Bro Culture, definitely. I’d go around wearing a sequined jersey shirt and artfully tailored cargo shorts. I’d have a lot of cute floral snapbacks—the garments of a proud and ancient people nicely updated for the modern queer girl on the go.
I’d buy a set of decorative weights and stack them in my livingroom as an artful centerpiece, and when guests came over it’d be a nice talking point. We could discuss emotional repression as it relates to power and virility, and the wisdom there is to be drawn from subsuming one’s ego within the larger tribal rhythms of a ‘frat’.
When I saw men on the street I would high five them, and say jocularly, ‘No ho mo!’ in my best macho accent. I would observe ‘Game Day’ while consuming the traditional spiced meats and breads, and cheer at the sublime brutality of the age-old bloodletting ritual of Tackle Balls.
Truly, I would revel in the meaning and depth Bro Culture would bring to my stifling, mundane queer girl existence.
I agree, totally. This is the best…
… though I don’t know enough to have meaningful discussions about the many wonderful versions of sports ball, so a ritual of tackle balls sounds too advanced for me.