So, I don’t want to sound dramatic or anything, but your man bun is ruining our civilization.
Hear me out. It’s not about the man bun in se. It’s about cultural context. Samurai man buns are OG. European soccer player man buns…eh, let’s say we fought a revolution for a reason. Even the crunchy hippie man bun—those guys live hardcore lives, hiking the entire Pacific Crest trail, pretending civilization doesn’t exist.
But your man bun doesn’t come up the PCT with Tevas and a tattered copy of John Muir. It comes down the streets of D.C. with a button-down, dress shoes, and a latte. This is the problem. Somehow the man bun has become the petty rebellion of millennial men who refuse to grow up and buy into society.
What Is a ‘Man,’ Anyway?
Do me a favor: imagine your first-grade self. You’re covered in dirt, have scraped knees, and have been collecting cicada shells in your pockets. Did you think that someday you’d have to take out the cicada shells to make room for hair bands?
In spite of today’s chatter about abandoning sexed conventions, we’re not a lawless society. Women generally do not get into fist fights and sit with their legs open. Men generally do not knit or need elastics and bobby pins. Your man bun is breaking our societal conventions, and even your first-grade self would have known that.
You may say that your man bun is a personal choice and that you’re not going to “cave to the pressures of society.” Fair enough. Part of being a man is sticking to your principles and choosing which hills to die on. But is that greasy poof really it? This is your Rubicon?
There’s an interesting documentary by the war journalist Sebastian Junger, called “The Last Patrol.” Judging by your hair, you haven’t seen it. He and several friends reflect on what it means to be a man. One of them touches on something really keen: being a man means finding out what the world expects of you—and doing it.
I would say that is not only what it means to be a “man,” but to be an adult.
Your Man Bun Is Selfish and Immature
You seem not to realize that your man bun is a hurdle to being taken seriously, both by older men and women of all ages. We have all agreed to abide by the rules of society, and your man bun is flaunting them.
Just like a loud suit or a low-cut dress, the man bun is vanity. It’s a shallow way to grab attention and differentiate yourself through flash instead of substance. Your man bun wants to keep one foot in the “Hey, look at me” of childhood while still reaping the benefits of being a grown man.
Obeying the rules shows the people around us that we respect them. That’s why even Mark Zuckerberg put on a suit to speak with Congress. That’s how the adult world works.
Women Resent Your Man Bun
Women and men have a good partnership. We help you know how to behave in public; you help us from being paranoid, spinster hypochondriacs who drown their sorrows in ice cream.
Historically, part of being a man is letting yourself be socialized by women. And that’s why we resent your man bun. We assume that it comes as a package deal with too many video games, a dirty bathroom, and a live-in girlfriend you refuse to marry.
Don’t you see how this follicular refusal ruins the pact of the sexes? Now all bets are off! We’ve been dreaming all our lives of a guy who can help us un-clog the drain; you’ll just make the problem worse.
You may argue that I sound like a bitter single woman who’s going to die alone in an apartment full of cats: granted. But I’m not the only one. There is a generation of kind, smart, attractive women who are going to die childless, buried in cat litter, all because you didn’t want to cut your frigging hair and join us in adulthood.
Please understand: we’re not angry because we hate men. We’re angry because we love men and we wish you and more of your friends would act like them. Just as you might admire a woman for her ability to mother, nurture, or comfort, we marvel at your ability to build, protect, and defend.
Please. We believe in you. Cut your hair. Marry your girlfriend. Buy into adulthood. We’re waiting with open arms.