How would an author describe your appearance?
 It's All Fucked Shirt $22.14 |
 |
It's All Fucked Shirt $22.14 |
How would an author describe your appearance?
How would an author describe your appearance?
It's All Fucked Shirt $22.14 |
|
It's All Fucked Shirt $22.14 |
YO ADRIAN!
wron actress
Tall, muscular, evil looking Sigma bull. Carries a sophisticated look as well, but always with an aloof disposition...
doubt.
>The guy was at well trained but with strange proportions and one arm far larger than the other. He wore a t-shirt with a suit printed on it, jogging pants and shiny leather shoes. He was strangely afraid of eye contact and when spoken to, always with great hesitation, all he spoke about was how to "hack women", "get the pussygame down" and how "~~*they*~~ made my little pony, friendship is magic WOKE!". He showed me his Steven Universe chest tattoo and with tears in his eyes explained how the show got destroyed by the SJW snowflakes. Certainly an intellectual to behold.
>He had short legs but an extremely tall midsection and a long neck which made him taller than most people.
Intelligent, nihilistic and with a wicked Sense of humor
Literally no one
Common and uninteresting
ugly
Anon entered the room, he is ugly.
black hair and a planet-sized ass
Damn you sound like you about to break the internet
“The homie in question looked weird”
The Black person spotted
stupid
His back was twisted by scoliosis and years of sitting at his desk, he moved like an old man but without the dignity that often accompanies old age.
His face was simultanously old and very young and it seemed like his thin neck had trouble supporting his oversized head. He had a large, crooked nose and ears that were big, even compared to the size of his head.
"He was saturnine and stood still." Florid descriptions are rarely necessary.
I applaud your effort anon. I particularly like the first sentence, it has that rare air of literary prowess.
I think we have a winner. This threads should accompany /cbt/ as to ascertain how accurate / stylized your descriptions are.
My toxic trait is that I would fall for this man
breasts. now.
I should've used 'physiognomy' in the OP, frick. I love that word.
A skeleton enveloped in pale and blemished skin. He wears long and baggy clothes to hide his gaunt and twisted figure, but his hollow cheeks and tired eyes betray any illusion of wellbeing. A young man with the fragility of an elder, in both form and spirit. Malnourished and hopeless, this humanoid creature persists out of cowardly self-preservation and dying embers of optimism.
He was lean, spring-loaded. Moving with a dancers fluidity. Pale eyes that betrayed an intelligence juxtaposed by his broken Roman nose. The swastika tattooed on the back of his skull perhaps an indication of his politics, or something more - something unspeakable? As he secured his Velcro Sketchers over his favorite pair of wore Ruth Bader Ginsburg socks he stretched his long arms to the sky and began a series of sun salutations. It was going to be an eventful day - a day of reckoning that would reverberate through the simulacra of reality and shatter the façade. No turning back now.
I wish I could be as based as this man.
its literally me
Ur good.
>As he emerged from the shadows, his figure took on dimension—grossly and immensely fat. He might weigh two hundred Standard kilos in actuality.
loolll
Anon resembled a young Neanderthal rather than a homosexual Saipan. His bright blue eyes were hidden behind a pair of glasses. The juxtaposition was hilarious, like a monkey in a bow tie
Brutish, awkward in his movements, and oddly shaped all around without the sense of strength and vigor about him that usually accompanies brutishness. Would make for a great gravedigger extra in a horror or a thriller.
Dapper, elegant, and a wicked sense of humor.
>Diaper, elephant, and no sense of humor.
lmao you sound like a malding bitter hon that doesn't pass
I love her
He was fat in the only way that midnight frozen pizzas can make one fat. He leaned forward in plaid shirts so that you couldn't see the contours of his body but this only made him appear larger since his shirt was untucked and wrinkled.
Occasionally he stood up right and set his shoulders straight so that he might look into the window or a mirror and see what he might look like if he know to do a pull up.
His beard had two tails that split down the middle, likely from pulling on it in an attempt to merge the two, only exasperating the effect.
