Archive of Our Own

“Thomas looked at this,” Laura Tucker sat at the kitchen island with her tangerine iBook, calling over to her husband. “On the web there’s all this talk about some kind of ‘metrosexual’ fad.” The Tucker family was sitting around on a Saturday morning with nothing else better to do than be in each other’s company.

Craig was on the couch watching reruns of his favorite show ever, Red Racer, with his sister who was working on a friendship bracelet and waiting around to kick him off the TV as soon as this episode was over. He had seen this episode probably over 100 times by now and didn’t need to pay much attention to the screen to understand what was going on.

Thanks to his well-versed knowledge of this episode (really all the episodes), his parent's conversation managed to slip into his ears.

“I don’t get this stuff, isn't it just being gay?”

Craig internally cringed at the topic, gay people were something of a punchline in the Tucker household that always seemed to go a little too far. He wasn’t a supporter or anything, no definitely not, but things started to get uncomfortable when the truth in the jokes started to show itself.

Mr. Garrison was an ass and he was gay, but Mr. Slave and Big Gay Al were gay and they were kind of cool. He wasn’t a supporter, no definitely not, but he couldn’t honestly say he was against it. Truthfully, he didn’t understand how his dad had formed such an opinion.

“No it isn't Thomas, don’t be close-minded. It’s just guys keeping themselves together with nicer clothes and hair.”

“You know I don’t understand any of that stuff, Laura.”

The woman shrugged, “It’s really strange the things kids are into nowadays.”

His mom had always been the more progressive of his parents, so it was strange to see her err on the side of traditionalism in this debate with his father.

“Oh, they think of something new to obsess over. Remember when we were Craig’s age the hot thing was Rubik's cubes?”

“Way to remind a lady of how old she is,” Laura said in an accusatory tone, though her smile gave away her true feelings behind her words, “maybe you should get in on this trend and fix yourself up a bit.”

They laughed and continued their banter with accusations of the other getting old. Commercials were on, so he observed his parents the way children do, soaking up what he learned from their interaction like a sponge.

So it really wasn’t a crime to not be totally off-put by the idea of ‘metros?’ So this ‘fad’ that he had heard of loosely by his peers wasn’t a bad thing? He took that for what it was, that nugget of information storing itself away in the folds of his brain among the many other memories and opinions he had acquired over his nine years of living.

The commercials were over, so he turned away from the affectionate revving that goes on between two people that had been married for however long and back to his much more captivating television.

He didn’t think too much about it for the remainder of the day. He rode bikes with Clyde for a while and played at the park, ate dinner, went to bed, and that was that.

Craig got up early for church, which immediately pissed him off. He didn’t hate church as much as other kids his age seemed to, he liked the monotony of it and thought the older box-blond boy that played the organ and was in Sunday school with him was just really cool for some reason.

But his parents didn’t go every week, they were fairweather Catholics and randomly decided when they would knock on his door early on a Sunday morning. He hated the impulsivity of it, he liked to be fully aware of what was going on, what would be going on, and so on and so forth.

He answers his mom’s wake-up call with some attitude but didn’t protest further when he was out of his bed and trudging over to his closet to pick out something to wear.

You’re supposed to wear your Sunday best, not that Craig listens to rules like that. But still, he picked out a gray sweater that didn’t look too run down and pulled his regular jacket over it. It wasn’t his “best” but he felt good.

He then rushed over to the bathroom to brush his teeth and pull himself together. But when he looked in the mirror that morning, glazing up to his hair, he felt dissatisfied. It was just plain as it sat there, deflated and disorganized from sleeping with his hat on. Was it strange to think it lacked personality? Because that’s how he felt about it at this moment.

It was unusual that he really thought much about his hair with it always being covered up with his hat. A lot of guys, most guys really, at his school didn’t give two shits about their hair since it was seldom seen. His best friend Clyde always had his hair out, and Craig wondered for a moment if he ever styled it.

The boy in his grade with the most interesting hair had to be Tweek Tweak, who always had this wild, thick, crazy blond hair that stuck out rather randomly at parts. It was rather long, too. If it was wet would it reach his shoulders? What would it even look like weighed down by water? Was its unruly appearance intentional?

Craig didn’t know why he thought about these things because truly, it didn’t matter at all. It was kind of weird, really but he guessed he was just curious about something he didn’t know much about. It’s not like his hair could do anything like that even if he wanted it to.

There was a strict no hats at church policy in the Tucker household, so he did something. And, if he was being honest with himself, he wanted to do something that was more than just running a comb through his silky black hair. But would it be gay (that dreaded g word) if he wanted to experiment with it? With bated breath, as if what he was about to do was illegal, Craig opened the medicine cabinet and reached for his father’s neglected tin of pomade.

“Craig, what is taking you so long in there? Hurry up!” His mom’s words caused him to jump. In an action so quick his mind didn’t have time to fully register that it had happened, Craig scooped a glob of the stuff and smoothed it into his hair.

“Just give me a minuet!” Craig hollered back as he attempted to style his hair with the introduction of the product. He followed his natural side part and solved his hair to the right. By the time he was done, he felt like hot shit. He felt like his reflection resembled one of those guys on the cover of those tween magazines his mom said his sister was still too young for. Maybe Josh Hartnett.

He left the bathroom with an inflated self of confidence and took it with him as he sat in the car and then the pews. When they were finally in the building and sat, his mom could get a good look at her son. He looked like he washed the front in a pound of hair gel and kept the back the same as it was when he ruled out of bed. Neither Laura nor her husband was in a position to give him adequate advice on how to take care of his hair and not come out the other side looking anywhere between a douchebag and a mess so she left it alone for now.

