Propaganda and the Male Aesthetic
The idealized male physique, often described as an “inverted triangle” or “V-taper,” features broad shoulders, a narrow waist, and a strong, muscular build with low body fat, a physique seen in many male athletes, models, and actors. The ideal male body has evolved throughout history, with earlier periods valuing strength and athleticism, and more recent times emphasizing a lean, muscular look. Media and social trends play a significant role in shaping perceptions of the “ideal” male physique.
The idealized male aesthetic—emphasizing physical perfection, muscularity, and strength—has long served as a powerful tool for propaganda, shaped and reshaped to fit the political and cultural needs of various societies throughout history. This image of the “perfect man” functions not only as a model of physical excellence but also as a symbol of ideological values: power, discipline, dominance, and purity.
The roots of the male aesthetic ideal can be traced back to ancient civilizations like Greece and Rome. In Classical Greece, the male body was idolized in art and sculpture (e.g., Polykleitos’ Doryphoros), representing harmony, rationality, and civic virtue. Strength was linked to moral integrity and democratic citizenship. Rome adapted this, associating the powerful male body with imperial authority and conquest, as seen in statues of emperors like Augustus, who were idealized as youthful and godlike.
The Renaissance revived classical ideals, presenting the strong male body as a symbol of divine beauty and human potential. Artists like Michelangelo, with his David, reinforced the link between physical strength and spiritual or moral superiority. This era celebrated the “universal man”—physically capable, intellectually refined, and culturally elite.
As nationalism surged in the 19th century, the strong male body became central to shaping national identities. In Fascist Italy and Nazi Germany, propaganda weaponized the male aesthetic. Mussolini was often shown shirtless, working or posing, to convey virility, labor, and strength as core values of the state. Hitler’s regime promoted Aryan ideals through statues, films (like Leni Riefenstahl’s Olympia), and youth programs, equating physical perfection with racial superiority and moral righteousness.
In Soviet propaganda, the male worker or soldier, muscular and stoic, symbolized the power of the proletariat and the communist state. These images weren’t just about fitness—they were loaded with meaning: loyalty, discipline, and the ability to serve the state.
Even today, the muscular male figure continues to be used in propaganda, especially in authoritarian regimes. Leaders are often depicted engaging in rugged, physical activities—Vladimir Putin’s shirtless horse-riding is a modern example—projecting vitality, control, and masculinity as signs of leadership and national strength.
In the West, while the use of male aesthetics has shifted more toward consumer and celebrity culture, it still has political undercurrents. Military recruitment posters, sports ads, and action films all reinforce a vision of the male body as capable, heroic, and dominant.
Throughout history, the idealized male body has served not only as a cultural aspiration but also as a political weapon. Whether sculpted in marble or splashed across a billboard, it reflects the values and anxieties of the society that produces it—always more than flesh, always a symbol of something bigger.
Migraines have their say
Migraines have their say
By Teri Ellen Cross Davis
Whitney cottage, Hermitage Artist Retreat
You could write about the windows
all nine of them. You could write about
the gulf, red tide strangling Florida’s
shore, the opaque eyes of dead fish
caught in the algal bloom. You could write
about the sky—long as a yawn, sky blue
chasing cerulean away, stretched wisps
of white determined to be the canvas
for another sunset showstopper. But the body
has its own narrative in mind. Neurons hustling
pain blank out any page. No writing can be done
when an electric snare corrals the brain. No ear
searching for song while one temple pulses
an arrhythmic lament. Mercifully there’s triptan,
a black curtain over this inflammatory act. Strike
through today, uncap the pen again tomorrow.
About this Poem
Teri Ellen Cross Davis’s poem “Migraines have their say” offers a poignant exploration of the debilitating impact of migraines, particularly when they intrude upon moments meant for creativity and reflection. Written during her time at the Hermitage Artist Retreat, Davis captures the profound frustration of having one’s artistic aspirations overshadowed by physical suffering.
In the poem, Davis vividly describes the serene environment of the retreat—the expansive windows, the vast sky, and the Gulf’s horizon—elements that typically inspire artistic expression. However, the onset of a migraine transforms this idyllic setting into a backdrop of torment, as the pain eclipses her ability to engage with her surroundings or channel them into her work.
Davis’s personal history with migraines adds depth to the poem’s narrative. Diagnosed at thirteen, she endured prolonged episodes of pain before effective treatments became available. Even with medication, migraines continue to claim significant portions of her time, making their intrusion during an artist’s retreat feel especially cruel—a “special kind of theft,” as she describes.
The poem resonates with many who have experienced chronic pain, articulating the internal conflict between the desire to create and the incapacitation imposed by illness. It underscores the broader theme of how physical ailments can stifle self-expression and the pursuit of one’s passions.
For those interested in experiencing the poem firsthand, Davis’s reading is available through the Academy of American Poets’ “Poem-a-Day” series, offering an intimate connection to her words and experiences.