His thinning hair only partially hidden by the fact that 5 years ago he stopped cutting his hair and now wears it in a bun. Underneath glasses with paint worn in the middle from pushing them up all day set two blue eyes that still show what's left of the humanity in hibernation, waiting for a day to have their gaze met in earnest.
>exasperating
exacerbating
Imagine a standard Western depiction of Jesus. Now remove any feature that might imply piety, dignity, or charisma. Make various parts of the body, such as the size of the head or the length of the limbs, vaguely out of proportion with the human norm, not enough to effect ugliness, but perhaps worse, to inspire in onlookers a vague sense of the physically uncanny. Add to this the pallor of one that never leaves their home, hair on the head and face of a copper color that suggests Judas more than Christ, and a paucity of hair on the rest of the body that suggests Judge Holden, and you have the subject at hand.
Sultry in the steam rising from a manhole, bathed in the white neon light of a sign reading Ramrod, a profusion of colored hankies bloomed from his back pocket: red, green, red, brown, purple--his tastes were extreme and mixed. With his thumb through a belt loop and his hip hitched ever so slightly, he resembled a peawiener presenting to be mounted... A peawiener clad head to toe in black denim, yes, head included, for to top it off a denim cowboy hat with a band of Navajo beadwork in orange, turquoise and yellow, from which projected a long brown and white striped tail feather of a phaesant. The shadow cast by the brim darkened his full pursed lips, a mysterious scowl which tightened the muscles around his chiselled jaw, prominent cheekbones and squinted his eyes. This fellow, thought I, could suck the chrome off a trailer hitch.
Hey, anon, if you dress like that people are going to think you're gay.
That's a shame. I think black denim can only be worn if you're also going to wear a black denim cowboy hat.
But then you better do something like play poker for a living.
>But then you better do something like play poker for a living
But if that cowboy hat is felt and your attire flame-moronent coveralls, there's only one destiny
The King!
He was tall, broad-shouldered, built like the warriors of old, but he carried himself like a defeated soldier trudging home from a lost campaign. Shoulders slumped, staring at his feet as he plodded through the day, lost in his thoughts. His long brown hair and neatly trimmed beard were shot through with silver, the hair hanging to the middle of his back and pulled back at the temples, tied in a biking braid. Black jeans, black boots, and a dark green henley were finished with a black leather jacket and a heavy Thor's pendant that hung from a black thong. One glance told his whole story, a man made for an earlier age, his wild, barbarian spirit broken by the cage of civilization around him, who could only find the freedom he craved by turning inward and looking backwards.
>tied in a biking braid.
motherfricking autocorrect. How do you not recognize the word "viking" you stupid piece of shit.
>motherfricking autocorrect. How do you not recognize the word "viking" you stupid piece of shit.
>blames autocorrect
>v and b next to each other on keyboard
suspicious. thongs go well with biking braids anyway
Heh, thong
How is the left a thong?
A thong is a narrow strip of leather or other material, used especially as a fastening. That is the actual, original meaning of thong and still its primary definition. Most necklaces consist of a pendant and a thong or chain.
I know, I was engaging in a Beavis and Butthead-esque giggle at the unintended and tenuous double entendre.
Better just use a different word for it.
The very first thing 100% of people will think of is panties, then maybe sandals.
Literally like George Orwell describes the main character Flory in Burmese Days: incredibly insecure, passable but always trying to hold his face at the right angle to the person he's speaking with.
Nice to see all the larping homosexuals on here who critique bad and cliché writing are masters at bad and cliché writing
It's like when /tv tries to write improvements to movies
Pure autism. Sometimes I forget where I am
But what if the cliches are being indulged in deliberately?
I've never ever seen a thread where IQfy writes improvements to movies.
So you should just try it yourself so we can laugh at you.