He has to go to confession today, it was pretty lame. Craig liked to flip off the priest through the wall, under the lattice design that separated them before listing all the times he was able to provoke his stupid teachers or his stupid classmates in recent history. Then he would be ordered to pray the rosary and do some kind of kind act of kindness to his classmates that he was never going to do.

But when he sat behind the curtain, he felt a sort of guilt stirring in him for the first time. “Bless me Father for I have sinned. I don’t know how long it’s been since my last confession.”

The priest signed in indignation and said, “ok, speak to my child.”

Craig shuffled in his seat a moment, mulling over his thoughts a moment. Was it a sin to potentially, or even just consider, being what his dad would call a pansy? He didn’t want to be a fake man, or unnatural, or whatever random shit his dad said. “Father, is it bad if I want to start doing my hair and maybe getting into fashion?”

“What?” The priest sputtered like an old car struggling to start. “No, my child, why would that be a sin?”

“Oh.” Is all Craig said, in his monotone voice.

“You know, God created creativity! It’s ok to express yourself.”

“I know that.” After that last comment from Craig, the priest regained his irritated tone and let the boy admit to his usual transactions like calling his best friend a crybaby and getting caught flipping off the teacher. He did the prayers, got told the penance he wasn't going to, and went about his day.

All he really cared about was the answers to the internal war that was ranging inside his brain. It was good to know at least God was ok with it, apparently. Not that he needed God’s permission.

The day was overcast and just generally soggy, so he spent his afternoon with his family. He wanted desperately to run and escape to his room so he could go on his off-white desktop, or at least play on the PlayStation 2 (it took forever for him to convince his parents to get it for him), but his mom wanted them all to be together and ‘have family time’ so his fate was sealed.

They switched on the television instead of trying to play a card game, and that show that started all the stirring in the little boy’s heart came on. The theme sounded like something you’d hear in the dressing room at the mall and the men on the screen were flamboyant in a way he had never seen before.

Five gay guys would enter the life of some random straight loser and they would give their whole existence a makeover. Craig didn’t know if he liked the idea of some strangers giving him a bunch of advice, though it seemed as though the straight guys wanted it. One thing Craig could not deny, however, was that they were happy.

He liked the way they were all sort of blunt and snappy with the miserable guy they were trying to fix up, Craig really liked that, it was hilarious! It kind of reminded him of the way he was with his friends, ribbing them in a way you do with your dudes. If that was what being metrosexual was about, then he could certainly get behind it. Being a blunt asshole was his brand after all.

But his mood was dampened when his father started laughing and Craig had to ask himself if his dad was laughing at them or with them. They were funny and the show was meant to be satirical and lighthearted, so hopefully he was just laughing along. But, there was a sneaking suspicion in Craig’s gut that his dad was laughing because they weren’t “real men” and they had a bit of flamboyance about them.

He tiptoed up to his room not long after he figured his mom would be satisfied with this “family time” despite the fact that he just sat there, unspeaking, and his sister had been in the kitchen the entire time hogging the landline to call one of her little friends.

He started pacing the floor, trying to work through his stupid, annoying, frustrating thoughts that he was pissed he was even having.

Craig didn’t care about what anyone else thought of him according to anyone who knew him. And as much as Craig wanted to agree with that statement, he knew it wasn’t entirely true. If he thought something was lame he’d say it, but a lot of the time his friends and peers were doing something stupid or boring (in a bad way), and he felt pressure to pretend to like it somewhat.

He felt like he didn’t always get them and he didn’t get the girls, either. He definitely didn’t see the appeal of being so obsessed with them that a girl could bring you to tears the way it always seemed to go with Clyde. What a pussy!

He just assumed that he’d find some girl someday and see what all his friends did. They were just kids, why worry about gross girls with cooties now when we can all be gross and boring and old with them later?

But this metro thing, he didn’t feel like he was being forced into thinking about it like girls and superheroes and Peru. It felt like it was coming to him naturally like the rain in spring.

Besides, girls would totally dig it if he was ‘metro’, right? That’s what the guys in school were saying, as well as that “it was about time he got a girl”. Fuck them really, he’d date some stupid stinky girl when he wanted to, but he also didn’t want people thinking he was funny as he heard one of the adults put it once.

Maybe some half-decent-looking girl would take an interest in him and ask him out. Maybe he’d hold her hand and think it’s super hot or something. He didn’t particularly like the idea, he never considered himself a romantic at all, but he liked the idea of telling his friends he had a girlfriend so he could shove it in their faces.

There was something waiting on the tip of his tongue, wanting to be said. There were words so close, confessions he was so close to realizing but couldn’t. So he kept going in circles with himself.

He turned to his most trusted companion, making small wheeking as she explored her cage.

“Stripe, you wouldn’t judge me if I started to do my hair, right?” The guinea pig looked back up at him with beady eyes, unspeaking. But to Craig, she seemed to understand.

“Yeah.. wanting to take care of yourself doesn’t make me less of a dude. It would make me badass and punk. And if you think about it Stripe, it’s not really fair how only girls get to dress up.” He asked the pig in the enclosure, still in disbelief that he was giving this ligament consideration and even, debatably, excited about it.

His legs started to get tired from all the walking back and forth he picked her up from her cage, holding her close to his chest as he lay on his bed. She made her chutting noise, a guinea pig’s version of a cat's purr. Craig was happy she was happy, but he wasn’t sure he could say the same for himself.

He cuddled with her for a moment before he finally decided it was time for bed. He went to the bathroom to brush his teeth and caught his own reflection. Would it be gay if he wanted to wash his face with cleanser instead of bar soap? No, it would be metro.

