I’m a Bro and I Love Girly Pop. Here are My Reasons.
Why? I’ll let the artists, and the feeling you get in your ears, heart and hips explain.
“I hopped off the plane at LAX, with a dream, a cardigan. Welcome to land of fame, excess, am I gonna fit in?”
– Miley Cyrus, Party in the USA
I sat down at my Mac after liftin’ pecs, with a dream, some gym shorts on. Welcome to the land of sports and breasts, will BroBible think I’m Bon?
I get Miley. She’s teaching life lessons. I’ve definitely felt just as awkward in the beginning as Ms. Cyrus pullin’ up to the club in sneaks with no Nashville friends around. Being unsure of yourself is OK (will my new work friends like this Malort I’m bringing to the party?) Vulnerability is OK, Miley teaches. Don’t stop. Take a wrecking ball to it. You’re gonna see it again, but strut in those J’s and enjoy the climb. I am, Miley. Thank you.
“You didn’t think I’d come back. I’d come back swingin’. You tried to break me but you see what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, stand a little taller, it doesn’t mean I’m lonely when I’m alone. What doesn’t kill you makes a fighter, footsteps a little lighter, it doesn’t mean I’m over cause you’re gone. What doesn’t kill you makes you, stronger!”
– Kelly Clarkson, Stronger
I was on a one-win intramural basketball team. Out of 10 games. Kelly kept us going. Losing is lonely, but we fought. We improved. We lost our last game by one.
You wanna hot body? You wanna Bugatti? You wanna Maserati? You better work, bitch.
– Britney Spears, Work Bitch
Beyond dancing, Britney forces me to do things I don’t want to do, ultimately making me a better person. I never want to lift legs. It’s cold in Chicago, and my unskinny jeans make sure no one can tell if I can do 500 or five calf raises. I could add a squat move into my shoulder presses, but again, I’ve never heard a babe say they loved hammies at the bar. However, what’s the first thing someone’s gonna see when I step out of my Bugatti? My left quad. Thanks for pushing me, Brit.
I don’t know about you. But I’m feeling 22. Everything’s gonna be all right, if you keep me next to you. You don’t know about me. But I’ll bet you want to. Everything will be alright if we just keep dancing like we’re 22.
– Taylor Swift, 22
Sometimes you have to let your hair down and be 22. I’m not sure there’s a better song to come on when you’re debating whether or not it was a good idea to head to the 4 a.m. bar for the fourth week in a row and you’re 27. Especially as 22-and-unders are accomplishing more by that age than I will in my whole life. I’m looking at you, Angela Zhang.
T-Swift’s 22 also has more practical applications. A remixed version is a great way wish a friend happy birthday on Facebook (you combine with Miley’s 23 to remix the remix). Example for my friend Hutch (a few inside jokes, but you get the drift):
In the bar, straw in beer, with some shades on,
Cargo’d up, polo shirt, with a lei on.
Hutch loves street meat.
Hutch loves street meat.
Hutch loves street meat.
So get like Hutch.
I don’t know about you,
But I’m feeling 31,
Red bull + bottle service,
Sparkles (fave stripper) can come,
You don’t know about 4.4 40’s,
But we’ll have still some fun,
Everything will be alright,
If we just keep dancing like we’re…
31, ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh
Yesterday I cried. You must have been relieved to see the softer side. I can understand how you’d be so confused, I don’t envy you, I’m a little bit of everything, all rolled into one. I’m a bitch, I’m a lover, I’m a child, I’m a mother, I’m a sinner, I’m a saint, I do not feel ashamed.
– Meredith Brooks, Bitch
I’m not ashamed I cry every time The Holiday comes on TNT. This Bro isn’t all bitches and bench presses. I’m comfortable being myself, and if you couldn’t see us enjoying some nice cabin time in Surrey together, then you’re the bitch, and not the layered, complicated and interesting kind Meredith is talking about.
I just wanna be the girl you like, girl you like. Driver roll up the partition fast. Driver roll up the partition fast. Over there I swear I saw those cameras flash, handprints and footprints on my glass, Handprints and footprints on my glass, handprints and good grips all on my ass. Private show with the music blasting.
He like to call me Peaches when we get this nasty.
First off,Beyonce, you wanna be the girl I like? Mission accomplished. Girls, teens, MILFS, Bros and mom bloggers all worship you, no matter how nasty you wanna get. You’ve achieved the holy grail all Bros should aspire to in life. Everyone loves you while you’re still doing your “I can talk about guys calling me Peaches and Monica Lewinsky-ing on my dress ‘cause I’m fucking Bey and I give no fucks ‘cause everyone dreams of doing that”- thing. Straight SWAG.
Two other things:
- 1. Every Bro needs a nickname and a nickname for his lady (Peaches)
- 2. Get your sex mix right and ready
Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah. Comin’ out your mouth with your blah blah blah. Zip your lips like a padlock, and meet me at the back with the jack and the jukebox. I don’t really care where you live at, just turn around boy and let me hit that. Don’t be a little bitch with your chit chat, just show me where your dick’s at.
– Kesha, Blah, Blah, Blah
If you want to get things done, you can’t be a little bitch. Pretty solid advice here. Gotta wake up like P. Diddy, get down to brass tacks and produce results. As a superrich guy, I obviously respect the $ in her name, and this no-nonsense approach has to be why Ke$ha is not only a hip instigator, but an entrepreneur erecting a jewelry empire.
There’s a reason people like pop music. Why the radio plays it. Pop stands for popular. There’s no rewards club card for knowing obscure bands. You know what happens when you know all the sweet, underground bands? No conversation. You’re alone.
I’m a Bro and I love girly pop. #GAC (guilty as charged). Not just because it helps me dance like no one is watching or makes me look happier in photos. Or because it makes me feel OK to dress up like hipsters, make fun of my exes and eat breakfast at midnight. I love it in a deeper way. Miley’s not just a hammer-licker. She’s a warm, thrusting blanket that’s always there to hug you when you’re at your happiest, or while you’re looking yourself in the mirror and soul searching after a 72-hour bender. Thank you, Miley. I adore you.