Hey Uncle Gary, I got into a bit of a blowout with my mother-in-law after I asked my husband to run to the store and grab me some tampons last night. Personally, I didn’t think it was a big deal, and neither did he. For context: I’ve always had brutal cramps during the first few days of my period. We’re talking can’t-stand-up, curled-in-a-ball kind of pain. I was on birth control for over a decade to help manage it, but I recently stopped because my husband and I are trying to conceive. So last night, I was in rough shape and realized I was nearly out of tampons. I asked John if he could pick some up for me since I was basically immobilized. He didn’t hesitate, just grabbed his keys and went. An hour later, he came back not only with tampons but also with a bunch of comfort items his sisters had suggested. Tea, snacks, a heating pad, the works. It was incredibly thoughtful, and I figured that was the end of it. Then, earlier today, my mother-in-law called me out of the blue to scold me. She said I’d “humiliated” her son by sending him to buy “feminine products” and called me an a**hole. I was stunned. I talked to my sister afterward, and she said I didn’t do anything wrong. Her husband admitted he might’ve felt awkward doing it, but didn’t think it was worth getting upset over. When I asked John how he felt, he just laughed and said, “I’m 31, not a teenager.” He genuinely didn’t care. So now I’m wondering, was I out of line here? Or is Amy just being dramatic? Signed, Mift Daughter-In-Law Dear Mift Daughter-In-Law, Amy’s not being dramatic; she’s being outdated. Let’s start with the basics: you were in pain, you needed supplies, and your husband, who loves you, lives with you, and presumably knows how periods work, stepped up like a grown adult and took care of it. That’s not humiliating. That’s partnership. That’s love. That’s what we call a functional marriage , and frankly, it sounds like John deserves a medal and a foot rub. Now Amy? She’s clinging to a version of masculinity that expired sometime around the Eisenhower administration. The idea that buying tampons somehow dents a man’s dignity is not just absurd, it’s harmful. It teaches boys that empathy is weakness and that bodily functions are shameful. And we wonder why so many grown men still think “feminine hygiene” is a dirty phrase. John didn’t flinch. He didn’t whine. He didn’t make it weird. He just did what needed doing. And then he came back with bonus comfort items, which tells me his sisters were raised right, and Amy might’ve missed a memo. You weren’t out of line. You were horizontal, in pain, and asking for help from the person who vowed to be there for you in sickness and in health, including menstrual mayhem. Amy can clutch her pearls all she wants, but this isn’t about embarrassment. It’s about control. She didn’t like seeing her son prioritize your needs over her outdated expectations. So here’s your Uncle Gary verdict: You're Not the A-hole. Not even close. You’re the woman who’s trying to make a baby while surviving a uterus that throws monthly tantrums. You’re the one who asked for help with grace and got it with love. And if Amy wants to throw a fit over tampons, she can take it up with the 21st century. Now go hug that husband of yours. He’s a keeper. Regards, Uncle Gary

Hey Uncle Gary, Is my hygiene routine actually a problem? I could use a little perspective. My fiancé is super particular about cleanliness; he showers daily, sometimes even twice. Meanwhile, I tend to shower every other day and wash my hair every 3–4 days. I’ve got curly/wavy hair, and frequent washing just isn’t practical with the styling and drying involved. I keep an eye on how it looks and feels, and I adjust if needed. I always use deodorant and perfume (sometimes more than once a day), and when I do shower, I go all in, shaving, moisturizing, the works. I genuinely don’t think I smell bad, and I’m pretty self-conscious about it anyway. But lately, he’s been calling me “gross” and pushing hard for me to shower every single day. This wasn’t a thing earlier in our relationship; we’ve been together three years, engaged for one, and I’m not sure why it’s suddenly become a point of tension. Is my routine actually unhygienic? Or is this more about his preferences than any real issue? Signed, Curly Hair Girl Dear Curly Hair Girl, Let’s start with the obvious: your routine isn’t unhygienic. It’s thoughtful, tailored to your hair type, and rooted in actual care. You’re not skipping showers out of laziness; you’re making choices based on what works for your body. That’s not neglect. That’s self-awareness. Now, your fiancé’s reaction? That’s where the real issue lives. Calling you “gross” isn’t just rude, it’s dismissive. It takes a personal preference (his) and tries to pass it off as a universal truth. It’s one thing to say, “I feel better when I shower daily.” It’s another to say, “You’re