In “Migraines have their say,” Davis not only sheds light on the personal toll of chronic migraines but also invites a broader conversation about the intersection of health and creativity, and the resilience required to navigate both.
About the Poet
Teri Ellen Cross Davis is a distinguished American poet and advocate for the arts. Born in Cleveland, Ohio, she pursued her undergraduate studies in journalism and international affairs at Ohio University. She later earned a Master of Fine Arts in Creative Writing from American University.
Davis has authored two notable poetry collections: Haint (Gival Press, 2016), which received the 2017 Ohioana Book Award for Poetry, and a more perfect Union (Mad Creek Books, 2021), winner of the 2019 Journal/Charles B. Wheeler Poetry Prize.
Her commitment to the literary community is evident through her fellowships and residencies at esteemed institutions such as Cave Canem, the Virginia Center for Creative Arts, Hedgebrook, the Community of Writers Poetry Workshop, and the Fine Arts Work Center in Provincetown. Additionally, Davis has received grants from the Sustainable Arts Foundation and The Freya Project.
Davis’s poetry has been featured in various anthologies, including Bum Rush The Page: A Def Poetry Jam, Full Moon on K Street: Poems About Washington, DC, and The Golden Shovel Anthology: New Poems Honoring Gwendolyn Brooks. Her work also appears in journals such as Poet Lore, North American Review, Gargoyle, Natural Bridge, and Tin House. Currently, she serves as the O.B. Hardison Poetry Series Curator and Poetry Programs Manager at the Folger Shakespeare Library in Washington, D.C. Davis resides in Maryland with her husband, poet Hayes Davis, and their two children.
PS As you might can guess, I woke up with a migraine today. I would love to stay in bed and call in sick, but I cancelled classes last week because I was in the hospital and don’t feel like I can cancel any more. Also, I have a follow up appointment at my doctor’s office to see how I am doing since I’ve was discharged from the hospital.
Back to Work
I have to return to work today. I can’t express strong enough how much I don’t want to go. I’m still really tired and don’t want to go back. I know it will do me good to get back into a routine, and it will probably give me more energy. Still, that doesn’t mean I’m ready to go back to work. However, I’m not sure I can put it off any longer. I did “work” Friday by going to the workshop I attended and did well. I didn’t feel like I got overly tired, and my energy level was good. So, maybe today won’t be too bad. At least my boss won’t be there. I’m not ready to deal with her strong perfume or loud voice. It should mostly be quiet in the front offices where my office is. I also have a ton of emails to catch up on and work to do for classes this week.
Blessed Are the Woke
Have nothing to do with the fruitless deeds of darkness but rather expose them. It is shameful even to mention what the disobedient do in secret. But everything exposed by the light becomes visible—and everything that is illuminated becomes a light. This is why it is said: “Wake up, sleeper, rise from the dead, and Christ will shine on you.”
—Ephesians 5:11–14
In modern culture, particularly in political and conservative Christian circles, “woke” has been turned into a sneer. It’s often used to dismiss people who speak out against racism, inequality, or systemic sin—as if awakening to injustice were somehow un-Christian. But what if the word “woke,” in its deepest and truest sense, is exactly what Jesus calls us to be? To be “woke,” in its most honest and biblical sense, is to be spiritually and morally alert—to see clearly the truth of God, the dignity of others, and the brokenness of the world. To be woke is to be awake—to the suffering of others, to the call for justice, to our own sin, and to the movement of God in the world. It is spiritual awareness and moral alertness. It is, in fact, discipleship. Nowhere is this clearer than in the Beatitudes.
When Jesus began His Sermon on the Mount, He didn’t begin with commands—He began with blessings. The Beatitudes are not a checklist for moral perfection, but a radical reordering of what it means to live rightly in the eyes of God. In a world that often equates power with success, wealth with favor, and pride with strength, Jesus turns everything upside down.
In Matthew 5:3-12, Jesus said:
Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.
Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth.
Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled.
Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy.
Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God.
Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.
Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
Blessed are you when people insult you, persecute you and falsely say all kinds of evil against you because of me.
Rejoice and be glad, because great is your reward in heaven, for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you.
To be “poor in spirit” is to recognize our need for God and to understand we don’t have all the answers. It means awakening to the reality that we are not self-sufficient. We need grace. We need justice. And we need each other. This is the doorway to the kingdom. Wokeness begins in humility. It’s the opposite of prideful self-righteousness. A woke Christian doesn’t pretend to be better than others—they acknowledge their need for grace and their responsibility to listen and learn.
To be spiritually awake is to feel deeply. We mourn for the brokenness in the world—for racial injustice, for poverty, for violence, for exploitation. We don’t harden our hearts or dismiss others’ pain. We weep with those who weep. And Jesus promises that those who mourn with compassion will be comforted. To mourn is to be moved—to cry out for what’s wrong and to long for what is right. God meets this mourning with comfort—and with purpose.
