Month: June 2015

Are You Living Up to Your Full Potential?

As you already know, Chris and I ventured to Phoenix, Arizona this past weekend. We decided to travel by car instead of by plane, which meant we had a lot of time to talk about anything and everything (12 hours round-trip, to be exact). For Chris, it was torture; for me, it was Christmas.


family roadtrip! phx bound! #pearls #roadtrip #phoenix #lhasaapso #shihtzu #summer #dogsofinstagram #instadog #family

On Saturday night we were sitting at the dinner table with my friends, some whom I have known for over a decade. I couldn’t help but notice the various life stages we are all in. My friends run the gamut: parents, students, professionals, entrepreneurs, starving artists. Despite the busy lives they lead, I was happy we were able to group together for a few hours.

I left feeling particularly impressed with one friend, a successful 40 year-old consultant turned entrepreneur, who in his personal life manages to compete in Iron Mans and still party like a Coachella rockstar.

I’m pretty sure I have been saying for 2 years now that I am going to complete a 10K…


It got me thinking, how much of our potential are we using? I asked Chris to evaluate himself with a percentage.

At first Chris answered, 40%. My response was, “Really? I read somewhere that the average human uses 10%. 40% is quite high unless your first name is Elon, last name Musk.” After thinking about it further, Chris replied, “Okay. Maybe 20%.”

20%. I do this reactionary and obnoxious thing in my head as I ask Chris a question. I like to predict what he is going to say next and also answer my own question for myself. 20% is the exact number I would have said if someone asked me. But is it really 20%? If I think back at the past 24 hours, my day looked something like this:

7am – Woke up.
730am – Finished checking Facebook, Instagram, Snapchat, Pinterest, Missed calls, Text messages, Gchat messages, The Skimm, NY Times’ top stories. Got ready to seize the day!
8am – Walked Kang Kang. Picked up Kang Kang’s poop. Watered the two (dying) rose bushes in our ‘backyard’. Fed Kang Kang.
830am – Made breakfast and coffee. Began work.
6pm – Wrapped up work to make dinner. Walked Kang Kang. Picked up Kang Kang’s poop. Fed Kang Kang.
7pm – Depending on the day, it can vary with activities: exercise, yoga, practice piano, read, write, veg on guilty pleasures (damn Netflix and The Bachelorette). Today was a rare one – I jalked (jogged + walked) 2 miles, swept floors, unpacked, washed one load of laundry, wrote this article.
1130pm – Sleep and repeat.

My weekdays have become quite routine, which is fine. But if I honestly critique myself, I will admit I do not focus the entire 9 hour workday. What I do in the 9 hours I set for myself I could probably accomplish in 4 really focused hours. My 7pm-11pm activities (as of late) have been filled with vegging on guilty pleasures more often than exercise. When I do find the time to read or write, it’s typically been mindless status updates over published works.

I am betting most days I am closer to 10%. 

The Rabbit zodiac in me strives to be above average in everything that I do. Starting today, my new life goals consist of: limiting TV to a maximum of one hour a day; picking up more books; writing more articles; networking and volunteering more frequently… finally completing that 10K.

I was going to write this post on Monday and hashtag it: #MotivationalMonday. But since I procrastinated and it is now Tuesday, I will just hashtag this: #TuesdayTruth.

Don’t expect me to give 20% overnight,

Liquid Courage

I should know my limits by now.

Yet, every now and then I will revert to my twenty-year-old self. Back when I was a spring chicken, I would drink without noticing my increasing state of drunkenness, and without warning I would end up praying to the porcelain god.

I’d like to think that I’ve matured since then. My tolerance for the booze has lowered substantially. As a result, a buzz hits early and often, but this is just the warning sign I need. I can usually maintain a decent level of buzz for the night without it getting out of control.

But then there are nights like this past Saturday. Four IPA’s later, I had the genius idea to start drinking whisky. This is not recommended; remember the general rule of thumb:

Liquor before beer, you’re in the clear.

Beer before liquor, you’ve never been sicker.