The screen reflected on the school shooter glasses of the turboautist. His native electrical activity disrupted from his stultifying isolation and shorting synapses fried by the optical radiation of his LED reality: a man no longer able to recognise the difference between his own consciousness and the blue, red, green patterns on his screen, his retinas, his thoughts. "Gone, far gone," say the techs in their three-piece wool suits monitoring his mental deterioration from a darkened control room miles beneath the unassuming Citibank branch across from 99¢ Deals on Jerome ave in the Bronx: "he can no longer identify shitposting; rather his own delusion of messianic virtue and competence has led him to deliberately misinterpret shitposts in order that he feel some semblance of his moronic personhood while he wanders through his irradiated consciousness, a barren postapoclyptic mindscape on which the phosphorescent waste of his own words pulsates and corrodes." Also he was ugly--not exceptionally ugly, but like lower middle class in terms of aesthetic capital... And we're talking globally here, not locally, so that includes dogfaced aboriginals and frogfaced pinoy, so his average locally hewed closer to below the poverty line, a migrant dishwasher in the economy of personal appearance.
- weak jaw that sparks contempt from even the spineless sea creatures.
- bald head that reminds the most optimistic of observers of the barrenness of a post-apocalyptical Kazakh wasteland
-a crooked stature similar to that of a tree that has not been.imbued with the rain of either the sun or the clouds
-a set of brownish teeth that stand uncertain, sprouting unwillingly from the unslightly gums bathed in gingivitis
What do you think bros
Brush your teeth at least
>bald head that reminds the most optimistic of observers of the barrenness of a post-apocalyptical Kazakh wasteland
laughed out loud
portly
A foul stench emanated from his pants.
>How would an author describe your appearance?
Not a woman.
"Testicley; from his scrotacious countenance to his ballsute build, the man resembled what could only be described as a network of vas deferens wed to a gonadal personage masquerading as human."
well trimmed beard on a fat but still well defined and handsome face. thick voluptuous blonde-brown hair that some would kill for and striking blue eyes, and a body showing a strange mixture of very masculine features like broad shoulders and strong forearms combined with unsightly and particularly feminine fat deposits. all round, the human embodiment of potential manhood trapped in a cage of obesity and bad habbits
?t=18
he was fair and young looking, pretty but not handsome. the kind of soft yet defined face that will make any gym bro seethe with jealousy and start shit with him for NO FRICKING REASON BECAUSE THEY GET NO FRICKING PUSSY THATS NOT MY FAULT YOU WERE BORN UGLY YOU FRICKER GO TAKE OUT THAT FRUSTRATION ON SOMEBODY ELSE AAAAA I FRICKING HATE YOU FRICKERS EVERY FRICKING DAY I HAVE TO DEAL WITH YOU FRICKS SORRY IM FRICKING BEAUTIFUL
a young man of dark hair and eye, pale of face, thin, and well above the middle height
>The sound of asymmetrical footsteps rang throughout the house as the tall, but very slouched figure appeared at the living room doorway. The young man in question was trying to stretch before entering the room.
>He sat down on his favorite spot on the ridiculously long couch. His sack-like body combined with 40 year-old sponge made a loud "puff" noise.
>Finally, I could see his small sunken green eyes stuck between his unibrow and thin-rimmed glasses fixated on his israeli-looking nose.
He constantly behaved as in a state of panic, his hair disheveled and dirty as the rest of the body. Brown eyes constantly looking around, barely ever focusing on one thing for long,
he himself was also always doing something, it was impossible to spy the lanky man ever doing nothing.
he was a man of average height, dark brown hair lying on his head in a simple fashion, with scraggly and poorly kept beard and mustache. HIs face could be quite pleasant or even fair to look upon in certain angles, but less so straight-on due to how unfortunately wide it was. at any given moment he would possess the visage of a great and noble king, or an incurable and pitiful dotard. His neck and shoulders possessed a level of muscular definition lacking in most of the rest of his body, most noticeably in his arms which were like the spindly limbs of a spider. His torso was easily the most unpleasant part of him, burdened as it was by a thick layer of fat forming itself into the shape of a large bowl on his belly. His hips were wide, granting him a considerable amount of flexibility, and the skin surrounding it was covered in stretch marks. His buttocks and thighs were large and shapely, so much so that, excepting for the stretch marks and hair, most women would find themselves envying this strange creature. Alas, they were utterly wasted upon him. his legs were long and thick, both from a layer of fat and the muscles that lied beneath it, and they were covered in a layer of hair so compact that one could scrub pans with them. his feet were large and wide, and the skin on the heels were cracked.
