You ever meet that guy who’s just trying so hard to be one of the good ones?
Yeah, that’s me.
I’m the human equivalent of a “This is fine” meme wearing a feminist T-shirt and holding my therapy rock. I’m out here desperately auditioning for sainthood like it’s an open mic night at the Woke Olympics.
Exhibit A: The Self-Aware Apology
“Oh, I’m sorry; not because I’m wrong, but because I know how it sounds when I say it.” That’s me, baby. A walking disclaimer with good intentions and bad follow-through. I don’t actually want credit for being a good person; I just want the optics package.
Ethical beige interior. Comes with standard guilt and rear-view trauma detection.
Exhibit B: Allyship or PR Campaign?
I’ll call out toxic masculinity and then, five minutes later, try to finesse the chick next to me into …well at the very least a tugger.
Like, I’m out here talking about accountability while still asking if consent can be retroactive when I realize I overshared my trauma too early. I’m the kind of guy who’ll post something deep about emotional labor right before ghosting someone because I “don’t have the bandwidth.”
Heroic, really.
Exhibit C: [Redacted for Self-Delusion]
Yeah, I deleted this one. Turns out I don’t actually have a moral gym routine; I just like the aesthetic of emotional growth. My self-awareness has abs, but my accountability skips leg day.
Exhibit D: White Guilt, but Make It Performance Art
I’m the only person who can make an apology thread look like a TED Talk. “Here’s how my ignorance taught me empathy, and also; please don’t cancel me, I still have merch in the cart.” If white guilt were a sport, I’d have a sponsorship deal with REI.
Exhibit E: The Philosopher’s Dilemma
I’ll dissect morality for eight paragraphs, only to end with:
“But what do I know, I’m just some asshole with Wi-Fi.”
And you’ll think I’m being humble; but no. That’s just my get-out-of-accountability free card. It’s the philosopher’s version of “I’m just sayin’.”
Exhibit F: The Earnest Ending
At the end of the day, I really do want to be one of the good ones. I just wish it didn’t sound so fucking needy. Like a toddler handing you a crayon drawing that says, “I respect women (please clap).”
Exhibit G: The Closer
So here I am …baring my moral stretch marks, confessing my contradictions, and hoping you notice how self-aware I am while doing it. Because isn’t that the point? To prove that I’m not like those other guys. I’m the kind of mess that knows he’s a mess. Which, obviously, makes me better.
So go ahead. Leave a comment.
Tell me I’m brave.
Tell me I’m growing.
Tell me you can feel my accountability from here.
My…AuThEnTiCiTy.
Go on.
Say it.
Tell me I’m one of the good ones.