When he went to school on Monday Craig was shocked too hear just how much talk there was about the whole Metro thing. If that wasn’t shocking enough, the guys weren’t ripping on it. He was fully ready to come to school to have all the other kids either ignoring it or calling it gay or whatever but no, they seemed interested in a strange way.

In class and in the halls he could hear the whispering of the trend, guys debating if being ‘faggy’ was really the key to getting chicks. Apparently, Craig was not alone in his mental debates, this would only become more apparent when he got his lunch and sat down at the table.

“S-s-so fellas, you seen this trend? Like guys getting all girly and shit.” Jimmy comments as he chews on his undercooked chicken patty.

“I think it’s because of that show, queer eye or something?” Tolkien replied

“Haha, it’s so gay! Like guys that shave their legs or something?” Clyde said as he sat down with his pre-Michelle Obama lunch complete with a toxic-looking blue and green slushy.

The other boys at their table that didn’t usually comment on their ‘private’ conversations decided to join in. “Mmm, mmm, mm,” Kenny started.

“Yeah, my dad too. He was bragging over the phone about how he shaved his balls and my mom loved it.” Stan agreed.

“Dude,” Cartman started with a mouth full of the two Lunchables he brought from home along with the gross school lunch, “you’re dads such a fag. Right guys?”

The comment, the slur, made Craig feel as though he had just got pinched. It stung, oddly enough and he had half a mind to say something before remembering that all his ‘curiosity’ was a secret.

Tolkien shrugged his shoulders, “Yeah, but girls really seem to like it. I mean, they always talk about how gross we are and how we smell. Maybe this is it!”

Craig feigned disinterest, pulling all the stops that his limited acting skills would allow as he rested his cheek on his hand (this made him look bored, right?) and slouched his seat. But in reality, he was listening very closely to the other boy’s opinions on this fad. Though not all of them seemed totally on board, others didn’t seem to hate the idea of just trying it out.

“Girls love me the way I am!” Clyde insisted, “I’m not putting on perfume for them.”

“Yeah man, I’m not changing the way I am.” Jimmy agreed

“Yeah! You’re with us, right Craig?”

Craig picked up his head to mention his name. Of course, someone would try to drag him into this shit, so why was he surprised. He thought for a moment, before simply saying “This conversation is stupid.”

Everyone more or less ignored him after that, not unused to his attitude, and carried on with their conversations without him. The bell rang and lunch was over, all the little boys picked up their lunch boxes and trays and headed back to class to continue their day.

The original conversation at his lunch table continued into the hallway for some people and Craig’s ears seemed all too keen to tune in.

“Dude, homos love Madonna and Britney Spears I’m telling you.” Cartman insisted to his friends. It seemed interesting to Craig that Cartman apparently knew so much about gay people.

“Are you sure? I don’t wanna buy the CDs for nothing.” Stan said.

“Yes!” Cartman scoffed, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, “Just trust me Stan, we’ll be drowning in puss.”

“Mmmh, mm, mm.” Kenny said.

“Gross, man.” Said Stan.

Craig decided that was enough unintentional eavesdropping and picked up the pace. It seemed like everyone was very excited to get girls from this trend, but he wondered how far his peers were apparently willing to go. Apparently, Cartman knew things about gay culture, but did anyone else?

When Craig went home in the evening, after catching the new red racer episode, he went up to his room and sat at his desk to look up the thing he’d need to know about gay people to pretend to be one. He learned some terms like what it meant to come out of the closet, what a beard is, what it means to be outed.. He’d probably never need these things but it was good to know.

He started looking at pages on Wikipedia and going down rabbit holes, learning the whole history of the pink triangle like he was studying for a test. He looked at pictures he could find on fashion blogs and personal sites and started to see a vision in his head. He only stopped when his mom got a call and his connection came to an end because they still used dial-up.

Yes, if Criag was going to commit to doing this he was going to do it right.

“Dude, Tolkien.” Craig whispered to his friend in the middle of their math lesson. They were learning how to subtract fractions, when would Craig ever need to know that?

“What?” His friend responded back, he always was a little bit too into school so this reaction made sense, but Craig knew what he had to say was much more important than this shit.

“Listen,” Craig started, hesitating a bit before continuing, “do you wanna start a metrosexual group?”

“What are you talking about?” Tolkien responded, losing the snap in his voice in favor of interest.

“Oh will you boys shut your pie holes already!” Mr. Garrison yelled, staring right at the pair that wasn’t very discrete. “You just had 40 minutes of recess to talk so can you please at least pretend to care in my classroom?”

Craig flipped him off when he wasn’t looking but talked a little lower so he didn’t have to be interrupted yet again. “Listen, if we have to act gay to get girls before all the other guys it’s better if we do it as a group so people don’t assume we’re just gay for each other and not metros.”

Tolkien looked at him strangely for a moment, but then glazed around the room and hummed to himself. “Y’know, I kind of have a thing for Wendy Testaburger… yeah why not.”
“Dude,” Craig started, being kind of startled by his friend’s lack of morals considering she is Stan Marsh’s girlfriend. But then Craig remembered that he hates Stan and it would actually be pretty funny to see him all butthurt about it. “... meet me outside after class.”

Tolkien waited for his friend and they chose to start walking home together. “So, if we’re going to do your plan, we’re going to need more kids to go along with it and Clyde and Jimmy don’t seem into it.”

“I already thought about that,” Craig started, “I was thinking we could ask Tweek.” He could see it, his vision so clear. Tweek had this kind of permanent baby face and stubborn baby fat that clung to his cheeks and midsection that made him looks sweet and innocent. This, combined with his short stature, was complimented with a smile that could light up a room. He also had that long, thick, wild hair Craig had noticed before that certainly had some potential if it were styled. His personality, too, was rather sweet and approachable despite the fact that he could totally kick some ass. That would be a wonderful addition to their group if anyone ever decided to say anything metrophobic.