Sort of fascinating how many of these go between a romantic heroic vision of self, especially as an unrealised possibility, offset by severe self-reprobation usually focusing on weight but also of course looks in general and social skills. Lot of y'all some borderline motherfrickers. Cheer up, dudes, and write a love letter to yourself <3
You sound like a roastie. I will not take your advice.
It's funny how shitty opinions spread here. I'm a guy, I was shitposting, and I posted three different posts above. Haha homosexuals.
typical for a woman to psychoanalyze and judge without participating. A vapid jihad of senseless optimism. Go suck down your SSRI's zombie prostitute.
oh i don't loathe myself by any means, but i won't pretend that my body is close to what might be considered conventionally attractive. i'm just having fun with how silly i look is all.
The word "average" and "overweight" would be repeated like 6-7 times.
He was fat.
He looked like his face caught fire and someone put it out with a fork.
The man was short enough that anyone of normal height could look down on him and see the balding already settled in on his greasy hair. Wide at shoulder and with a large chest, he clearly hit the gym in a desperate attempt to make up for lack of stature through sheer bulk, which made him only look comical. A chafing sound could be heard as he walked, from where his thighs rubbed together, wearing through yet another pair of pants.
His eyes were downcast, for he dared not meet anyone's gaze. Pockmarked cheeks had strands of hair here and there, from where he had not bothered to shave properly. A bear hid behind it a weak chin and a moustache covered a thin, narrow mouth that could not produce sounds audible in normal conversation, forcing him to repeat himself constantly to the consternation of people who had better things to do than listen to this worthless creep with toothpaste stains on his shirt.
A wild man with a pretension of civility, one who is filled with many harmonious contradictions but a deeply traumatized, angry and sad person frustrated with a society of plebs and psychopaths. Someone who simultaneously laughed and cried when the world died in front of him and everyone clapped thinking it was all part of the show.
A pretty man with pretentions of being gruff and dirty aloof and uncaring to hide the pain that he still deeply cares it just no one else does so he no longer puts on a show making him more honest than most in reflecting his inner being with the outer because he feels anything less would be a lie. The mans look is an open and living work of poetry.
Possibly the only man in the world who has seen first hand how deeply Adolf Hitler was right about the israelites.
By the way he carried himself you could tell he studied the blade, as if you would be making a serious mistake if you asked him about blockchain technology.
Gay-faced homo
portly and unwelcoming, like an ex wrestler who lost his muscle but kept his pitiful bulldog face.
He looked like me because he was me.
t. print published author
A fellow philosophy friend of mine once burned me solid by saying JJ Rousseau's description applied perfectly to me.
> "A fellow that, I reckon, would have been considered quite good-looking and handsome, had he been any taller."
it's over for shortcels
I know, its okay, I'm older, and shit wasn't so hard on travel-sized men back in the 90s and early 00s. I'm okay living on my teenage romance memories, considering how many better looking IQfy-anons have wasted their opportunities...
there he stood, tall, broad-shouldered, not altogether bad looking, yet emanating a distinct aura of sheer moronation nonetheless
There he stood, the most Black personest of Black folk that had ever booled in these projects. His Black person wafts entered my white and aryan nostrils and I smelt the Black person waft; it did not smell good.
As soon as I saw him, I was stricken by an abnormal terror that I have never felt before or since. The terror of having my sanity violated and overpowered by the sheer grotesqueness of what my eyes were enduring. As if I could feel the picture forcing entrance into my memory and rooting itself there. In a moment I was certain that not only could I never forget it, but I could never ignore it. For the remainder of my life, my every waking moment would be spent struggling to keep that image from invading my mind's eye.
When my sister called him the most desirable, handsome and intelligent man that has ever lived I thought surely she was being hysterical. How wrong I was. Nothing could have prepared me for meeting this giant among men in person. If his divinely blessed penis should bestow some of those blessing unto my sister I would consider it the greatest honor.
Bloated, stern, tired face, with a squirrelly mustache and furrowed brow.
>He was bald as a stone and he had no trace of beard and he had no brows to his eyes nor lashes to them. He was close on to seven feet in height and he stood smoking a cigar even in this nomadic house of God and he seemed to have removed his hat only to chase the rain from it for now he put it on again.
