Blame the frat brothers for dad-body popularity

Dear Hipster:

I want to blame hipsters for making us aware of the “dad body,” aka “the stupidest trend of the year so far,” but, before I do, I thought I would consult you. This is just the kind of stupid shit you hipsters would perpetrate. Can we hold you accountable for the existence of this phenomenon?

— My Dad Gut Says “Yes,” Cortez Hill

How dare you. You might as well blame the French for Valley Girl–style uptalk. Why don’t you implicate basketball players in the current drought cycle? Maybe, while you’re at it, you can impeach the governor of Wyoming for his (alleged) involvement in the extinction of the dinosaurs!

Just don’t try and pin this whole “dad body” thing on us hipsters because you read about it on a blog. Sure, it resembles ironic hipster satire, at least on the surface. The idea that chicks dig, in fact may even prefer, dudes with slightly flabby guts, less-than-chiseled jaws, and just-okay biceps seems like a clever ploy to lampoon the prevalence of six-pack abs and 5 percent body fat in popular conceptions of male perfection. Then, you realize that’s completely ridiculous, and that people are, at least for the moment, sincere in their veneration of the dad body.

And by “people,” I mean “guys.” And by “guys,” I mean “bros.”

The most enthusiastic supporters of the dad body seem to be the dad-bodied frat brothers themselves. Indeed, bros nationwide unleashed a collective fist pump at the idea that their expanding beer guts might actually enhance their sex appeal. Such a delightful prospect suits the bros’ platonic ideal of manliness, one where manly men achieve great success in business through the exploitation of their fathers’ fraternity connections, thus leaving them free to watch sports, drive Porsches, and be worshipped by svelte women who love them for their ample-checking-accounts bellies.

Yup, all this buzz about the dad body has “bro” written all over it. We hipsters have our faults, but we prefer our displays of masculinity more tongue-in-cheek and less brazenly sexist. Call us “new fashioned” if you must. It’s actually a nice change of pace from constantly being called old fashioned just because we appreciate vintage stuff.