Toward A Unified Theory Of Man Buns And Fuckability
Hey, guys. Hope you’re having a lovely Monday. We’ve got to have a little chat about something. There’s no nice way to say this: We need to talk to you about your man bun. Have you considered that the quality of your man bun is perhaps impacting your fuckability? We think you should.
Long hair on a man is, in theory, perfectly fine. Consider the once flowing locks of Jared Leto, ombréd to perfection, tousled, shiny, soft. It looked like it smelled of really expensive shampoo and wood smoke. It is hair that inspires Pinterest boards and shared photo streams, hair that is brandished in iPhone pictures and shown to stylists. “Make me look like this!” you scream. “This is what I want my hair to look like.”
Why does this man bun work? Because it’s lush. There’s some heft to it. If you grabbed it in passion or just out of a passing curiosity to see if it’s as soft as it looks, you’d get a real handful. This is how a man bun should be: vibrant, lustrous, long. Full of life. It should give you a hint of ’70s-Laurel-Canyon-cult-leader. You should be simultaneously attracted and intrigued. This is a solid man bun. It’s the gold standard.
Where Leto excels, so many other men fall short. Take into consideration someone on the other end of the spectrum, Leonardo DiCaprio. This is a valiant effort, but sadly falls short. There’s no depth to this bun. There’s no oomph. It’s the bun of a man trying to desperately stop the march of time on his hairline. If the front of your hair is beating a hasty retreat towards the back, please do us a favor and accept nature’s course for you. There is nothing remotely sexy about a man bun that is really more of a man-nubbin.
It’s silly to assess a man’s virility by the length of his hair, but there’s something about Jared Leto’s man bun that telegraphs high-quality, tender fucking. He’d be awake the whole entire time while you were doing it. He’d be sensitive. He’d pull your hair if you asked for it but would probably tend towards a Bon Iver-ish sensitivity. There would be cooing, and whispered nothings. It would be beautiful.
The boning you’d endure with the Leo of this equation would pale in comparison. The male that sports the man-nubbin would ask you for a halftime hand job during football season. He wouldn’t offer a quickie. You’d end up with a sticky wrist and a mounting irritation. This is not what anyone wants.
We implore you, men: if you’re going to go down this route, resist the urge to sweep up the scant strands you have into a struggle-bun. Use a headband. Invest in product. Figure out a way to work through this awkward transition phase. If countless women growing out pixie cuts can make it through without looking like a hot mess, you can too.