Kill Something

Lumberjacks didn't wear skinny jeans that ended at their shins above sock-less suede chukka boots.  While I know the following admission won't exactly increase my credibility regarding my larger point, I have to admit that there was a time, after I got out of the Army (who told me what to wear every day), when I got fascinated by style.  I had never really owned nice clothing, because I wore a uniform five days a week, and the weekends consisted of jeans or cargo pants and t-shirts.  So, for a couple of years after I got out, I researched into style to discover what new image I wanted to portray to the world, since I was no longer a soldier.  I eventually found myself.  All of which is simply to set the stage of having a basic understanding of clothing archetypes/tribes/styles.  One of those tribes is the "rugged look," which a Top-Knot hipster lumberjack I saw today was desperately trying to pull off.  I laughed.  But then I got to thinking about why I snickered and shook my head.  The answer is because Top Knot was a boy pretending to be a man.  Now, critiquing hipster style is not the intent of this blog.  It is just the background that is spurring me to create it.  After witnessing this twenty-something idiot pretending to be one of the, to use the style industry's terminology, "Rugged Archetype," I asked myself what would make him more believable.  That is from whence comes the subject line of this inaugural blog: "Kill Something."

Please notice I said "Something" and not "Someone" (unless someone is trying to kill you, then by all means, make that someone into a dead something).  I digress.  My point is that he would have been more believable if he'd had some blood on his hands instead of hair cream or skin lotion.  If he wants to look like an actually rugged man, he should go hunting, or fishing, or on a combat patrol in Afghanistan, or even go kill some livestock on a ranch or farm.  Men are killers.  Please notice, again, I did not say murderers, but real men understand death.  Kids do not.  This flannel-wearing Top Knot was not a man, he was a kid, because he had no blood on his hands.

This is not a style blog; the purpose of this blog is to espouse a philosophy of self-defense in an increasingly dangerous world.  My mission is to make modern Americans into 1950s Americans.  In a time right after our fathers had just won the most horrific war in human history, lunatics did not get a free pass to perpetrate horrendous acts of violence.  Some tried.  But in a society where one out of every ten persons was a veteran of World War Two, where ten percent of the population were Sheepdogs, the Wolves did not have free reign.  Ironically, most of them wore suits and ties and did not pretend to be lumberjacks, but they were all Men, who were familiar with death, and would not stand to be victimized.  They didn't put lotion on their hands, and their pomade didn't smell like lavender.  If you really want to be a "rugged man," go get some blood on your hands.

Ladies, I have not forgotten you at all.  I addressed this blog to the boys of the our country because nobody needs to convince a modern woman about how dangerous the world is.  Most modern American women today are far more aware of violence than most modern American males are.  That is tragic but true.  It's tragic that women have to face such violence, and it's also tragic that most males are so unaware of it.  So, no offense was intended for leaving the ladies out of this, I want both men and women to be Sheepdogs in our country.

Thanks,
Soule
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