Meekness is not weakness—it’s strength and courage under control. Woke Christians don’t seek dominance but justice. They resist evil not with violence, but with faithfulness and love. The world may reward arrogance and cruelty, but God honors those who seek peace and equity with humility. To be woke is not to dominate or rage, but to stand firm in truth with gentleness and patience. Jesus says the earth belongs to such people, not to the proud or the violent.
Matthew 5:6 says, “Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they shall be filled.” This is the heartbeat of a woke life: a deep hunger for righteousness—not just personal piety but justice for others. The Greek word dikaiosyne used here includes both righteousness and justice. This is not about personal morality alone; it’s about longing for the world to reflect God’s character: justice for the oppressed, care for the poor, healing for the hurting. To hunger for this is to desire the world to reflect God’s goodness—and Jesus promises we will be satisfied. To be “woke” is to refuse to be satisfied until justice rolls down like waters (Amos 5:24).
That bring us to the next of Jesus’s blessings, mercy. Mercy is love in action. It’s seeing the suffering of others and responding with empathy, not judgment. Woke Christians offer compassion to the marginalized—not because it’s popular, but because it reflects the very heart of God. Jesus never mocked the vulnerable; He moved toward them. Mercy is the practice of a woke heart. It is seeing someone else’s pain and stepping into it with compassion. It is forgiveness, care, and a refusal to dehumanize. The merciful understand that every soul bears God’s image—and they act accordingly.
Purity of heart means clarity of purpose. To be pure in heart is to see with clarity—to be free of deceit, manipulation, and divided motives. Woke Christians are not performative; they pursue justice not for applause, but out of conviction. They seek truth, even when it costs them. In doing so, they begin to see God—in the faces of the oppressed, in the work of reconciliation, and in the transformation of their own hearts. The woke Christian seeks integrity, transparency, and the truth, even when it’s uncomfortable. And in that clarity, we begin to see God in our world, in people, and in unexpected places.
Peacemaking is more than avoiding conflict—it’s creating wholeness. Peacemakers are those who do the hard work of reconciliation. They build bridges. They speak truth in love. They don’t settle for false peace or quiet injustice. Peacemakers carry the family resemblance of their Father in heaven. The world may call peacemakers divisive, but Jesus calls them His children. A woke faith works to heal what sin has broken. Wokeness is not just awareness—it’s action.
To live this way will cost us. Jesus warned that truly living these values would lead to persecution. Woke Christians will be misunderstood, resisted, and sometimes hated—not because they’re offensive, but because they are living out God’s upside-down kingdom. But Jesus says: stand firm. The kingdom is yours. When people mock “wokeness,” they often mock the very things Christ died for: truth, justice, mercy. To be faithful in the face of ridicule is to stand where Jesus stood—misunderstood, rejected, but faithful to the end.
How can Christians mock the woke and still claim Christ? It’s a serious question. How can Christians, who claim to follow the crucified and risen Jesus, hate those who mourn injustice, who pursue mercy, who hunger for justice? Proverbs 17:5 says, “Whoever mocks the poor shows contempt for their Maker,” and 1 John 4:20 tells us, “Whoever claims to love God yet hates a brother or sister is a liar.” To mock the “woke” is often to mock the ones Jesus blessed—to laugh at those advocating for the very people Jesus embraced. And when Christianity becomes more about defending comfort than confronting injustice, it has strayed far from the Gospel. Christ calls to wake up.
Ephesians 5:11–14 offers a final word, “Have nothing to do with the fruitless deeds of darkness, but rather expose them…Wake up, sleeper, rise from the dead, and Christ will shine on you.” Being “woke,” in this light, is not a worldly insult—it’s a holy calling. Jesus doesn’t want sleepy disciples. He wants people who are awake, aware, and aligned with His kingdom vision. The Beatitudes are not abstract virtues; they are a blueprint for awakening. They teach us how to live in love, mercy, justice, humility, and hope. They challenge us to reject cruelty, hardness of heart, and the mockery of those doing the hard work of justice.
So let us not be ashamed to be called “woke.”
Let us wake up.
Let us rise.
Let us walk in the light—where Christ Himself leads.
To put it succinctly, a woke Christian is a Christlike Christian.
Moment of Zen: Jesus Prado
I love this photo set of Jesus Prado by photographer Joan Crisol. There are a few more bonus pics I’m sure you will love if you click “read more” below.
Authors
Recent Comments
furbirdsqueerly on Pic of the Day Joe on Pic of the Day noisilycool3bc985058… on Pic of the Day vandycolt on Moment of Zen: Reading noisilycool3bc985058… on Pic of the Day Top Posts & Pages
Amazon Associate
As an Amazon Associate I earn from qualifying purchases. So, if you click on a link that takes you to Amazon.com, I may earn a commission.
Trust me, it isn’t much, but every little bit helps.
Joe
The Closet Professor 