disgusting if you don’t.” And let’s be honest: this didn’t bother him for the first three years. So what changed? Stress? Control? Some TikTok influencer whispering nonsense into his algorithm? Whatever it is, it’s not about hygiene. It’s about comfort zones and expectations, and maybe a little insecurity dressed up as judgment. Here’s what I’d suggest: sit him down and ask for clarity. Not defensively. Not angrily. Just calmly. “You never used to care about this. What’s shifted?” If he can’t answer without throwing insults, that’s a red flag. If he can, maybe you two can find a middle ground that respects both your needs. But don’t let anyone shame you out of a routine that’s working. You’re clean. You’re considerate. You’re not the problem. With respect for your curls and your boundaries, Uncle Gary

Dear Uncle Gary, I’m 59. A mother, a wife, a teacher. My life is steady, even lovely, two grown children finding their way, a marriage that still feels like home. I’ve lost people, yes. Parents. A sibling. But grief becomes a quiet companion at this age, doesn’t it? Today, though, today something cracked open. I was walking, nothing unusual, and the autumn leaves were turning gold, crimson, rust. And I just… cried. Not from sadness exactly. But from the sheer beauty of it. From the flood of memory. From the ache of time. I remembered my children as babies. The chaos, the exhaustion, the sweetness. I didn’t know then how much I’d miss it. How much I’d long for the noise and the mess and the small hands reaching for mine. Now, each season feels louder. More vivid. More final. Is it just me, or does aging make the world more unbearable in its beauty? Is it the knowing that there are fewer seasons ahead than behind? Or is it the haunting truth that the simplest moments were the most sacred, and we didn’t know it? I’m not sad. Not really. Just cracked open. Does anyone else feel this way when the seasons change? Signed, Blue Dear Blue, You’re not alone in feeling this. What you described, that sudden wave of emotion triggered by something as simple and profound as autumn leaves, is deeply human. And yes, there’s science behind it, but there’s also soul. As we age, our bodies go through quiet shifts. Hormones like estrogen and testosterone naturally decline, and that can affect the brain’s ability to produce and regulate serotonin, the chemical that helps us feel balanced, connected, okay. It’s not a flaw. It’s biology doing its thing. But it means we might feel more tender, more reflective, more vulnerable to the bittersweet. Then there’s the season itself. Autumn, with its fading light and golden decay, can stir something ancient in us. Less sunlight means less melatonin and serotonin, which can disrupt sleep and mood. That’s part of what causes Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD), a real and common condition that makes the darker months feel heavier. But what you’re feeling isn’t just chemical. It’s memory. It’s love. It’s the ache of having lived deeply. The changing seasons mark time, and when you’ve lived through many, they start to feel like chapters. You see the leaves fall and remember tiny shoes, sticky fingers, bedtime stories. You feel the air shift and realize how much you’ve carried, how much you’ve let go, how much you still hold. This kind of emotional response isn’t a sign of weakness. It’s a sign of presence. Of being awake to your own life. And yes, it can be overwhelming, but it’s also beautiful. Others feel this too. Quietly, privately, sometimes with tears they don’t fully understand. So thank you for saying it out loud. For naming it. That’s how we stay connected. That’s how we remind each other: feeling deeply is not a problem to fix. It’s a gift to honor. Regards, Uncle Gary

I know what you’re thinking: “Is Uncle Gary really about to give me a hygiene lecture like I’m thirteen and just discovered armpits?” Not exactly. I’m not here to shame anyone, and I don’t think young men are roaming the earth in a cloud of funk and confusion. But I’ve seen what happens when structure disappears, when the dorm replaces the dining room, and nobody’s around to say, “Hey, maybe wash your sheets once in a while.” This isn’t an intervention. It’s a nudge. A reminder that the basics matter. That the habits you (hopefully) picked up somewhere between gym class and grandma’s house are worth keeping. If you missed that memo growing up, no shame, now’s a great time to start. You’ll feel sharper, walk taller, and yes, smell better. That last part’s not just for the ladies, it’s for you. Confidence starts with not wondering if your socks could double as biohazards. And no, I’m not suggesting you become the guy who spends twenty minutes inspecting his pores under LED lighting. This isn’t about vanity. It’s about consistency. Cleanliness was one of Ben Franklin’s virtues, and the man flew a kite in a lightning storm, so