One glass of Macallan 12 – neat of course, any self-respecting man shouldn’t drink whisky on the rocks; don’t be a pussy – would have left me just shy of oblivion. But alas, rookie mistakes still happen from time to time. I had just one more glass of Macallan, and that put me over the edge.

I would tell you what happened after that if I remembered. It was a #Blackout.


The next day, I went over the horrific details of the night’s end with Emily.

Some of the highlights include telling two friends that they should date each other – so not awkward – and a bar bouncer asking a friend if I’m alright – apparently I was running into people.

There was one thing that Emily pointed out which I found interesting. I asked her if I was at least being funny while I was drunk. Her response was:

One whisky Chris was good. Two whisky Chris was a hot mess.


A regular reader of this blog should be able to tell that I am constantly thinking about the state of men in terms of dating and interacting with women.

Saturday night got me thinking about how men often use alcohol for the purposes of girls. It’s called liquid courage – men use the buzz to give themselves the balls to approach and attempt seducing women. It’s why guys pregame before hitting the clubs.

Here’s my take on this issue – getting buzzed to talk to girls is an easy trick a guy can use, but it won’t make him better at talking to women, and that’s the key, really.

The good thing about alcohol is that for many of us, it will get us into a more talkative state. That’s a big plus for a single man looking to meet a woman out and about. No girl wants to have a conversation with a man and have it feel like talking to a wall.

Being buzzed can also help a man’s energy level. Most communication is nonverbal, and a lot of this is attributed to someone’s vibe. Be the friendly, positive energy guy, and a girl will give you the time of day, unless she’s miss antisocial or miss bitch. In that case, who needs her?

The bad thing about using alcohol is obvious – it impairs judgment. People are more incoherent and make less sense the more buzzed they get. They also forget things like a girl’s name, or other basic information that two strangers would exchange at a nighttime establishment. Men need to be in control of themselves and make sense when they meet women, so let’s not get trigger happy with the beverages.

I suppose the key is finding what works for you. Use drinking to be more social, not reckless. I’ll end it with a quote that we can all think about:

One shouldn’t drink to feel better, but to feel even better.

– Chris.

Thinking Is Bad For Your Complexion


Emily and I spent this weekend in Phoenix visiting her family and friends.

On Friday night, we met up with a few friends in Downtown Phoenix for drinks. For a downtown area, Phoenix is rather quiet at night. There doesn’t appear to be a bustling nightlife center like Mill Avenue in Tempe or Old Town Scottsdale. Then again, it was 100 degrees at 11 PM so why bother being outside.

We hopped around a few bars and eventually made our way to one that was relatively empty. It was a small dive bar with ESPN playing on the TV’s. I had no idea that this was a gay bar. One would think that a gay bar would be a little more happening than this one was, given the recent advances in marriage equality.

There was a group of four girls sitting in the patio area. Emily, being the comedian that she is, challenged me in front of our group. “Why don’t you go over there and find out if they’re on a double date?” Great, I’m being called out by my own girlfriend.

How much of a jackass would I be if I had pussied out in that moment? I’ve been the one challenging my male friends to approach women these days, and now Emily is telling me to approach four girls on my own. Awesome. I began to feel a little intimidated.

Fortunately, I have no shits to give in this department. Challenge accepted. I went over, said hello, chit-chatted for a bit, and ended up finding out that they were hetero and hanging out with their gay male friend. He was actually the meanest one out of the group.

 Men, if you’re out at the bars and a friend challenges you to go up to a woman, just do it. Don’t think too much on it; like Ari Gold says, “Thinking is bad for your complexion.”

As long as you’re polite, what’s the worst that can happen? Just try to be funny though.

That is all. Three straight nights of drinking has made me feel like how Keith Richards looks.

– Chris.

100 Girls

I’ve been out of The Game for about two years now, but I still know a few things.

As I mentioned previously, I went out with a few friends the other night and witnessed firsthand the effects of approach anxiety. This is when a man sees a woman he wants to approach but gets caught in his own head, thinking of all the reasons why he shouldn’t go up to her.

