Yeah. Zero minutes ago. I posted again in the thread "Do You Use SG More Or Less Than You Used To?" Nothing new. I just felt like regurgitating my frustrations in a Twitter-esque pile of brevity at the bottom of the comments, as I'd only 10 days ago let out how I really feel in many more words.
Best decision ever? That's what I thought on that fateful day back in September of last year, before the site change. It's not that I blame the site change on my SG woes. Perhaps it is to blame. I don't know. I just thought that I was coming into something else. When I decided to join SG it wasn't for the models. If I want to find pictures of hot women on the internet, believe you me I have my sources and need not spend a dime to do so. No, I didn't come here for hot chicks with tattoos and piercings (hell, I hate piercings for the most part). No. What I came here for was the community. Being me, the kind of guy I am, I rarely have friends no matter where I am. I don't fall into normal social groups, as I tend to rub them the wrong way simply by being myself. I don't go out of my way to be different; it's not something I ever have to try at. It's inherent, it's natural, it's inevitable. I typically will not fit in.
SuicideGirls seemed like a gang of misfits. People who let themselves be exactly who they were, and were accepting of others like themselves. They dyed their hair unnatural colors and gave it unusual cuts and styles. They were sometimes covered in tattoos, or had piercings in plenty of unconventional places. They played video games, did drugs, read comic books, were aspiring artists, and shelled tormented souls. They were sometimes angst-ridden like our teenage selves when we still thought Linkin Park was cool, and at other times were filled to the brim with glee because of a new lover, or a success in their art/talent. They had unconventional tastes in music, literature, film, and expression. They were people like me.
Yet now I feel like I was sold a half-truth. Once I walked into the incredibly inviting door and had a chance to get comfortable I was told to get up and leave the lobby. Renovations were in the works, but to not worry as they were bringing surprising improvements. So I happily stood outside in line with everyone else, in the rain, in the sun, in the fog. Waiting. Excited, even. And when the doors opened we walked into a harsh new light. Everything looked like it fell off the palette of a do-it-yourself Hot Topic emo girl set. There were no more community rooms, just rooms for girls to post nudie selfies on the door with marker boards for guys (and some gals) to wax un-poetically about how awesome their boobs are. There's no sense of connection. It's just a forum to display the Race To The Pink for endless hopefuls who will follow every member who doesn't need to approve them beforehand and never communicate with them on any meaningful level. Old heads are sad, and even being new I've joined them in the alley out back to suck down a pack of crushed cigarettes, trading looks behind tired, disappointed eyes that want to scream "I WANT THE OLD COMMUNITY BACK!"
I'm a 30 year old man. I live alone with two cats, read comic books, collect Batman stuff, and watch movies both at the theater and at home alone. I'm a learning music producer. I have some tattoos. I have an awful sense of humor. I'm divorced with no kids. I'm terribly sad a lot of the time, but have bits of happiness shine through on occasion that keep me going. I'm a Libertarian. I get excited over nerdy things, like the new iPhone jailbreak, or new computer peripheral connection systems like Thunderbolt and USB 3.1. I think it's sexy when a pretty gal wears cat ears, black velvet gloves, or both (it's an insatiable turn on). I hate asking for help. Norman Borlaug is one of my heroes. I've slept on my couch instead of my bed for the past 8 months because of a heartbreak. I'm fucking weird, I embrace it, and I want to connect with others like me, or at least others who are accepting of me.
Before I felt like SuicideGirls was just the place for a person like me. Now I feel like it's a home for 19 year old girls who have a terrible need to be seen nude and want as many strangers to egg on their attention-seeking depravity. It's not an art to them; it's an answer to a question they don't have the courage to answer truthfully.
And I'm nothing more than a "follower, someone to click "LIKE" on their selfies and plastically praise their bodies so I can get a disingenuous thank you followed by a QWERTY heart.
I admit: this could be nothing more than unbridled cynicism boiling over the edges of my soul.
But I don't think that's the case.
I think there are others who feel just the same as I do.
And they're all just as disappointed as I am.