clearly, he knew how to commit. Bottom line: keep it simple, keep it regular, and keep it together. Your future self will thank you. And so will anyone standing downwind. Laundry: The Silent Reputation Killer If your hamper looks like it’s auditioning for a landfill documentary, it’s time to intervene. Dirty clothes don’t just smell; they send a message. And that message is: “I’ve stopped trying.” You don’t need to iron your socks or alphabetize your underwear drawer, but you do need clean basics. Rotate your shirts. Wash your jeans. And for the love of breathable fabric, change your sheets more than once a semester. You’re not a raccoon living in a pile of old pizza boxes. Act accordingly. Nails: Small Details, Big Impact Unless you’re moonlighting as a flamenco guitarist or chasing a Guinness World Record, there’s no excuse for talons. And chewing them? Hard pass. Gnawed-up nails aren’t mysterious or edgy; they’re unsettling. They make you look like you’ve been nervously waiting for a court verdict. Grab a basic clipper and give your fingers a quick once-over once a week, preferably after your shower when everything’s softened up. Follow the natural curve of your fingertip and leave just enough nail to scratch your head without drawing blood. Toenails? Same deal. Especially if you’re rocking flip-flops, which are basically campus dress code. You don’t want your feet looking like they belong to a woodland creature. And if you’re lucky enough to be canoodling with someone, don’t make them flinch every time your toes graze their leg. Don’t overdo it, though. Over-trimming leads to ingrown toenails, and that’s a pain you don’t want. Cut straight across, leave a little length, and clean up after yourself. Nail trimmings on the floor are not a vibe. If there’s dirt under your nails, scoop it out with the file that’s probably attached to your clippers. And if you get a hangnail, clip it, don’t yank it like you’re trying to start a lawnmower. Contacts: Your Eyeballs Deserve Better Unless you’ve got extended-wear lenses, and even then, don’t push it, take them out every night. Sleeping in contacts for days on end is a fast track to corneal ulcers. I knew a guy who did that. His eyes looked like they’d been through a bar fight. Even with extended-wear, my optometrist gave me the side-eye when I asked about sleeping in them. Just take them out. Your eyeballs will thank you. Facial Hair: Grow It, Groom It, Own It College is prime time for beard experiments. Grow it, shape it, love it, but for the sake of everyone around you, groom it. A little scruff can be charming. A patchy neckbeard that looks like it’s trying to escape your face? Not so much. If you’re going to commit to facial hair, actually commit. Keep it tidy. Define the edges. And if you’ve been using a cartridge razor your whole life, now’s a great time to try a safety razor. It turns shaving from a chore into a ritual. Plus, it makes you feel like you’ve got your life together, even if you’re still eating ramen three nights a week. Haircuts: Don’t Let Your Head Become a Hat College is also prime time for letting your hair do whatever it wants. And that’s fine, to a point. But when your mop starts interfering with your vision or makes you look like you’re wearing a wool helmet, it’s time for a trim. I skipped haircuts my first semester and ended up with a thick, shapeless bowl that made me feel like I’d been cast in a low-budget medieval drama. If your bangs require constant flipping or dramatic head swings, ask yourself: Am I a pop star or just procrastinating? And while we’re here, ditch the Supercuts routine. Grab a couple of friends and find a real barbershop. It’s not just about the cut; it’s about the ritual. The conversation. The hot towel. The feeling of walking out looking like someone who knows what day it is. Acne: Treat It, Don’t Just Hope It Goes Away Acne’s a confidence killer, but it’s also treatable. If you’ve got a mild case, wash your face morning and night with something made for acne-prone skin. Spot treat with benzoyl peroxide when needed. If that dries you out, alternate with a gentle cleanser like Cetaphil. And skip the overpriced kits unless you’ve tried the basics first, most of those “miracle systems” are just benzoyl peroxide in fancy packaging. Heads up: Benzoyl peroxide bleaches fabric. Wash your hands after applying it, and don’t wear it during the day unless you want your shirt collar to look like it’s been through a chemical spill. Use a white pillowcase at home, and remember that when you’re staying over somewhere. (Trust me, bleach spots are not a good look on someone else’s linens.) Short hair helps too, it keeps oil and product off your face and makes it easier to stay clean. Wash your pillowcase regularly. If things don’t clear up, see a doctor. There are prescriptions that work wonders. Hand-Washing: The Underrated Power Move A 2005 survey