It’s like a below-average Major League baseball player coming up to the plate and seeing Clayton Kershaw on the mound. Instead of thinking homerun, he thinks about his devastating curveball, fastball, and slider, and how he’s a multiple Cy Young Award winner. He’s going to strikeout.

Or a contestant on The Bachelor. She’s looking around and seeing nothing but tens, accomplished professionally (at least some of them) and with fun personalities to boot (maybe some of them?). Instead of showing her charm, she cries in front of the Bachelor because she can’t handle being around so many other beautiful women. You ain’t gettin’ that rose, honey.

Today, Millennials have the option to try online dating. While this is a good thing, I can’t help but notice some negative effects. People are treating online dating as a solution as opposed to an option. I don’t think it should be the end-all-be-all to solve the plight of today’s singles.

So what’s happening to men in particular? No longer are we required to approach women we’ve never met in person. Instead, we can just swipe right or send a message in our comfortable homes to initiate interaction. We are feeding our approach anxiety, one profile at a time.

Emily and I have never written the details of how we met. I can go on and on about that, and I’m sure we’ll eventually write a post about it, but I’ll say this – we met in person as strangers. That seems to be a weird thing now.

Yesterday I suggested to my friends a challenge: approach 100 girls by the end of the year. It sounds a little strange and cheesy, perhaps even a bit douchey, but what’s wrong with it?

In fact, if you’re a single man looking to meet the right woman for you, I give you the same challenge. Put the Tinder and OKCupid down for a while and go out there into the real world. I’m not even talking about getting a phone number, let alone a date; this is just about approaching. I think that as you approach more women, you’ll become more comfortable in your own skin, you’ll begin to not try so hard to impress, and you’ll begin to realize that a girl’s reaction usually says nothing about you, so you’ll be less affected by it.

I think it’s a good challenge, and who knows, maybe you’ll actually have some fun.

Oh yeah, but don’t be creepy, weird, awkward, over-aggressive, or needy. Don’t invade anyone’s personal space, try to smell nice, smile, make sure your breath doesn’t stink, don’t linger around her for too long, and don’t catch a girl off guard by approaching from behind.

Okay, good luck!


– Chris

Summertime Beach Bodies

The June Solstice occurred this past Sunday, signaling summer’s official arrival.

What does this mean? It’s time to hit the beach.

It’s time for my pale-yellow skin to get some sun so that it can turn golden brown (maybe more like orange-brown). It’s time to take full advantage of the beaches that LA and Orange County have to offer.

Actually, the beaches here are not that great. They are dirty. The water’s cold. And there are way too many people out here. That Baywatch is full of shit.

Also, I have a bit too much pale-yellow skin on my body at the moment.


Most of us experienced Freshman 15. We go off to college and find ourselves in full control of our dietary habits for the first time, and what do we encounter? Buffet-style cafeteria food. Back in my freshman year, nutrition was not at the forefront of society’s consciousness like it is today. Carbs wasn’t a bad word, and shoving copious amounts of protein down our throats was reserved for weightlifters.

I sure miss my eighteen-year-old metabolism. Eating pizza and chili dogs at 2 AM was no problem at all. Now, if I eat a piece of bread after 10, my ass will be jiggling for a week and I’ll be gassy as hell when I go to work the next day. It’s okay though, I’m a professional crop-duster.


Emily and I have been living together for a little over 8 months now, and I’ve experienced another similar phenomenon – Relationship 15. Full disclosure – my diet as a single bachelor was bland and boring – Chipotle salads, teriyaki chicken bowls, and cereal. If my diet were a person, he would’ve been every character ever played by Ben Stein (Bueller… Bueller). But it got the job done, I was able to maintain a healthy weight this way.

Now that Emily’s around, she’s been cooking some great meals – pasta, stir fry, Asian noodle dishes, etc. They taste great and all, but damn I don’t remember these pants ever being this tight. I didn’t notice until a few months ago when I hit the scale and it read 170. Holy shit – I am going through my fat-Elvis phase. Given that I’m 5’9″, this means I am technically nearing the overweight category.

