ken
There’s this member at the gym I attend who’s my absolute favourite to watch (not sexually). He’s an older guy, probably in his 60’s, and he wears sunglasses inside as well as a zip up vest over his bare torso. He frequents the cable machine and grunts aggressively as he smashes his tricep pushdowns, crossing the gym briskly between sets to perform violent and abrupt hamstring stretches on the squat rack, regardless of whether someone is using it or not. When he’s not actually working out he’s pacing the gym intensely, busting out sudden and vicious karate chops at nothing. He is better that any gym meme or fail video (which is a big call because there’s some excellent ones out there and they amuse me daily). His name is Ken and he gives literally no fucks.
Genuinely not giving a fuck is an insanely rare and enviable quality; and I’m pretty sure we all wish we had the balls to karate chop the air just because we feel like it, but let’s face it, most of us don’t. Ken doesn’t seem phased by the fact that his routine is at odds with literally 100% of the gym population and also probably the rest of society. He doesn’t give a fuck if I’m grinning my head off watching him or if he’s copping a filthy look from the old man attempting to shoulder press the barbell he’s thrusting his leg against. Basically, he does him, and he fucking nails it. I doubt he has Instagram or even knows what it is, and if it wasn’t against the gym’s social media policy I would boomerang him doing his karate chops on the treadmill so the world outside of the gym could see what a legend he is. His attitude is my current life goals.
Ken and his aggressively careless gym routine got me thinking a lot about how many fucks I give and why and sadly I realised the answer is way too many, and for no reason. Giving no fucks is one of those things that everyone likes to claim they don’t, because they’ve read a book about how you shouldn’t or posted a photo of themselves without makeup or a filter. Messaging first on Tinder or wearing socks with slides to the supermarket is some level of ballsy in this current age of Facetune and fake asses, but if I really think about it, my slides are Nike and match my $30 Stance socks and my Tinder profile picture is (was) a professional shot of me with abs that I definitely no longer have so yes, I give all of the fucks, even though I have read Mark Manson’s book and don’t always use a filter.
I will be the first to admit that I have either chronic imposter syndrome, or deep seated trust issues bordering on extreme paranoia. I can count on one hand the people in my life that I genuinely believe like me, and most of the time I’m convinced that literally everyone else thinks I’m a ridiculous and embarrassing loser. I’m definitely not brave and careless like Ken, as much as I aspire to be, but the one accolade I’ll give myself is that I don’t pretend that I am. I give a lot of fucks, about training and work and relationships and what I wear and my body weight and everything I eat and say and message and it’s next level fucking exhausting so I literally do not have the mental energy to maintain some upbeat WHO CARES attitude when really I’m dying inside because someone left my message on ‘seen’ and there can be no viable explanation for this other than that they hate me and always have.
I wonder if Ken ever has these moments, or if he did once and somehow managed to level up into the no-fuck-giving master of the universe that he is today. Everyone in my life who’s opinion I respect tells me that I need to care less, but I feel that I care so much about not caring that the effort almost negates the intention. I wear socks that say ‘cunt’ on them, I tell people when they piss me off, and I shamelessly broadcast my bodily functions across a variety of mediums, but I still desperately hold on to this pathetic need for people to like me and validate what I do, regardless of their meaning in my life and if they even deserve for me to give a fuck about them or not. Although I do agree that life would be a lot less stressful if I did manage to reduce my care factor levels, I think that giving a fuck is something that’s been in me since birth, as I can vividly recall crying over an assignment I did on a wood pigeon when I was five because anything but an A+ would be an extreme failure (nailed it though).
So how does one master their inner Ken and is it even possible? I’m hoping maybe it’s an age thing and when I reach that magical number (which I’m hoping is 34), I’ll be like FUCK EVERYTHING and get five more cats and walk them all on leashes whilst eating Nutella from the jar, wearing grey track-pants and listening to Celine Dion’s greatest hits without headphones. But until that glorious day comes, I’ll be over here with my one cat anxiously hoping we’re still on for dinner tomorrow because the last message you sent me contained a vague and non-commital emoji that I have anxiously been pondering the hidden meaning of for the last 12 hours.