at ballparks found that 37% of men skipped the sink after using the restroom. Thirty-seven percent. That’s not just gross, it’s a public health hazard. If you want to avoid spending your week curled up in bed with a fever and a bucket, wash your hands. Especially during cold and flu season. I used to blow it off too, until one semester I got hit with a flu so violent it turned me into a human sprinkler. Couldn’t study, couldn’t work out, couldn’t even enjoy being sick. Just shivering, sweating, and regretting every bathroom I’d ever breezed through without soap. After that? I became a hand-washing evangelist. It takes twenty seconds. You don’t need a hazmat suit, just a little soap and some common sense. And while we’re on the topic: get your flu shot. Every year. No excuses. If you’re in school, they might offer it for free. If not, Walgreens will do it for about $35. That’s cheaper than a dinner out, and way more useful. You can’t put a price on a week of your life. Especially when that week might include midterms, dates, or just not feeling like death warmed over.

Hey Uncle Gary, Out of all your married friends, how many would you say are genuinely thriving in their relationships, not just sticking it out, but actually happy and fulfilled? Signed, Curious George Hey Curious George, All of my married friends seem  happy, but happiness isn’t a fixed state, and appearances don’t always tell the full story. Relationships ebb and flow. Even the strongest marriages go through seasons of joy, frustration, distance, and reconnection. If happiness is your goal, it’s worth asking: are we talking about fleeting moments or a deeper sense of contentment and emotional safety? Because the numbers vary depending on how you define it. Some studies suggest that between 25% and 58% of married people describe themselves as “very happy”. Others narrow it further, estimating that only 17% to 30% of marriages are actively thriving. A 2019 Pew Research Center study found that 54% of married couples say things are going “very well” in their relationship, which sounds promising, but still leaves a lot of room for nuance. The truth is, no statistic can capture the private weather systems of a marriage. What matters most is whether your relationship has the maturity, communication, and resilience to ride out the storms. Because some storms are brief, and some are brutal. But the couples who make it through tend to be the ones who keep talking, keep listening, and keep choosing each other, even when it’s hard. Regards, Uncle Gary

Dear Uncle Gary, What do you say to someone who is dying at 33? Last November, my friend was diagnosed with an aggressive breast cancer. Now, less than a year later, she’s in palliative care. The doctors say she has “weeks.” Weeks. I’ve been crying for days, trying to make sense of something that refuses to make sense. She’s young. She’s vibrant. She’s supposed to be here. We've been friends since the first day of kindergarten. I want to visit her in the hospital, but I’m terrified. What do I say to someone who knows they’re dying? How do I speak without crumbling? How do I show up without making it worse? I want to bring her comfort, not sorrow. I want to talk like we used to, about stupid things, funny things, anything but death. But I’m scared I’ll say the wrong thing. Or worse, say nothing at all. And then there’s the moment I dread most: leaving. How do you walk out of a room when you don’t know if you’ll ever walk back in? “See you later” feels like a lie. “Goodbye” feels like a betrayal. What do you say when you don’t know if there will be a next time? I know this is heavy. I know there’s no perfect script. But I need help. I need a compass. I need to know how to show up for someone I love who is slipping away. Signed, Unbelievably Sad Dear Unbelievably Sad, Let me start by saying this: your letter is brave. It’s raw, it’s honest, and it carries the weight of love. And love, especially the kind that shows up in the hardest moments, is never stupid, never wrong, and never wasted. Now, I won’t pretend there’s a perfect answer to your question. There isn’t. But I can tell you this: when you walk into that hospital room, you don’t need a script. You need your presence. You need your heart. You need the friendship that’s already carried you both this far. Your friend isn’t looking for polished words. She’s looking for you. The you who laughed with her, cried with her, shared late-night texts and inside jokes. The you who remembers her favorite snack, her least favorite rom-com, and the way she rolls her eyes when she’s pretending not to cry. That’s the person she wants beside her now. So talk about the stupid things. The funny things. The things that remind her she’s still here, still herself, still loved. Let her lead the way. If she wants to talk about death, follow her there. If she wants to talk about life, stay in that lane. You don’t have to fix anything. You just have to be real. And when it’s time to leave, don’t worry about the perfect exit line. You can say, “I love you.” You can say, “I’ll be thinking about you.” You can say, “I’ll be back if you want me to be.” Or you can just squeeze her hand and let silence do the talking. What matters is that she knows you showed up. That you didn’t run away. That you honored her life by being part of it, even now. This is one of the hardest things a person can do. But you’re already doing it. You’re asking the right questions. You’re feeling the right feelings. And you’re showing up with your whole heart. That’s what courage looks like. With deep respect, Uncle Gary

