal here only means that it is what the majority enjoy). They want the same thing that other gay men want (traditionally speaking, anal and oral sex), they just want it in a different waist-size.

We are not like them. Not only do we not want the type of guys that “normal” gays want, we don’t even want the type of sex they want. Sure we like oral and anal sex, but it’s not the be-all end-all of our sex lives. For us—well most of us anyway—the belly (or a plump set of tits or a rounding ass) is the turnon. We are aroused by the act of growing—even the simple act of eating. For all its physical implications, gaining really exists between the ears. Sure with a little creativity upstairs we can have sex with guys who aren’t into this, but let’s face it, it’s never quite the same. They don’t get us the same way we get each other. And that leads me to my second point.


WE ARE AWESOME

We are awesome. We spend so much time beating ourselves up about how freakish our desires are that we never seem to focus on just how special we are. We are a minority, within a minority. Sure that could be scary, but it’s also exciting. We are connected by experience and desire in a way that few people are.

How many of us can remember when we were younger and stuffing pillows under our shirts when our parents weren’t home? Or flipping channels in the hopes of catching sumo or the world’s strongest man competitions? Or being inexplicably fascinated by “before” and “after” weight-loss photos (with an eye toward reversing them)? How many of us can remember that feeling the first time we found Bellybuilders or Gainrweb? Or the first time we got to rub a real belly? This kink has been with us for a long time and that common experience of discovery and exploration connects us in a wonderful way.

True, you won’t share everything in common with every gainer/encourager. Like any community, ours is diverse and includes everyone from movie stars to busboys—from the coolest cool dude to the craziest asshole. And true, many gainers also have other offshoot kinks (inflation, mpreg, vore, cigars, furries, etc.) But we are united by a common interest that’s as natural to us as breathing or talking. Once we accept our kink, take it out of its box and integrate into our sexuality, the potential for physical connection is nothing short of breathtaking. And the friendships we can forge among each other can be every bit as rewarding.

Perhaps my favorite part of our awesomeness, though, is our ability to say “fuck it!” Once we own our kink, we give social norms—and the boring people who rigidly abide by them—the finger. We get to ask “Do I look fat in this?” and smile when we hear “yes”. We don’t spend our days freaking out about eating too many carbs or hopelessly striving for a ridiculous six-pack. We are simply too fucking cool for that. And that is something to celebrate.


All of this is my way of saying two simple things: We really are different from everyone else, and that’s not a bad thing. In fact, it’s rather wonderful. The glass is half full, gentleman. So go gulp down what’s left and order another round!