Burn Your Crocs

I’ve been sitting with a question lately.

Not because I have the answer, but because the question itself won’t leave me alone.

Does accepting every part of yourself make you more magnetic?

As Pride month comes to a close, I found myself reflecting on something I’ve admired for years. I’ve always had a deep appreciation for the LGBTQ+ community, especially drag queens.

 Not because they entertain, although many do brilliantly. 

Not because they’re fearless, although many are.

But because so many seem to embody a level of self-expression that the rest of us spend our lives trying to earn.

I’ve noticed that some seem to carry a certain presence not because of their sexuality, but because they appear comfortable in who they are. It made me wonder if people who have had to confront their identity develop a different kind of confidence.

That reflection led me to think about bisexual men and the women who choose to date them. Some women have stated they would never date a bisexual man.

Me?

It makes me curious.

Many bisexual men have had to navigate questions about masculinity, attraction, acceptance, and belonging.

But the more I thought about it, the more I realized this isn’t really about bisexuality.

It’s about authenticity.

Perhaps the process of self-examination creates a level of authenticity that other people can feel.

I started looking at my own life.

I’m a librarian. I am what they call the curator of information. I also take glamorous, sometimes sexy photographs of myself online.

For years, I quietly wondered if those worlds were supposed to exist together.

Could someone be intellectually curious and enjoy beauty? Could someone lead at work and still embrace femininity? Could someone recommend books one day and post a glamorous photo the next?

Some people would say no. For a long time, a part of me believed them.

Then I realized something.

The conflict wasn’t coming from my life. It was coming from the imaginary boxes I thought I had to fit into.

Somewhere along the way, we started believing that intelligence and sensuality can’t coexist. That professionalism requires becoming one-dimensional. That if someone is beautiful, they can’t be thoughtful. If they’re scholarly, they shouldn’t care about aesthetics.

Who made those rules?

What if the most attractive people aren’t the ones who fit neatly into a category? What if they’re the ones who have stopped apologizing for every part of themselves?

That’s the question I keep coming back to.

Maybe what we call ‘magnetic energy’ isn’t really about appearance at all. Maybe it’s the quiet confidence that comes from no longer editing yourself to make other people comfortable.

When I finally stopped trying to separate the librarian from the creator, the leader from the woman who enjoys glamour, something shifted. I felt lighter. More honest. More myself.

Maybe authenticity has an energy that people can feel before you ever say a word.

But here’s another thought I’ve been wrestling with.

What if we can only recognize authenticity in someone else when we’ve started becoming authentic ourselves?

If you’re constantly editing yourself to fit into someone else’s expectations, maybe another person’s freedom feels uncomfortable instead of inspiring.

Maybe that’s why some people admire those who live unapologetically, while others criticize them. They’re looking at the exact same person but seeing something completely different.

Perhaps authenticity isn’t just something we project. Perhaps it’s something we have to be willing to receive.

Maybe it takes one authentic person to truly recognize another.

And perhaps that’s why some people seem magnetic. Maybe it isn’t their sexuality, career, appearance, or status that draws us in. Maybe it’s the peace they’ve made with themselves.

Imagine the energy we spend hiding ourselves.

So now I’m curious.

How much of our lives are spent trying to become acceptable to other people?

And how much more magnetic would we become if we simply allowed every authentic part of ourselves to exist in the same room?

Maybe that’s the real duality.

Not choosing between different versions of ourselves.

But having the courage to let all of them exist together.