Punch me in the face, I am pointlessly handsome and deserve disfigurement. Mania stares from my eyes like lighthouse beams bent directly upon strange women in the street, sailors conscripted to my salty semen seas. Testosterone leaks from my pores, and I smell. I never use body wash or perfumes because I read too much Tacitus, and I reek like a Rhine Germanic animal of the Wald. I wish I was taller so I could maximize my foul presence, but I must content myself with growing grotesquely large and strong instead, but still handsome, sadly, genetically, always.
dostoevsky described me in notes from underground
Indescribably horrible
Shelley Duval really had an unique kind of beauty.
Nice try, glowies.
Someone who leans into a shaggy-haired pretty-boy look but doesn't quite pull it off.
Wow this is some school shooter level pf delusion right here.
You ever see those old paintings of morose women crying blood or something ? That’s the vibe her looks remind me off. She was sickly and tired looking, yet somehow also luminous with sparkling eyes and shiny hair. She was like if a star ballerina endured like 2 months of a zombie Apocalypse.
She’s was no Kylie Jenner by any means, but I can’t stop thinking about her
>kylie
shit taste
He had stopped wearing glasses and started dressing in slightly better fitting clothes, thereby going from a scrawny nerd to a young man with few distinct characteristics. Any women that had ever shown him interest had seen the dorkiness just beneath the surface, and given him a brief chance in spite of it, not because of it.
>heavy set
He was ugly and had feminine hands. He also had very unkept hair. Somewhat malnourished.
Bright, well-meaning, and well-built, but reserved, and outwardly, appeared very cold, harsh, and unforgiving
I could probably think up some metaphor or something. Something that sounds like the hedgehog complex or whatever it is.
How's about a prominent and daunting castle in the winter?
Snow-capped crenellations and towers, ice laden roofs and inky black shadows, but you could see light in its windows and hear a great clamour from its keep. A great feast was taking place in the piercing bosom of winter.
If it aids the ambience at all, I was born on midwinter.
Upon further examination, I've realized you guys are describing only your physical appearance and not your perceived person.
In that case, breed a war horse with a race horse and you'll get something like me.
He looks like a man-at-arms from a well bygone age. A big, square block for a skull, a wide forehead, verdant eyes beset with dense eyebrows and long eyelashes. Wide, broad, shoulders, long arms with thick wrists and big, rough hands that could well be used to file away iron. A tapered and thick torso, a strong and straight back, with ample haunches. Long strong legs ending in wide, thick feet. The cube on his shoulders wears shortish, swept back, sandy hair and a face shaded in stubble. He has tanned or otherwise rosy skin covered in the same coarse, thick and honey-colored hair, an upright posture and an array of scars line his body, of which he wishes to clarify that none are intentionally self-inflicted.
Overall, sizably slender, although not small. Strong as an oak, as well as tall.
Again if it helps the 'je ne sais quoi' of me, my peepee is quite substantial, and I've neither tattoos nor piercings.
However, this seems to me just a tad bit masturbatory as I've painted myself so nigh statuesque, and especially since I don't have a negative self-image or any mental illness kek
When he enters a room it goes silent. The all encompassing presence of his gigantic hands turns every woman to a wild b***h in heat and every man to a subdued puppy.
"Yo dis ugly homie tiny fr fr no cap on God"
A worn-out man in his third decade yet drained of all youth. His hair is graying before time and his eyes sunken into tired black pits. When he's by himself his brow is furrowed and his face a scowl. He mutters things to himself while he writes on a notepad.
Just by looking at him you could smell failure from his aura, his body movements reflect a rotten soul, his forced smile make made it clear that he gave up on life long ago
He was a short, robust man, that looked like he enjoyed eating. He had soft kind eyes and was often smiling. His white hair and beard garnered him nicknames like Colonel Sanders or even Santa, but he didn't mind. He always walked straight and his head held high.
Sickly.
Tall brunette, with tanned skinn and masculine built altho overweight
An author HAS described my looks to a T
> He [...] looked as if he had been poured into his clothes and had forgotten to say 'when!
-P.G Wodehouse