Expectations vs. Reality
Somewhere between what we want and what actually happens, we grow.
Expectations are handed to us like a mandatory 10-minute arm and hand massage at LUSH: firm, unsolicited and wildly uncomfortable.
Within the gay community, expectations start early and stack quickly — be a twink, be a jock, be masc (but not too masc), hit the gym, don’t be “too fem”, have a skincare routine but don’t be high maintenance — it’s a carousel of contradiction.
Labels fly around like designer tags at a sample sale. But instead of Prada, Gucci, or Dior, it’s twink, twunk, bear, otter, daddy — the fashion is niche, and the sizing is confusing.
Who decided when you evolve from a twink to a twunk? From an otter to a bear? Is there a form to fill out? An adjudicated ceremony? Or does someone just whisper, “you’ve changed” across a smoking area and it becomes gospel?
There was a guy — let’s call him Mr Big Muscles. When we met, he was new to the scene, baby-faced and still wide-eyed at his first gay club. Over time, he started working out. Hard. It wasn’t just fitness, it became his identity. Somewhere between the protein shakes and progress pics, he became the guy that looked down on the rest of us for not being in the gym six days a week. Including me. Mr Big didn’t just change — he became what he once resented.
Do we chase types too much? Or do we chase becoming one?
Fitness in London feels like a competition you didn’t enter. Between the running clubs, classpass memberships, luxury studios and constant step counts, it’s easy to forget what actually makes us feel good. If you love it, if it’s for you, amazing. But if it's just another thing on the checklist of self-worth, maybe we’ve lost the plot.
Years ago, my biggest fitness concern was standing still on the balance board in my parents’ living room on Wii Fit. Maybe that’s where we peaked.
We love. We move. Wii Fit.