Got a question, a dilemma, or just need some straight talk? ​ Ask about life’s curveballs, messy breakups, career pivots, or how to reinvent yourself at 65. This isn’t therapy. It’s not tough love. It’s lived wisdom, delivered with heart. ​ Gary Domasin has lived more lives than most. At 65, he’s still evolving. Raised on Hollywood’s back lots in the ’60s, he danced on Broadway, rode the Beverly Hills fitness boom of the ’80s, and became a sought-after trainer to celebrities like Tim Curry and Jennifer Aniston. He taught at New York’s top dance schools and health clubs, always blending discipline with warmth. ​ In the ’90s, Gary earned a degree in hypnotherapy and psychology from HMI, America’s first nationally accredited college of hypnotherapy. He followed that with a film and TV makeup certificate from the Joe Blasco School, and a Cosmetology Science degree from Pasadena City College. ​ He’s worked on film sets, Broadway stages, and national tours. Today, he teaches theatrical hair and stage makeup at USC’s School of Dramatic Arts. ​ Gary also writes for SoCal Magazine, where Ask Uncle Gary brings his signature mix of straight talk and soul to readers who want clarity without clichés. ​ Got something you want to ask? Email: AskUncleGary@hotmail.com or DM him on Instagram, Threads, TikTok, YouTube, Facebook, or BlueSky @AskUncleGary ​ He reads every message. If your question makes the cut, you’ll get the full Uncle Gary treatment: heart, humor, and no-nonsense wisdom you’ll actually want to share.

Dear Uncle Gary,    I’ve been dating my boyfriend (28M) for about a year. Things have mostly been good; we work out together, take little trips, and I’ve tried to be the supportive, non-controlling girlfriend, especially since he told me his ex was the opposite. Lately, he’s been spending more time at the gym, which I didn’t think much of. But a few days ago, while I was using his phone for music, I saw a message from his gym buddy. When I asked about it, he grabbed the phone, said “just gym stuff,” and deleted the chat. I didn’t accuse him of anything, but I did ask later why he deleted it. He said I was overreacting and always assume the worst. That stung, because I wasn’t trying to start a fight, I just wanted honesty. Now I’m stuck. I want to trust him, but something feels off. I know deleting messages doesn’t always mean cheating, but it’s weird, right? Especially when it’s the same guy he keeps talking about lately. Should I bring it up again or let it go and watch how things play out? Am I protecting my peace or just being naive? Signed, Naive? Dear “Naive?”, Let’s start here: your instincts aren’t paranoia, they’re information. You didn’t snoop. You didn’t accuse. You asked a calm, reasonable question and got a defensive, evasive answer. That’s not on you. Deleting messages isn’t a crime, but it’s a choice. And choices tell stories. If everything was truly “just gym stuff,” why the secrecy? Why the snap reaction? Why make you feel like the villain for noticing? Now, I’m not saying he’s cheating. I am saying he’s hiding something. And when someone makes you feel guilty for asking a fair question, that’s not love, it’s deflection. So what do you do? You don’t beg for honesty. You set the tone. You say: “I’m not here to police your phone. I’m here to build trust. But when you shut me down and delete things mid-conversation, it makes me question what we’re building. I need transparency, not gaslighting.” Then watch. Not just what he says, but how he acts. Does he lean in or shut down? Does he make space for your feelings or make you feel crazy for having them? Protecting your peace doesn’t mean ignoring red flags. It means honoring your gut and refusing to shrink yourself to keep someone else comfortable. You’re not naive. You’re awake. Stay that way. With clarity and zero shame, Uncle Gary