It was also hard to notice because Emily never gains weight. She’s an ectomorph – she can shit off pounds without having to do cardio. I am more of a mesomorph, which means that while she’s freaking out over gaining one pound, I’ll be sitting over here marveling at how I managed to gain fifteen pounds since we moved in together.

I guess the beers and sodas aren’t helping either.


Needless to say, beach season is not off to an ideal start.

Part of me is saying that I shouldn’t care at all about this weight gain. I can still fit in all my clothes, even though it’s getting a more snug by the day. I mean, who do I need to impress, anyway? We need to learn to love ourselves and feel proud of our bodies no matter what, right?

Fuuuuuck that.

The great thing about fitness and getting in shape is how poignant of a metaphor it is for life. What we get is what we put in. No pain, no gain. No shortcuts. Personally, being content at 170 pounds would feel like settling for less. I’m looking at getting into shape as a good challenge of discipline and willpower. If we push ourselves, I think we’d be surprised at how much we can accomplish, not only in fitness, but life in general.

It’s good to have goals, specific ones at that. We can all sit around and say we want to lose weight and get in shape, but what does that mean exactly? Setting targets and specific marks will sharpen our direction and give us greater drive.

With that said, I’m going to shoot for a weight of 155 by August. Hopefully, my body shape will resemble more like a yellow Mike & Ike and less like a Lemondrop.

Feel free to share any summer fitness goals. Writing them down and sharing them with the world will give you greater motivation to do the damn thing.

– Chris.

#StopYulin2015 – China’s Thanksgiving

If you have been on social media the past few days, there is a high chance you have seen the social media campaign #StopYulin2015. When it first popped up on my news feed, I glanced at it and shrugged, this must be an anti-China propaganda hoax. It wasn’t until I read CNN articles and watched this short VICE documentary that I realized, Holy shit. This is real.

Before I share my opinions, I think I should share two things:

1.) I am a dog lover and a dog owner.
2.) I am of Chinese descent.

I share this with you because I’m tired of reading comments like, “Chinese people are barbaric.” “Avoid all things and people from China.” “Chinese people are so disgusting and horrible.” “Chinese thrash race really should be driven extinct, kill all of those motherfuckers.” (I’m not quite sure what this last comment means. But it was ranked as a top comment.) If you can’t tell, I have a low tolerance for ignorant generalizations and racist remarks (and bad English).

As a dog lover and a dog owner, can I picture my Kang Kang being Thursday night’s dinner? I named him. I bathed him. I walked him. It would be unthinkable. I winced at least 25 times throughout the 17 minute documentary, feeling sad that these cute, furry animals were being skinned, boiled, burned, and stewed.

As a Westerner of Chinese descent, could I be angry at the people my parents could laugh and converse with? No more than Indians spite those that eat the sacred cow. When is the last time you ate beef or bacon or pork? (If you are a vegetarian or vegan, good for you. You truly stand on higher moral ground.) As a Westerner, I know I have consumed countless pounds of meat, even with the knowledge of how unethical farm factories are. Much like the dogs in these videos, the cows, chicken, turkeys, and pigs Americans consume on a daily basis often come in similar conditions: crammed, diseased, parched, starved, mass slaughtered. Whenever I see a juicy burger I often think to myself, “Out of sight. Out of mind.”  Its presentation is packaged so aesthetically that I forget a fattened, malnourished cow sacrificed its life.

In many cultures, dog meat is a delicacy. Countries like Korea, Vietnam, Thailand, Switzerland, Canada, to name a few, also have records of human consumption of dog. Many countries view it as a gourmet cuisine, a cultural tradition, and an affordable dish filled with health properties. It is important to understand why people do the things that they do instead of attacking one’s culture or imposing one’s cultural values on another. VICE did a great job documenting the justifications of locals in Yulin:

  • “Beef is more expensive” = Dog is more affordable to consume.
  • “Dog is healthy” = Throughout various cultures it is believed that dogs provide nutrition.
  • “What am I supposed to do, be a whore?” = A dog seller’s economic response as the dog trade is a major source of income to feed her family in a developing country.
  • “If people want to eat dog who am I to stop them?” = Basic principle of supply & demand: drugs, organ, sex trafficking – all illegal and immoral but a black market exists.

