Ever since Ariana Grande maybe alluded to her fiancé Pete Davidson’s possibly 10-inch hog, Twitter has gone wild in attempts to define (and provide examples of) an elusive quality called “big dick energy,” or BDE.
As many have argued, BDE can indicate a massive dong, but one needn’t be packing an exceptionally thick salami — or dick meat of any kind — to exude the easy charm that accompanies the condition. “What we’re talking about is really more of an aura, a vibe,” writes Allison P. Davis at The Cut, while Patricia Hernandez of The Verge points out: “It is a designation, yes, but also an inquiry. People want to know what qualifies you for big dick energy, and part of the fun is debating what it means to you.” Even in light of all this fluidity, I realize where I stand. I’m a man with an average dick, and what I possess is average dick energy.
And I am not embarrassed.
What, you ask, is average dick energy? It’s a sense of balance — relief at your role as an unremarkable specimen. My ex used to say that my dick looks like “the drawing in an biology textbook.” That’s how wildly ordinary it is. Like millions of years of primate evolution brought us to the genetic consensus that this is “big enough.” Nice, normal and nonthreatening. I sincerely hope, if I may flatter myself, that it’s a varietal of “boyfriend dick,” what Amanda Mull described for MEL as: a “penis you could settle down with, or at least see three times a week.”
Non-sexually, ADE manifests as a curious mixture: reasonably self-assured but not entirely assertive. Occasionally charismatic, though just as often awkward. I’ll try to cook a new dish for dinner and forget you have to start rice early, or go to the store to pick up tampons and text my girlfriend to check that I’m buying the right kind. I remember not to swear in front of her parents, but — shit — sometimes I forget. I’m a little defensive about movies I like. If some guys are being obnoxious jerks nearby at a bar, I’ll suggest we “move down a couple seats” rather than confront them. I can at least pretend to know the basics of astrology. I ride my bike aimlessly. After parking my dinged-up 2014 Volkswagen Jetta, I hit the “lock” button on my keys at least three times to be extra sure.
I’m a fan of big dick energy. It’s something to aspire to, as any quality shared by Rihanna and Mr. Rogers would be. What’s hard (aside from all these peckers) is that you can’t force BDE. Trying to attain it, let alone claim it, may bump you down to the bottom of the phallo-dynamic ladder with the dudes who send cock shots to random women on Facebook Messenger. I have to be content with what I have, go with the flow, and trust that friends and partners will jibe with the attitudinal frequency my middle-of-the-road junkshaft is blasting out into this world. Wait, actually? I take it back. One doesn’t really blast ADE — too aggressive. Let’s say I’m “projecting” it. That’s better.
Should it fall to me to become the face and ambassador of average dick energy, I’ll gratefully accept the honor. Yet I want others with ADE to know there is no shame in stepping out from the shadows. Without ADE, there could be no BDE, and then what shambles would the world be in? For big dick energy, however alluring, has a chaotic element, one that ADE exists to stabilize. It’s a standard, commonplace job, and millions of us have to do it. So tuck your 6-incher, metaphorical or not, into a favorite pair of boxer-briefs — and answer this important call today.