Yes, he was going to make a perfect metrosexual!

“Tweek? Like Tweek Tweak the freak freak? You sure he’s not going to scare away the girls.”

“Why would he do that?”

Tolkien didn’t want to be an asshole, so he decided not to answer Craig’s question. Although he did start to pull the other’s sense of judgment into question a bit. Tweek isn't exactly known for taking care of himself, half the time he looked (and behaved) like a rabid animal.

“Just trust me, ok? This is going to be good.” Craig simply said in his perfect, unbreakable monotone as they continued to walk down the cold Colorado sidewalks home.

Tweek was alone on the swing set, watching the other kids in their groups with wistful eyes. He never really knew what it was like to be in a group like the kids on TV, he was too weird, but he had his best friend Jason who was currently being talked to by the teacher for his concerning comment during their Socratic seminar. His parents' rhetoric was starting to really snake its way into his head.

Whatever, it’s fine. Tweek can play on his own if he can’t find other stragglers for entertainment. So he swung on the swings until an infamous Craig Tucker came strolling on up to him.
This was definitely strange, they were kind of friendly and got along well but Craig had his well-established group for recess that Tweek had never really been a part of.

Tweek was surprised too because Craig was fairly well-liked amongst the other kids in their grade. Sure everyone called him an asshole, but he managed a cool, almost intimidating atmosphere about him that commanded respect. That and he was awfully good looking with his tanned skin and blue hat, at least according to Tweek’s thoughts.

Sure, they were chill and all but why was he coming up to him with this look on his face? The last time Craig gave him such an expression was when they were about to fight for the very first time.

Whatever, Tweek wasn’t afraid of him! So he hopped off his swings and prepared for whatever doom was going to find him with the class troublemaker.

“Hey Tweek,” Craig started, “you wanna join our metro group?”

“W-what?” Tweek could feel his tics act up as an involuntary response to the pressure.

“Do you want to be metrosexuals with us?” Tolkien asked, who Tweek failed to notice was there until this moment.

“Why?” The blonde scwaked out.

“Why not?” Tolkien continued with him knowing Craig was more than happy to take the backseat when it came to conversation; “it’s the new way everyone is getting girls.We wanna start doing it before everyone else starts doing it.”

Girls that was something Tweek did not know a great deal about, and woefully so. He had always just sort of known, with a dread in his heart, that he was not attracted to them and took and took greater interest in his own gender. He also knew from social osmosis and context clues that liking your own gender was not normal and somewhat taboo.

He was already saddled with the burden of being the school spaz while somehow also being short and chubby, the very last thing he needed was his sexuality to be aired out. Knowing this, he had a certain incentive to try and “get girls.” How could anyone possibly think he’s gay if he had a girlfriend? Hell, maybe he just hadn’t found the right one yet and that’s why he felt attracted to other boys (though deep down he knew that was not ever going to be the case.)

“Oh um, I guess so.” Tweek said rather unconfidently. This seemed to be the right response because a small, triumphant grin made its way to Craig’s face as if he had made some sort of accomplishment.

Any sign of mild joy Craig may have been experiencing had vanished the moment Jason returned from being lectured. “You guess about what?”

“Oh hey Jason,” Tolkien started, “we were trying to get Tweek to join our metrosexual gang.”

“Oh is that like when you pretend to be gay to get girls? Sweet I’m in!”

Tweek felt his gut twist a bit at the thought of pretending to be something he actually was. If he went overboard would they suspect that he wasn’t actually playing pretend, and if he didn’t try hard enough would they think he didn’t care about getting girls to like him? He did care, but not for the same reason they did.

Craig rolled his eyes, “If we’re going to be in a group together we all need to look nice. Tonight, meet me in front of the Holister at the mall at 5:30 pm sharp.” Craig demanded. Tweek wasn’t particularly fond of the bossy tone he took, but decided against calling unnecessary attention to himself.

“Yeah, whatever you say man.” Jason agrees with both Tweek and Tolkien nodding along.

5:30 eventually rolled around. It took Craig a great amount of convincing to get his mom to drive him to the mall. His family had never been made of money, actually the complete opposite, so he had to convince her he wanted to buy a new toy with some money he got from winning a bet with his friends. In reality, he had fistfulls of birthdays and piggybank money in his pockets. It was also quite an unusual request from him considering he’d usually complain nonstop when he had to go in the past, but here he was, acting as if he’d die if he couldn’t get there in time.

He had to stifle a scoff when he saw Jason standing with Tweek and Tolkien. He was not part of his vision for the simple reason that he was ugly. He somehow managed to have the receded hairline of a middle-aged man at age 9 and big ears that looked stupid against his weird head. Craig wasn’t a miracle worker, he didn’t know what he was going to do to make this kid semi-decent to look at.

“Hey guys, do you think we should start here?” Craig asked. He tried to sound disinterested like he hadn't been doing research online or awkwardly asking her sister the places they should be shopping at.

“Guess so,” Tolkien commented offhandedly, “I get shirts here from time to time and they got some gay shit in the girl’s section.”

They all moved over there, through the clouds of body spray and OutKast being played so loud it could be considered assault, and shuffled through the racks until Craig came across the perfect shirt. A white T-shirt with a big pink triangle on the front. They bought four.

They went from store to store, getting the hot pink jackets with the rainbow at Forever 21 (Craig also convinced Tolkien to get the pale purple boa for him there), baby pink ripped skinny jeans and matching white belts at Abercrombie, skip hot topic because that’s for emos (ew), and Craig got his pink sunglasses at spencers. He loved the idea of them all being uniform but also wanted to try and incorporate the personal style he had not yet discovered in his outfit.