According to ASPCA, there are about 2.7 million animals euthanized each year in the U.S. (1.2 million or 31% being dogs; 1.4 million or 41% are cats). These dogs are often cremated because they are diseased or homeless. If another culture thinks they could be eaten instead of cremated, then to each his own. Like the host mentioned in the documentary, at least they are wasting no parts of the animal. What I don’t agree with though is dognapping a master’s companion. If it is true that these dogs are pets that have a loving home, then I agree with the uproar. Dognappers are no less evil than kidnappers and human sex traffickers.

The second part I don’t agree with is the handling, or should I say torturing, of these dogs. At least when a dog is euthanized in the States, they are given a sedative and/or given the solution that is supposed to be administered fairly quickly and painlessly. If the supply and demand of dog meat never diminishes, then my only hope is that there could be a way to make already deceased dogs available. But I suppose this is no different than how pig pet owners feel towards carnivores like me who devour pork and bacon.

Factory Pigs.

I think it is time to officially convert to a Pescetarian (baby steps),


Thoughts On Approaching Girls

I went out Saturday night with two of my single male friends. We went out to a bar known for their great beer selection, modern industrial ambiance, and good music.

That was a complete lie. This bar is known for having lots of girls.

Long story short, nothing too exciting happened. Don’t get me wrong, we had a good time, but the night didn’t play out like a scene in Swingers. There was no engaging with beautiful babies, no smooth operating, no swing dancing to Big Bad Voodoo Daddy.

I wonder why my friends didn’t talk to any girls there. I am certain they wanted to. These are two good guys, eligible bachelors who have their personal and professional lives in good order.

I’m also certain that I wanted to stand back and watch my friends talk to girls. Few things are better than being a fly on the wall while witnessing a friend attempt to spit game. I was ready to be their dating hype man, a personal Flavor Flav, if you will.

She’s with a group of girls.

I need to drink a little bit more.

I don’t know what to say.

I’m tired.

Excuses. They’re reasons for men to stay in our comfortable nests. I heard each one of these excuses that night from my friends. Fear of rejection cripples a lot of men out there. Here’s a tip: rejection will happen. It’s like baseball: if you have a career batting average of .300, you’re going to the Hall of Fame.

Actually, that night a girl came up and started talking to me. We engaged in some usual chit chat (What are you drinking? Are you celebrating something? Blah blah blah) when her friend came up and said, “Who are you?“, not in a friendly way, but with a scowl. She said it more like in a get-the-fuck-out-of-here-you-potential-rapist kind of way. In addition to being super rude, she obviously didn’t know that A) I wasn’t hitting on her friend, and B) her friend actually came up to me.

I say this to illustrate that some girls will reject a man no matter what, and that men shouldn’t take rejection personally. These types of situations have more to do with them, not us, so simply move on and be glad that’s not our problem.

I’ve found that the best way to approach a girl is by simply saying Hi. Quite a revolutionary idea, isn’t it? As men, we tend to over-complicate things. We try to look two, three steps ahead but forget to be in the moment. Let’s just say hi and see where that goes.

What do I say next? It doesn’t really matter where the conversation goes. A man and a woman in a bar can pretty much talk about anything. Of course, people don’t usually talk about how the housing market crash has impacted our national economy over cocktails with house music blaring in the background. But it’s important to remember that we’re all people. We all have lives and think about shit. Just talk.

I know, it’s so easy to write this when I’m sitting on my high horse behind a computer screen. Trust me, in my time I’ve struck out more often than Ryan Howard. I don’t claim to be an expert by any means. These are simply personal opinions from someone who can relate to the struggle.

And besides, Ryan Howard has hit plenty of home runs in between the strikeouts. Who wants to just hit singles all the time?

– Chris.

