The Thing About Maluma, Baby

The thing about Maluma is he made it OK to be a pretty boy.

When I was kid, this tall freckled ginger monster one or two years older than me in school – who went on to become a teen mom (I’m pretty sure my memory serves…or rumor had it, at the very least) and then, a model or som’in for a hot sec – would bully me because I was a pretty boy and queer and who knows why else. She never told me. She just didn’t like me, and she made sure her friends and, even, some of mine knew it. Things calmed down a little when one of her BFF was held back and placed in my class. That girl came in with all that shit, too, but she and it eventually calmed down, and we even got to be sort of close for a while. I think so. Yeah, we became friends.

Cut to now. It’s just clicked that every time I hear Maluma call himself “Pretty boy” in a song or someone sings that to him (like Shakira does in “Chantaje”), I reclaim the moniker for myself.

I was always a pretty boy. I am a pretty boy.

You’re welcome.

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