The day ended at the food court. Craig had blown all his pocket change on flashy accessories and other bad decisions so his friends agreed to pitch in so he could get some chicken tenders and fries.

He was proud of himself for successfully hiding behind his mask of disinterest when in reality the last time he felt this excited was when he got Stripe #2. He didn’t know why, but he was extremely excited with what felt like contraband in his shopping bags. He hated how much enjoyment he got from trying on different articles of clothing in the dressing room. And he especially hated how he paid attention to the way the clothes fit on his friends.

His brain became flooded with unwelcome thoughts like how Tweek looked really cute in the pink jacket. He wasn’t aware of these thoughts, and he usually would find a way to mentally banish them to the corners of his mind and distract himself with thoughts about guinea pig facts or red racer headcanons instead. But, suddenly, he thought of something. “Tweek, you looked totally cute in that jacket!”

Everyone got quiet, pausing with their plastic forks lifted halfway on the journey to their mouths. “If we’re going to pretend to be gay we have to speak like we’re gay!” Craig quickly got to explaining, “we have to really say it and say things like… that.”

“What, like pet names? compliments?” Tolkien asked, “are you my schmoopy pie, Craig?”

“Yeah,” Jason joined in, “are you my sweetheart, Tweek?”

The blond giggled, a light, shy little sound that hid behind a hand that covered Tweek’s mouth. “Oh course, darling.” But the dulcet tone of Tweek’s laugh and voice only served to irritate Craig with the nicknames. For some reason, it all felt so wrong but apparently, his friends already latched on to it.

“Shut up, fags.” Craig snapped, but to his displeasure, it only got a rise out of his friends.

“That’s a good one!” Tolkien smiled, “or should I say, it was totally hot or something.”

Craig could only hope they were taking this seriously. Obviously, they weren’t taking it as seriously as he was but he expected at least some level of commitment. If they didn’t put some effort into this, it’d only make it look more like he wanted to.

Craig was, and always had been an all-or-nothing kind of guy when it comes to things he likes. If he didn’t care for something, he found it hard to even pretend to give a singular shit about its existence. But if he did like something, he would pull no stops and withhold no effort when it came to it.

For example, Craig loves his Guinea pig, he’d bend over backward to give Stripe all the care and affection she deserves. Craig loves space, he had read all the books in the school library (at his reading level) about space cover to cover. And now, Craig was on the sup of admitting that he liked this metro- homo- whatever sexual thing.

“Anyway,” Craig started again, “we won’t wear these outfits to school tomorrow because we still have to figure out our hair situation and we don’t have enough time to figure that out tonight.” Craig checked the time on his little space-themed digital watch he got for his last birthday, “my mom will be here soon to pick us up.”

“What do you mean ‘hair situation’ my hair is fine!” Jason argued.

“Yeah, mine too!” Tweek said, mirroring the other boy’s energy.

Craig and Tolkien stayed silent a moment, not wanting to break it to the boys that there was room for improvement atop both of their heads. “Well, we’re going to meet at Tolkien’s tomorrow after school. Don’t wash your hair tonight so it can hold the product better.”

Tolkien decided not to refute the fact that his house had been chosen since he already knew the answer why and that he would most likely have whatever the hell Craig needed. Tweek decided not to question why anyone wouldn’t wash their hair every day, isn’t that just basic hygiene? And Jason gave the boy in the blue hat a quizzical look, before turning back to his food.

Craig was proud of his boys for pulling themselves a little more together today. Tolkien still had his ashy elbows, Tweek had his grayish-purple eyebags, and Jason with his massive forehead but they all seemed a little more willing to run a comb through their hair and put on something they hadn’t been wearing for multiple days in a row or embarrassingly crumpled.

Craig appreciated that Tweek went the extra mile to wear a white shirt under the shirt he failed to button up, thought it would probably look better if he just unbuttoned it all together. The blond was just one of those people that perpetually failed to take advantage of his potential.

He was going to change that tonight, however. He was going to help them all realize their full physical potential. He led them all into Tolkien’s bathroom (after opening a handful of doors that proved not to be what they were looking for.)

“Ok, I’m gonna do my hair first to show you guys how it’s done.” Craig insisted, as he took a glob of pomade he brought from home and smoothed it over his head. Uh oh, he looked at his head and his hair looked as though it was drenched.

Tolkien cocked an eyebrow. Tweek tried not to look too concerned. Jason spoke up, “Dude, I think you put too much, it looks wet.”

“Shut up, Jason.” He mumbled, feeling his cheeks grow hot with embarrassment. A guy with barely any hair to begin with wasn’t going to tell him what to do with his!

There was no way he could go to school tomorrow like this. He took a comb and started brushing through his hair. Initially, he started with a side part since he heard some girls saying it was the ‘hot’ thing and it seemed to be the way his hair naturally grew. But when he looked at himself he looked like he had the worst case of hat hair Colorado had ever seen. Basically, like a total melvin!

He hummed a moment, trying to get into the metrosexual state of mind. He took the comb and started creating a middle part, staring at himself unblinking as he worked through his hair. When he was done, he turned to his friends who simply watched on, “what do you think?”

“You look good!” Said Tweek before anyone else could give their ‘constructive criticism.’

In a rare expression of anything that wasn’t plain disinterest or apathy, Craig gave a quick, confident smile, “thanks, cutie.”

All the other boys gave him a strange look, which killed his smile as quickly as it came into existence. “We’re supposed to say these things, remember.”

