We view them almost as a currency for rapport, generally amongst the same gender—a currency that we’re told is an extension of our manliness. But really we’re just cashing in on something that makes us feel like we fit in because we all feel out of place. And this helps us forget our anxieties and worries as we plunge into an overdose of dopamine and serotonin; when we emerge from the sea they pat us on the back and tell us we did good. The combination of chemicals and social acceptance when there was previously only anxiety (more chemicals) jolts us to life—we feel Olympian, godlike; the elemental man.
This is good because everyone else says it ought to be.
We feel good because we’re told that this is what’s good.
We feel accomplished because we’ve fulfilled the only expectation that social circles know to adopt.
We feel ecstasy because we’re swimming in an ocean of drugs.
We all feel differently, until we’re indoctrinated. Then, the expectations of others is all we live for. We don’t know who we were without it. We feel less than ourselves without a successful weekend. Our belt notches make multiple loops–rows and holes like the perforations around our perfect outlines–until the leather withers.
And suddenly, we’re just as alone, if not more so, than we were before.
And we know nothing else.