Dear Uncle Gary,    My wife and I have a blended family with five kids. Before she passed, my late wife asked me to protect a portion of her medical settlement and savings for our son. I’ve honored that promise and continued saving for him separately. Now my current wife wants us to lay everything on the table, what each child has saved, and consider combining all funds to divide more evenly. I’m open to discussing what she and I have saved together, but I won’t include the money from my late wife. It’s not mine to redistribute. She says this makes her feel excluded and like I don’t trust her. I say it’s about honoring a promise and keeping boundaries. We’re stuck. What should I do? Signed, Stuck but Steady Dear Stuck but Steady, You’re not wrong to protect that promise. It’s sacred. Your late wife didn’t just leave money; she left intention, love, and a legacy for your son. That’s not a pool of funds to be stirred into a communal pot. It’s a sealed envelope marked “For Him.” But your current wife isn’t wrong to want transparency either. She’s trying to plan for five futures, not just one. And when she says she feels excluded, it’s not just about the money; it’s about trust, partnership, and whether you’re building something together or side-by-side. So here’s the move: Tell her you’re willing to lay out everything you and she have saved together. Be generous with clarity. But draw a firm, loving line around the money from your late wife. Not out of secrecy, but out of respect. You might say: “This isn’t about not trusting you. It’s about honoring a promise I made to someone who’s no longer here to speak for herself. I want us to plan together, but I can’t include something that was never meant to be shared.” Then pivot. Ask her what she needs to feel secure. Maybe it’s a clearer savings plan. Maybe it’s a reassurance that your younger children won’t be left behind. Maybe it’s just knowing you’re in this with her, not guarding a vault. You’re not stuck. You’re standing at a crossroads between legacy and partnership. The key is to protect one without sacrificing the other. With respect for both women in your life, Uncle Gary

Dear Uncle Gary, How do I tell this guy he gave me an STI?    We haven’t spoken in about a month. I ghosted him. Over the weekend, I got tested because I thought I had a yeast infection. Turns out, it’s chlamydia. He’s the only person I’ve been with, so I’m certain it came from him. Now I need to tell him, but I have no idea how to break the silence and say, “Hey, you need to get tested.” What’s the best way to do this without it turning into a fight or a guilt trip? Signed, Infected Dear Infected, First off, I’m proud of you for getting tested. That’s not just responsible—it’s courageous. Now, about telling him: this isn’t about blame or shame. It’s about health, clarity, and doing the right thing even when it’s awkward. Here’s how you can approach it: Keep it short, clear, and calm.  You don’t owe him a dramatic backstory or emotional unpacking. You owe him the facts. You might say something like: “Hey, I wanted to let you know I tested positive for chlamydia. You’re the only person I’ve been with, so I thought you should get checked too. Just wanted to make sure you knew.” That’s it. No accusations. No apologies. Just the truth. If texting feels easier than calling, that’s fine. If you’re worried about his reaction, remember: his feelings aren’t your responsibility. His health is. And yours matters too. You’re not the villain here—you’re the messenger. And a responsible one at that. With respect and zero judgment, Uncle Gary

Uncle Gary, My wife hit me with a question that stopped me mid-sip: “If women have the 6-6-6 checklist, six feet tall, six-figure income, six-pack abs, what’s the male equivalent?” In other words, do men have their own shorthand fantasy for the kind of woman they want to date, something equally superficial, equally viral, equally absurd? Signed, My Wife Wants To Know Dear, My wife wants to know, Oh, absolutely. Men have their own version of the 6-6-6 fantasy; it’s just not as neatly packaged, because let’s face it, most guys aren’t great at branding their delusions. If the female version is height, money, and abs, then the male equivalent is something like: “Hot, horny, and doesn’t hate me.” That’s the shorthand. That’s the dream. Doesn’t matter if she’s a barista or a brain surgeon, if she’s attractive, sexually enthusiastic, and doesn’t treat him like a walking disappointment, he’s halfway to proposing. Now, if you want to get a little more polished, we could say men tend to look for: Physical beauty, often defined by youth and symmetry because evolution is a shallow bastard. Emotional warmth, or at least the illusion that she finds him charming. Low drama. Which really means: “Please don’t make me talk about my feelings unless I’m drunk or dying.” But we could cut through all that and say: “Men want a woman who looks like a porn star, cooks like their mother, and never asks them to go to therapy. That’s the trifecta. That’s the fantasy. And it’s just as ridiculous as the 6-foot, 6-figure, 6-pack nonsense.” So yeah, men have their own viral absurdity. It’s just less Instagrammable and more whispered between beers and bad decisions.