The other boys mumbled some sort of agreement and got to working on each other's heads. They needed to find online tutorials to do the twists for Tolkien’s hair and the brown highlights for Tweek’s hair. Jason was already a lost cause so Craig just stuck some gel in it, brushed it back to make it look intentionally slicked back. It all came out as good as a bunch of inexperienced 10 year old’s could manage, but they all felt like hot shit.

“Awe man, Wendy is going to love this!” Tolkein smiled as he played with his new hair.

“Dude, right” Jason smiled, “I’m getting all the bitches.”

Craig was pretty proud of his work. They all looked hot, like Paris Hilton would say. He ignored the implications of thinking such things about his friends in favor of thinking about the pride he felt of pulling them all together. There was something, too, about not necessarily looking like himself without his hat and such different hair that was intriguing him.

It felt kind of reminded him of Halloween in the way you got to dress up and pretend to be someone else for a night. But this was different because no one really knew he was pretending, it was like when people would make a alter ego.

All the boys stayed for dinner at Tolkien’s because they always had more than enough to give everyone else. His father committed on their “interesting” hair and they all thanked him, failing to understand that it wasn’t truly a compliment. They all parted ways, not before Craig reminded them all not to wash or dry their new outfits on any high heat or heavy-duty settings in case of shrinkage.

He was the last straggler at Tolkien’s house since his dad worked long shifts and his mom had to pick up Trica from dance. They played Madden 2004 on his Xbox (he had the new PlayStation too but Craig never used a Xbox before) until he heard the doorbell ring. WIth a speed he didn’t know he possessed, Craig threw his blue chullo back onto his head before his dad could ask any questions.

His dad talked to Mr. Black a minute, having the types of conversations only dads would have about the weather and traffic and the sorts of things Craig was too young to care about. He was just anxious to get home so he could run up to his room and play with the idea of this new persona.

“So, how was it kiddo?” Thomas Tucker asked through the rearview mirror to his son sitting in the back.

“Good.” Craig simply said, in his monotone voice.

“That’s good! You had fun with your little friends!”

“Yeah.”

Their conversations always went like this more or less. Craig wasn’t a big fan of elaboration just like his father, though the elder was more prone to ask questions to stay somewhat in the loop in the happenings of his boy’s life. Unfortunately for Thomas, he was much too focused on the road and not observant enough to detect the heightened sense of anxiety that had taken over his son.

They got home and Craig made quick work of running up the stairs to his bedroom. His parents weren’t unused to him wanting his alone time but it was hard to shake the feeling that something had been off about him. Even for a naturally reserved kid it felt as though he had become more withdrawn from them.

Craig was a strange kid, and a secretive one at that. His mother had been hoping to hear from him a bit as she sat at the kitchen table, nursing her cup of tea that had long gone cold. She knew she wasn’t the best at speaking to the heart (as anyone in their family was) but she was hoping she could at least ask him how his day was and what he was up to in school. He seemed to think she was oblivious to his obvious signs of turmoil, which couldn’t be further from the truth.

Little did she know Craig was in his room, with the door locked, dawning the complete look he was hoping to achieve when he initially went shopping at the mall.

Hair, outfit, glasses, boa; it was perfection. Perfection was what was on his body.

Craig didn’t know why, but he felt like he could take over the world. Is this how those queer eye guys felt all the time? As they run around changing up people’s lives? Is this what it was like to be gay? To feel the most confident you’ve ever felt in your entire life standing in front of your bedroom mirror.

He truly didn’t know what possessed him, but he felt like he was possibly the coolest, cutest, most fabulous little boy to ever exist. If anyone had anything to say to him, he’d happily tell them to go fuck themself while looking good doing it. Except, maybe his dad who he heard clambering up the stairs.

He quickly shuffled to his bed, trying to stay light on his toes before hiding under the covers. It was only after he heard his dad close his bedroom door and start to converse with his mom that he got out of the pink outfit, got into his PJs, folded the discarded articles of clothing, and set them on a chair. He was more than ready for tomorrow.

In unison, Craig and his posse strutted into school like a gaggle of proud peacocks showing off their luxurious feathers. The other kids looked fine in their hastily put together ‘metro outfits’, but it was clear who in his school put real work into their look. They even used Tolkien’s mom’s expensive embroidery machine to have their names proudly displayed on front.

The best part of it was, there was a clear leader. No one else in his group had an obnoxious boa or sunglasses and when the other boys would say they were fierce, they’d be looking at Craig the entire time. He’d be the one to speak for all of them and say “I know” before walking off with the other three following behind him. It was so cool.

It was obvious who the gayest kids were in school if you asked Craig. No one held a candle to his group, no one held a candle to him. But the same stupid douchebags that always wanted to ruin things at school seemed to think they did in their tacky clothes and ugly hats.

“Hey dudes,” Craig started, already trying to think of some snippy thing to say to fuck with them.

“Hey Craig,” Said Stan with his cheap-looking belt and fugly sunglasses. At least his hat is kind of nice.

“You guys look pretty gay.”

“Thanks!” Said Kyle who obviously didn’t know what he was doing with his hair and wrinkly shirt. Obviously, he doesn’t know the first thing about being gay but is stupid enough to think Craig meant what he said.

“Not as gay as us though!” Craig was all too excited to quip. One of his limited interests Craig was less aware of was his love of stirring the pot and causing problems. Or as he’d now put it, “starting drama.” He always found a way to say something to poke the proverbial bear even if he didn’t entirely mean it. Although this time, all his self-proscribed sassiness was intentional.

He got into an argument with Cartman almost immediately over who was gayer. Despite the fact that Cartman thought he was “ultra super stamp it stamp it no erases mega gay”, Craig knew in his heart that he was gayer. Besides, his ugly t-shirt said otherwise.