Thoughts On Charleston

About a month ago, Emily and I drove to downtown Los Angeles. It was a drowsy, overcast Sunday morning and traffic was minimal. We were on our way to a friend’s graduation.

And then it happened. We got into a car accident. Fortunately, it was minor – no one got hurt – but by the reaction of the other driver, one would’ve thought the accident was an act of terrorism.

Once we collided, the other driver pulled up beside us, rolled down his window, and started yelling. “You fucking hit me! Pull the fuck over right now!” He actually hit us, for the record, but we did pull over. He jumped out of his car, stormed towards me, and the next words that came out of his mouth are the ones that I’ll remember forever.

Fucking Asian drivers.

He didn’t call me a gook, chink, or nip, but those probably would’ve been less offensive. His three words said a lot about him: here’s someone who has turned a stereotype into a truth in his world, and has thus accepted his own racism.

I’m shocked but I’m not shocked.

That was my reaction to hearing about what happened in Charleston. I’m shocked because these were people in a church. The victims included pastors and the elderly. Why would anyone target them to murder?

But my initial shock was quickly dissipated by the harsh reality that hit me that Sunday morning.

Racism is still alive.

In no way am I trying to equate what happened to Emily and I to what happened to the victims in Charleston. We’re alive and well; there’s no coming back for these church goers. We live in Southern California where the population is diverse, a cultural melting pot where acts of racism aren’t usually life threatening. The Confederate flag still flies in the air in Charleston.

Think about that: the Confederate fucking flag.

Courtesy of Sean Rayford - Getty Images

Courtesy of Sean Rayford – Getty Images

I will never live in the South. I’m sure there are a lot of great Southerners that live there – the term Southern hospitality exists for a reason. It’s these crazy motherfuckers that screw it up for everyone else. I’d rather not deal with that shit.


I think it’s disingenuous and absurd for people to simply point at guns. It feels like these people want to blame what happened on the easy access people have to firearms.

How about we look at the asshole who shot these people?

He was white, and he hated black people. It’s really that simple. Was he mentally ill? Yes. Did he have easy access to a gun? Yes. But the main issue is that his actions were led by his racist ideologies.

I must admit – I think Lynyrd Skynrd’s Free Bird is a great song.

But I’ll never be a fan of a band that so proudly waves the Confederate flag like they do. That flag represents the blood of thousands and a shameful period in this country’s history. It’s a reminder of the worst in humanity, to believe that we aren’t entitled to the same basic rights.


I don’t necessarily like Bill Maher. He’s a little too hateful towards religion and the Republican Party for my taste, and he once said the 9/11 attacks were not a cowardly act, which is ludicrous.

But I keep thinking about his words on racism today. People want to blame guns or mental illness for what happened in Charleston, but the underlying reason is, for lack of a better term, black and white.

– Chris.


God Only Knows Why I Cry

I cried yesterday.

It wasn’t hysterical sobbing. My eyes welled up and I felt emotional. This doesn’t happen very often at all. For instance, Emily and I will watch a movie like Fruitvale Station and tears will be streaming down her face while I’ll sit there wondering how accurate the movie’s depiction of Oscar Grant really is.

I hardly ever cry over something that happens to me in life, let alone anything else. But I cried yesterday.

What was I doing? I was driving home from work, listening to Pet Sounds.


What kind of weirdo my age chooses to listen to a Beach Boys album from the 60’s? This one. Like I’ve said before, I am not adverse to listening to current music. In fact, there’s plenty of good stuff that’s been released this year – Florence and The Machine and A$AP Rocky’s new albums are quite good. But this is the Beach Boys: pop music royalty, a cornerstone of Southern California rock history. I actually have a copy of Pet Sounds on vinyl and I don’t even own a turntable. I hadn’t listened to this album in a while, so I decided to play it in my car during my awful commute home.

“God Only Knows” is one of my all-time favorite songs. When it came on, I got rather overtaken with emotion. Maybe it was the lyrics. Maybe it was the melody’s tone of yearning and loss. Maybe it was the nostalgic instrumentation. I’m not sure, but damn I love this song.

