“Like a rock, I was strong as I could be. Like a rock, nothing ever got to me…”
For years, the automobile manufacturer Chevrolet leaned into the rugged, tough-man country vibe in a successful marketing effort to sell trucks. In 1997, seemingly every commercial break during your favorite TV show featured slow-motion shots of gigantic Chevy trucks conquering all terrains, piloted by grizzled, flannel-wearing men wearing hard hats or cowboy boots. For a long time, the music behind these images featured a song called “Like a Rock.” The visual and lyrical combination exemplified the unencombered rural white male way of life, marrying the always-profitable concept of freedom and power.
“Toughness” has been a social dynamic and a marketing ploy for as long as humans have been human. The survival of the fittest narrative continues to dominate American marketing culture to this day.
But from experience, there is one kryptonitic environment that unravels the toughness of this masculine portrayal, and that is a visit to a city. The very same people who talk a big game about “pulling themselves up by their bootstraps” and romanticizing the rough and rugged country life are reduced to jello at the mention of having to parallel park, take public transit, or coexist in a dense space of occupied by other humans.
I have spent a great deal of time in downtown Rochester, Buffalo, Syracuse, and other cities. And while criminal behavior exists, I have yet to witness it for myself. I’ve been to downtown restaurants, concerts and festivals. I’ve hosted college students, friends and family during downtown Rochester visits. I’ve taken Greyhound, Amtrak, RTS bus service… all with zero issue.
But I can’t begin to count the number of times a self-proclaimed tough country guy has told me he won’t go to the city because he doesn’t want to get shot. Ironically, the urban-dwellers who traverse city life on a daily basis seem to navigate this terrain with ease and joy. It is truly telling that, when faced with the prospect of a challenging environment, the people who identify the most with human toughness shrivel and withdraw.
For me, toughness is about having the courage to put yourself in a social position that might not always be comfortable. It’s about surrounding yourself with people who don’t look, walk or talk like you. It’s being a part of a community where regular discomfort is a part of being human. Toughness is not about the truck that you drive or the blue-collar work that you do. It’s about the community you support, the diversity you stand for, the societal responsibility you assume and the role you play in a greater good that extends beyond yourself and your family.