Craig made it his personal mission that entire day to make it known that he and his friends were the gayest, least straight, kids in the whole school. It was pretty fun to pick on the stupid heteros at recess. He didn’t know why but it just felt right in his soul, like he was healing some kind of wound he didn’t know he had when all the others started laughing at the straight kid.

Soon, the bell rang and they were all sent back to class. Craig, of course, got his little group to move as one unit to continue their parade of social dominance, reminding everyone as they held their heads up high that they were at the very top of the gay food chain.

In his newfound bloated sense of confidence, he put his hand on Tweek’s shoulder, feeling the other kid almost immediately tense up. The guilt of disturbing him hit him surprisingly fast, as Craig could sympathize with not wanting to be touched. He was about to move his hand off the other boy before he looked back, his pretty big green eyes that seemed to glitter even under the ugly public school fluorescent lighting finding him, and nodding.

It was a very strange phenomenon, but suddenly Craig felt all too estranged from the hallway and was only focused on the contact between his hand and the other’s shoulder. He had to keep up his bitchy attitude so as to not lose his place as king bitch, but he felt a bit like his head was swimming. It was strangely fun, in a lofty, childish sort of way, to play like head Tweek were some kind of item. It was like playing house but better.

He thought about it more in class, having a pretend boyfriend would probably help him to look gayer. Even gayer than stupid Stan and his stupid friends. Obviously, Tweek was going to his boyfriend because they looked good standing next to each other and he was the cutest of their group.

Maybe they could be like some kind of power couple, like Jared Leto and Cameron Diaz or Jake Gyllenhaal and Kirsten Dunst except better because they’d be gay. Two queens on top of the school hierarchy, it would be perfect.

After school, all the boys found themselves running to the mall to find a way to one up each other to steal the spotlight. Craig still didn’t like shopping, the mall was still overly crowded, too noisy and too bright, but if he wanted to maintain his reputation (which had suddenly become very important to him after discovering the power of the color pink) he’d need to go.

They all walked around with Starbucks in hand, confidence emanating with every inch of their being. Craig continued causing problems and instigating arguments when he and his gang went back to the mall that afternoon. He saw Stan’s gang there with these new outfits that somehow looked even worse than the first set of things they decided to put on their body.

Eventually, his father of all people, the one and only thing Craig Tucker the metrosexual feared, was behind him. His face had blanched, his blood ran cold, the words he wanted to say died in his mouth.

But he looked a little closer and realized his dad of all people had his hair slicked back like him with a big, ridiculous statement necklace and a pair of pants that looked all too tight on him. He was a metrosexual too, even if he was bad at it!

It was there that they, as in the other boys in class along with their fathers and their friends, decided they needed to have a metrosexual pride parade! He was going to show everyone just how much he loved being himself and loved being this way. Yes! That’s it! Craig was finally able to be honest with himself and admit what had been waiting at the tip of his tongue. He’s a metrosexual and proud of it!

He has to get a new outfit! And now that his father is on his side, he can use his credit card to be the gayest guy at the parade!

It took less than they all thought to decorate the floats for the parade with practically every guy in town pitching in. It seemed as though this was already something of a thought in some of the other guy’s minds because why else would the town already own parade floats? But the more Craig he thought about it, the more it started to make sense and the less he cared.

Since he had been so fierce and so good at being gay, he was given the privilege of designing a float and riding on it. The problem lay in the fact that he had the creativity of a cardboard box and had absolutely no idea where to start when it came to a parade float design. Sure he managed to summon some kind of gay spirit to help him with his outfit, but he felt as though he had exhausted his powers on that.

The other boys in his group were pretty useless, they were too distracted with the idea of getting back to metrophobes, looking hot for girls, and the general excitement of being on top of a moving parade float. All of them, but Tweek, who seemed to notice his concern and actually wanted to be useful. He admitted he wasn’t much of an artist and seemed unconfident in his ability to draw up plans with his nervous tremor but offered to try and construct a model with his legos. Legos were for butch boys but still, it was cute.

Both the model float and the real one were miraculously done in a day (Craig wasn’t one to question how the fuck that happened) and by Sunday the boys were all ready to roll out with their little swings and cardboard rainbows.

Craig, too, took more time getting ready than he possibly ever had done before in his life. He went as far as to try and apply false eyelashes, which had turned out better than he could ever have thought but made his mother scoff. He didn’t care though, she’s a metrophobe and not worth her time.

“I’ve never seen you so alive, Craig!” Tweek smiles down from his swing, kicking his legs a little as he watches Craig dance around on the floor below them.

“I’ve never felt more alive,” he admits in his monotone voice, twirling and jumping around as if he was hopped on a gallon of coffee and meth. But he was truly sincere in his words, he had a long standing habit of deluding himself but was finally relieved of that pressure here. His stoic attitude wasn’t an act, it came from a genuine feeling of disinterest in many things in the world around him, but in the rare moments he did feel something move him, he felt the need to tone it down.

He had a habit of getting a little too excited by his interests which would cause him to ramble on about them for hours on end. But, not only that, he feels this sort of need to move as a response to his excitement. He found it to be incredibly embarrassing when he’d find himself jumping and spinning around or wriggling his hands just because his favorite character in red racer had more screen time than usual.

He didn’t think too much of it until his cousin of the same age, Red, walked in on his boding in second grade and started making fun of him. She, unfortunately, brought the news of the stoic Craig Tucker twirling around back to school with her and his social life became a nightmare for a bit of a day. It was then that he learned that jumping and hand flapping and whatever else was an activity reserved for behind closed doors.

But, ever since he put on his boa and his sunglasses he felt as if he could do practically anything he wanted, even dance around on a float infront of the whole town not giving a single fuck what anyone thought.

“Oh man, look!” Tolkien smiled from his swing, “all the girls in town are here! Dude, we’re going to be drowning in chicks after this!”

