Bros vs. Those

When we started dating, Joan accused me of being a "bro." I didn't realize it at the time, but that's a low blow in SF. I'm a self-employed writer, a sci-fi nerd, I hang out in cafes, my favorite t-shirt references both video games and Rene Magritte.

If you were going to assign me an SF stereotype, it would be "Mission," not "Marina" and you might assume that I disdained all things "bro-y." (Joan's word, not mine.)

By calling me a bro, Joan, who lived in the Mission, meant to impugn my intellecutal bona fides. She told me Diego was clearly a bro (likes organized sports, wears name brands, unfamiliar with Magritte, showers) and a bad influence on me. The San Francisco dichotomy is bullshit and overblown, but Diego and I are at different points on the spectrum. I just assumed the difference was moslty sartorial: he likes girls in lululemon; I like girls in jeggings.

When I came to San Francisco, moved in with Diego and started hanging out with Scott, I started doing some things an Occupier might consider bro-y: I watched 49ers games, went to nightclubs, played soccer, did Vegas… but I also took a short story workshop and spent many of my Sundays gardening.

So yeah, the dichotomy is shit. I'm not into MMOs or MMA. But Saturday, I didn't go with Diego and Jordan to 5A5 because I wanted to see some of my Internet writer heroes read at the Make-Out Room.

I went mostly to see Cracked's Seanbaby, but I was blown away by Charlie Jane Anders, who's stuff I read a lot on io9. If you've never seen her introduce someone at Writers With Drinks, you need to go. And if you roll up with bros and pile out of a Jeep wearing Ed Hardy and/or North Faces, San Francisco won't even notice.