In the words of the illustrious Sir Mix-a-Lot, “my anaconda don’t want none unless you got buns, hon.” I don’t have an anaconda, or a penis, but I do have a strong affinity for buns.
Man buns, that is.
Historically, the man bun has been a point of contention among women. Some find the bro-knot sexy because of its rugged, devil-may-care je ne sais quois. Others think man buns look greasy and unkempt. “Others” are wrong. “Others” clearly haven’t seen the picture of Kit Harington at the Emmy’s looking sexy as fuck because of the poof of hair tied to his head.
From a biological standpoint, it makes sense to be attracted to a man with a bun. Long, luscious hair that's so overwhelmingly thick it has to be tied up in a man bun is clearly a sign of fertility. You know what’s not sexy? Male pattern baldness. You know what guys with man-buns never have? Male pattern baldness.
Gender stereotypes are a huge turn off, and the man bun forces us to rethink these preconceived notions. The man bun is so appealing because it simultaneously plays upon our attraction to both the androgynous and the ubermasculine. The man-bun combines the grace of a ballerina with the sex appeal of a lumberjack, all the while telling your preconceived gender notions to fuck off.
Our traditional conception of male sex appeal may not include the man bun, but it’s precisely because man buns aren’t the norm that makes the 'do so attractive. Everyone likes a confident boy, and the man bun wearer demonstrates an inherent lack of self-consciousness. The man bun man doesn’t care if you think his jeans are too tight, and he doesn’t worry about whether he’s doing his downward dog right in yoga (he is). He’s just there, rocking his man bun, doing him.
And if he wants me to do him too, then so be it.
Read the counterpoint here.