How to Look Like a Bear, But Feel Like a Beast

Actually, working no office job has its disadvantages.  There’s a lot of boredom, and – nowadays – when I get bored, I get adventurous.

change your lookAnd so this is the ultimate guide on how to change your look, and not give a shit what others think of you…

Cause this is one of the things that happens when you finally gain confidence in yourself.  You’re willing to maybe look a bit ridiculous, a bit abnormal, a bit different, for the added benefit of looking pretty fucking awesome too.

Different from what you know.

Different from what’s comfortable.

Different from what others would expect of you, or of anyone.

But a lot of people have a hard time deviating from what they’re used to with their appearance, or with anything else.

People of routine.

People too concerned with the opinions of others.

People so scared to be at all different from what they’re used to; from what they know and have known.

Lord knows I used to be one of them.

Cause when I was younger…

…I would have never allowed myself out in public unless I looked a very specific way – however I expected myself to look.  What was normal to me.

The same style of dress.  The same hair.  The same colors.  The same everything.

Nothing too fancy.  Nothing to stick out.  Nothing to do what scared me more than anything: draw attention to myself.  To be noticed.  Stared at.  To be seen at all.

That was my biggest fear – that someone would simply see me at all.  Cause at that point in my life – with no confidence, and with the fucking stupid belief that I had nothing to offer anyone; that I was ugly and boring – I just wanted to blend in.

I just wanted to be invisible.

And anything else – anything at all that forced me out of that comfort zone, out of the shadows in which I felt safe – was painful.

Literally painful.

It sounds so stupid, but that’s how it was.  It’s how I lived.  For so many years it’s how I lived.

I remember skipping classes cause of a pimple or something cause I was too afraid to show my face.  I remember canceling a date cause I hadn’t had the time to change or shave so that I’d look just as she remembered me.  I remember making some excuse to avoid going out with my friends cause I didn’t like the outfit options I had.

Stupid, stupid shit like that.

Stupid stuff I did, and life I avoided, because of my fear of my appearance, my fear of people.

All because, in my head and in my mind, I had a certain image of my Self – of the person I was, and how that person was allowed to look.

The clothes he’d wear.  The hair he’d have.  The people he’d talk to, and millions more he’d avoid.  The things he’d do, and the things he wouldn’t.

Like a law I lived by that image.  Because I hadn’t the confidence to change it – to be different, to act different, to look different.

And now…

how to change your lookEver met someone who just looked so damn awesome you couldn’t help but be totally jeals?

That’s what I’m going for here.

Pretty much everyone, I’m told, wishes they had my various sick-ass hair stylings.  I’ve gotten letters from Jeter, Bieber, the Pope – everyone – just trying to get in on this level of legitness.

I give what help and advice I can, of course.  But it’s hard.

The picture on the left is the usual me, and the oldest.  Shaved head.  A little stubble.  I’ve been rocking that for a year or two now, keeping the hair at about those lengths.  It’s my standard-rate pretty much cause its easy to maintain and I heart it.

The picture in the middle is me 2 weeks ago, though.  Turns out…sitting around an apartment all day just writing or researching stuff isn’t all that exciting, and sometimes, in fact, it gets pretty damn boring.

So I cut myself a sick Hawk (as I call them).  Because,well…just because.

I called it “Hawk Week”, and anyone out there who’s ever had one knows that it’s absolutely the most awesome time of your life, living with a Hawk.  You feel pretty much superhuman, like you could lift cars and push over trees and other such manly shit.  Actually, you can’t though, and my back’s tore up pretty bad from trying.  But whatever.

The picture on the right, though, is me as of now.  The Hawk grew out and I didn’t wanna spend the time to maintain it so I just evened it out, and grew this beard instead.

Thing is…I’ve never had a beard in my life.  I normally keep a good stubble instead, but there I am, pretty much more beard than man.  I mean, I look like a freaking bear.  And while that may not be a ton of beard to others, it’s more beard than I know what to do with, and definitely more than I would have normally felt comfortable with.  But now I put myself to sleep at night just gently stroking my cheeks, cause I just love it so much.

Who knows what’s next up for my face, though.  I’d take suggestions.  But right now I’m thinking that maybe I grow out a sweet 80s porn-stache or something.  Actually, that’s it for sure.

But why?

Why would I do this?  And how?

How can I go out with such a sick Hawk, or with a beard that looks like I’m the bastard child of a man and a bear and not care about the looks, or comments, or expectations?

These things may seem very small to you, or ridiculous to you.  But to me, they’re very different.  And that’s all that matters.

Everyone has their similar little things – the little things they’re unnaturally picky about, or strict about.

Some girls refuse to cut the length of their hair, for instance.  Some refuse to go out without make up.   Some would never be seen in sweats in a place where cute guys might be or whatever.

Some dudes “need” to gel their hair.  Or have the freshest haircut.  Or wear cologne.  Or whatever other stupid things.

But I change how I look because I don’t give a shit.

Not as something I simply write here, or others so often say.

But truly.  And really.

I don’t care.

Not like I’m a homeless dude, or something.  Not like I go out looking like an unkempt slob who lives in his parents basement either.

But other than that, I don’t care.

I do what I want.  And look how I want.

Because I can.

Because it’s an adventure and I think its hilarious.

Because I know that the hair on my face, or the hair on my head, or the clothes on my back don’t affect in any way that matters what people think of me, or the opinions they hold of me.

But, more importantly, I know that it doesn’t affect what I think of myself.

I’m fun either way.  I’m awesome either way.

An who cares?

Who gives a shit – truly – but you?

When you have no confidence…

…in yourself – when you have no trust in your self-worth or no doubt in your ultimate value – you come to think that someone’s always looking; that someone always cares; that someone’s always judging; that the how you look and how you appear on any single day means so much or is so much; that it matters at all.

And that’s the world you live in.

That’s the shit that runs through your mind constantly, as you walk down the street in your odd new look.

Or any look at all, right?

It’s a feeling that never truly leaves.  The feeling of being watched, of being whispered about, or thought negatively of.

The idea that everyone has their eyes on you.

And that they don’t like what they see.

But when you have confidence in your Self, you stop caring about their acceptance of you, about their thoughts of you, about anything they may say or believe about you, and care only about Your self – the fun you’re having, how awesome you look, how much cooler you are than them anyway.

Whether it’s true or not.  Whether you’re absolutely delusional or not.

It doesn’t matter.

Cause fuck what anyone thinks of you.

Fuck it.

Who gives a shit what they think or what they say?  Why is their opinion more important than your own?  Why are their beliefs more true than your own?

They aren’t.  In everywhere except your head.  In every place but in your mind.

I have the time of my life…

…going out looking like this, with a stupid Hawk I was far too proud of.  I had girls stroking it at the bar.  I told them the Hawk would make their hearts soar.  We had a blast with it.

With the beard I told em I’m prepping for an off-Broadway role as the Unabomber, or that it was my last night in society and I was going to the forest to live on berries and my wits.

They just laugh.

Because it doesn’t matter.

Because people only give a shit as much as you give a shit.

When you think you’re awesome, and have a great time, they’re likely to have a great time too, and think you’re awesome too.

So chop your hair and find out.  Get some weird-ass look and go out.

Find out that the only one who cares how you look…is You.

Find out that all along the only person it should have mattered to was You.


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