I don’t even know if that constituted as crying – it’s not like I had to pull over, wipe the tears from face, and blow my nose.

The important thing is that I felt something.


Shit gets thrown at our faces at all the time – not feces, but information. We’re in a constant mode of consuming the newest photos, the latest story-lines, and the most recent viral videos. It feels as though we hardly take time to just stop and breathe.

In a society that overwhelms our senses with outside mediums, we’re becoming oblivious to our own emotions.

For men, crying is associated with weakness, over-sensitivity, and instability – it’s for pansies. But why is it such a non-masculine thing? Isn’t emotion good? Shouldn’t men feel things and express them as opposed to suppressing and bottling them up?

There’s a saying in sports: don’t play emotionally, but play with emotion. How would life be if we were forever in a comatose state?

I’m glad I can still feel something when I hear a song, even if I don’t know why.

– Chris.

Hair Is Life

We can thank Mindy and her post about hair for this one. By the way, have a go with her blog, it’s worth it if you want to laugh. And if you don’t like laughing, then you probably don’t like music either, which means I hate you.

I am writing this at fifteen minutes to eight. Do you know what this means? It means I only have fifteen minutes until The Bachelorette comes on, so I have to hurry my ass.

What’s more manly than a man who watches The Bachelorette? It’s not even The Bachelor – it’s The Bachelor-motherfucking-ette. One woman and twenty four men, or as I like to call it, every goddamn bar in the greater Metropolitan Los Angeles Area (hey-ohh). I can even make the distinction between Ben H. and Ben Z. for Christ sakes.

Actually, what am I saying? I have DVR, I can take my time here. Calm down.

I want to write about hair. Not Hair, but hair.

We’re not talking about the super campy musical from the 60’s.

By the way, I love The 40-Year-Old Virgin. It’s Apatow’s best movie. The Bollywood dance number to Hair’s “Aquarius” and “Let The Sunshine In” in the end is pretty spectacular. Just think of the actors in that movie: Steve Carell, Seth Rogen, Paul Rudd, Catherine Keener, Romany Malco, Jane Lynch, Elizabeth Banks, Kevin Hart, Jonah Hill, Mindy Kaling. What a cast.

Here’s the clip. The guy finally gets laid. I don’t feel remotely bad for spoiling this because not having seen it by now is criminal.

But I digress.


Hair truly speaks to the human condition.

It’s a barometer for what’s popular. For men, faux hawks were in a few years ago; now it’s the side parted undercut look that’s in.

It reveals a part of one’s character. If a car can indicate something about a person, then so can hair. Asians especially – the hair is dead giveaway when determining if that person is a FOB or American-born.

For men, proper grooming can make up for a lot in the looks department. If a man considers himself a 3, he can easily move up to a 5 if his haircut is well-done and his face is well-shaven and clean. If a man considers himself a 10, well then fuck that guy anyhow (who has the audacity to think they’re perfect??).

It’s also a way to express ourselves. Those of us men who are still blessed with a full head of hair (trust me, those days can be numbered for any of us) have the freedom to form our hair in any way we desire. Do we want to look clean cut? Messy and rugged? This is rather important, because at first glance women tend to look at our faces a little more than we look at theirs, if y’know what I’m sayin’.


There’s a thing called fresh-cut confidence. It’s the reason why we get a haircut on Friday evening so that we’ll look our best in the clubs and bars. It’s why we make a pitstop at the barbershop right before Coachella. It’s why we make sure to get it done before we go on that date.

It’s amazing how men can feel completely better about themselves with their hair looking good. We may not even dress well, but good hair will carry us through. Men will have an extra hop in their step when they know the hair is on point.

Hair. It’s about life.


Actually, I can never quite get my hair to do what I want. That last bit of hair never stays put. And I haven’t even gone into body hair, and dare I say, pubic hair.

On second thought, I hate hair.

Such is life, however – we can love and hate the same thing.

I guess I was right. Hair really is life.

– Chris.