“Oh goodie!” Butters smiled. They needed someone extra so their float was symmetrical, he was a personality hire since he was pretty good at being a metro.

Craig really didn’t care about that right now. Weren’t they the one’s being metrophobic? All he cared about was feeling alive.

Unfortunately for him, the parade couldn’t last forever and came to a close. Apparently, one of the floats started a fire but he wasn’t close enough to confirm or deny the rumors. The day came to a close with Craig feeling tired, yet perfectly and peacefully content with how the day went. Ever since he embarrassed his new metrosexual identity, his life just kept getting better and better.

“Hey bitch,” Craig greeted Clyde as he walked up to the bus stop. As he got closer, he noticed Clde was back into his very much not fabulous letterman and all American blue jeans. “What the fuck are you wearing?”

“What the fuck are you wearing.” Clyde snickered, “Dude, the trend is over.”

“No it’s not!” Craig insisted, fighting the urge to shove his middle finger right in Clyde’s stupid face.

“Y-Y- Yeah it is.” Jimmy insists as he makes his way to join the other two boys at the bus stop.

Craig suddenly become hyper-aware of the pink boa and the glittery shirt he choose to wear today. He woke up this morning with all the confidence in the world, thinking his outfit would wow the entire school but he realized how strange he looked standing next to the other two boys waiting for the bus.

He balled his little hands into fists, suddenly feeling defensive over his outfit. “You guys are just saying that because you suck at being Metrosexuals and I don’t!”

“Hey guys,” Tolkien said as he walked up beside the rest of them.

“Tolkien, can you tell Craig that no one is metrosexual anymore?” Asked Clyde, smiling much too wide at his friend’s misfortune.

“Oh yeah,” Tolkien said, “sorry man, turns out the girls weren’t as into it as we thought.” Now Tolkien most certainly wasn’t just jealous because he was bad at being gay because Craig taught him everything he knew!

He now just came to accept the fact that he was metrosexual and suddenly none of his friends were cool with it anymore? So this was still just a fad for everyone else? They were all just copying gay culture? Sure this all just started as a sort of curiosity about gay culture for Craig, but he really fell in love with the whole thing. He had just assumed everyone else felt the same way.

Apparently, everyone else got the memo besides him. Probably because his stupid parents never got him a flip phone despite the fact that everyone else has one. “I… I forgot to feed Stripe,” Craig mumbles before scurrying off back home to try and rid himself of all his newfound glamor and return to good old, non-flaming, Craig Tucker. He would now be converted back to just your regular everyday asshole and not the school’s #1 bitchy diva.

By the time he left his house he was well aware the bus came and gone. As if his morning couldn’t get any shittier, he’d have to walk the mile to school and probably be late for homeroom. His hat felt strange on top of his head after having his hair be exposed for so long. He felt the need to tug on the strings and cover his eyes in the classic way he often did to comfort himself.

After he turned the first corner and passed another block, he caught up to another kid who was making the pilgrimage to the elementary school. His bright blond, practically yellow hair was hard to miss against the snow and the overcast sky.

Craig thought he wasn’t in the mood to talk even more than usual, but he felt a strange sort of comfort, like how he felt when he pulled at his hat, when he was the strange kid walking down the same path he was. He didn’t know what to say or what to do, but he felt his legs caring himself over to the other.

“Did you brush your hair?” Was the only thing Craig could think to ask. His confidence and ego had taken an obvious hit, and he could only choke out the strange question after seeing that his wild locks seemed more smoothed down than usual.

“O-oh!” He jumped a bit at the strange introduction of Criag. He instinctively started playing with the hem of his button-down shirt, suddenly feeling oddly shy around the kid he had spent the past week hanging around. “Yeah, uh, I did. But I liked it more when you did it.”

Craig couldn’t help but to smile a bit at that. At Least someone in this batshit crazy hick town seemed to appreciate his metrosexual tendencies. “I can do your hair again sometime, maybe.”

The blond boy only smiled and said a meek "sure” before continuing his way to school. It seemed as though he had shed some confidence, too, after coming out of his metrosexual cocoon. Craig couldn’t say he appreciated how thick and awkward the air felt between the two of them.

“I can't button your shirt too. I mean, if you want me too.” Craig regretted the question after he said it. He was aware he wasn’t the most socially adept kid at school, and it came with some moments like these that let him cringing at himself.

“Ack! S-sure, I mean, if you really want to.” He stopped walking, though seemed to be struggling with his tics. “It’s hard for me sometimes with my shaking and everything…” he mumbled out.
“It’s nothing,” Craig simply said as he started working on the problem areas in the long row of buttons. He found that he kind of liked fixing up his shirt in the same way he liked fixing up his hair at Tolkien’s house. It was monotonous and boring in the good way but it made him feel closer to whoever he was cleaning up. It was beyond satisfying to see the reactions of the other guys back at Tolkien’s house when he was through with them. He just hoped the other enjoyed it like he did.

“Thank you, Craig.” The blond smiled as he smoothed down his now properly buttoned shirt.

They walked in silence a little longer before Craig felt it necessary to ask, “do you want to walk with me to school, Tweek?”

“Oh, um, sure.” And with that, they slowly made their way down the cracked sidewalks and unkempt lawns all the way to the school.

Strangely enough, as it seemed grossly out of character for him, Craig hoped that Tweek found a bit of confidence in himself after being buttoned up and just from the whole ordeal even if Craig had lost his. Lord knows the poor boy needs it. Maybe someone looking out for him every once in a while by fixing his shirt and running a brush through his hair would be the thing to do. That is, if the supreme bitch diva hiding inside of Craig was willing to come out to help him.