It’s insane how beefy Brazilian men are in Rio. It seems like every guy, even those who live in a favela, are either cut or buff. I like to think of myself as confident but I couldn’t help but feel small when walking on the beach upon my most recent visit.
There are pull-up and dip bars all over the place and they’re constantly being used from men of varying socio-economic classes. There are gyms on every block, the most per capita in the world, and they’re all full at peak times. If you are a frail guy coming to Rio, relatively speaking you will look like a scrap of a man. While in the U.S. some girls like that frail hipster look (where muscles would actually rule you out from sex), in Rio that’s not the case. Puny men will have trouble competing with guys who have sexy bodies.
Looking good matched my values, so I took very easily to stepping up my workouts to four times a week. It took about two months until I was no longer among the weakest 50% of men within any club. My diet improved as well, since it’s impossible to workout that often while eating like shit. The result? I become a little cockier, I bought tighter t-shirts, and I got more looks from women. That slightly increased my make-out rate with the shallower carioca girls, who grew up in the beach culture where looks are much more important than being, say, a writer who lives in a shack.
In Rio the baseline male has muscles and there’s no excuse not to have them. How did the culture get like that? How did having muscles become normal? How about America? What’s the new normal there? Well in the States I know that there are actual organizations trying to push fat acceptance. There are trying to make being a burden to society—economically and visually—something that is normal. Feminists are playing their part too, because we know that their corps is mostly composed of dykes who could stand to lose a few dozen pounds.
Looking fat and gross doesn’t match my values, so it becomes very difficult when I did my best to look pleasant and I go inside a bar where 60% of the women are warthogs with short hair who can’t dress well. In fact it’s a serious problem.
While there is a happiness blow that comes from leaving family and friends to live abroad, I think it’s nearly compensated when you’re in a place that better matches your values. It remains a happiness wash until you get old enough where you have no remaining single friends. Then the scale tips and a permanent move abroad may be the winning choice to make. If you don’t agree with the life choices of a majority of your countrymen, then you may need to go somewhere else.
If you liked this post then I think you will like my travel memoir A Dead Bat In Paraguay, about when I quit my job and sold my stuff to try and bang my way across South America. It contains my experiences with South American women and the struggles that crushed me both mentally and physically. Called "refreshing." "honest," and "inspiring," A Dead Bat In Paraguay is available in both eBook and paperback. Check out the homepage to watch the introductory video, read exerpts, or learn more about what's inside.