The Premise Let’s start with a truth that’s not universal, but it’s gaining traction: In 2025, financial and social success often correlate with being “aesthetically fluid.” It’s not a law of nature, but it is a cultural undercurrent. And it’s worth unpacking. Aesthetic fluidity isn’t just about fashion. It’s about adaptability. Authenticity. The ability to define your own identity while navigating environments that still judge you by how you show up. What Is Aesthetic Fluidity? It’s the art of pulling off multiple looks and styles with ease. Knowing when to lean into polish, when to embrace grit, and when to mix the two. It’s not about being trendy, it’s about being intentional. Yes, it’s subjective. But in a world where first impressions still shape opportunity, aesthetic fluidity becomes a kind of social currency. The Judgment Game Humans judge. Quickly. Harshly. It’s evolutionary; snap decisions kept us alive. Still do, sometimes. But in modern life, those judgments often miss the mark. I wish we lived in a world where people didn’t size you up by your shoes, your grooming, your posture. But we don’t. The people who’ve evolved past that? They’re out there. They’re compassionate, curious, less concerned with surface. But let’s be honest: they’re not always the ones signing your paycheck. So in the workplace, you adapt, or you suffer. That’s not defeatist. That’s strategic. Learning the Hard Way In my 20s, I couldn’t afford a therapist. But I could afford a library card. I read every self-help book I could find. It helped me decode the new world I’d stepped into, one where appearance wasn’t everything, but it was often the first thing. Dress Codes and Power Signals On a construction site, you can often tell who’s doing what by how they’re dressed. Same goes for a law office. The person in the bespoke suit with impeccable grooming? They’re not just stylish. They’re signaling access, resources, and rank. That’s not shallow, it’s tribal. And if you want to move through different tribes, you learn the codes. Your Body Is Your Canvas Let’s get practical. Aesthetic fluidity starts with the body. Not six-pack abs. Not Botox. Just basic health. If you’re in your 20s, get a checkup. Go to the dentist. Once a year, maybe twice. You’re laying the foundation for your 40s and beyond. Trust me, what you neglect now will come back for revenge later. Get to the gym. Learn a sport. It’ll come in handy when your boss invites you to his place for the weekend. Keep your body strong. You don’t have to be Schwarzenegger. But you do have to be consistent. Clothes look better on a well-built body. And yes, you look better naked. Okay, now I sound like your Grandpa. But learn from my mistakes. Your body is your canvas. And how you look, how you carry yourself, affects how people respond to you. Pay attention to grooming. Hair, nails, skin—they’re not just “women’s stuff.” If you look unkempt, you’re not aesthetically fluid. And that’s the goal here. The Takeaway Aesthetic fluidity isn’t about being a chameleon. It’s about being fluent. Fluent in your own identity. Fluent in the environments you move through. It’s not selling out—it’s showing up. And when you show up with intention, health, and style that fits the moment? You’re not just playing the game. You’re rewriting it.