Submission

Evan Givens had just finished his coffee when the email hit.

He scrolled through it once. Then again. Then a third time, slower—each sentence landing heavier than the last.

Subject: URGENT: Campaign Revisions Required – Immediate Action Needed

Evan sat back, lips pursed, eyes locked on the screen.

So that was that.

The campaign was dead.

He flicked his eyes over to the open project board where "Be His Best Self (v4)" still waited, pinned and perfect. A looping video preview of a man reclining in soft light, pink mesh covering his nether regions, a woman standing over him with her arms crossed. The tagline glowed beneath it:

Big Man. Redefining.

Gone now. All of it.

He sighed and closed the tab.

Across the bullpen, Slack began its post-mortem.

TaraK: I hate everything.

MarcusB: Apparently Nicole Biggs saw the thong spot and threw an espresso cup at the wall??

JenD: Sam looked like he'd seen a ghost in the hallway.

EvanG: What we pitched scared them. That means it was good.

He sat back in his chair, feeling the taut stretch of black nylon against his thighs. It was high-cut, smooth, exactly like every other pair of underwear he owned. Like every man's underwear. Aside from sizing, there wasn't any functional difference between "men's" and "women's" Not really.

So why—why—did brands still insist on marketing to men differently than women? If they were the same clothes, then why not use the same campaigns?

Toxic masculinity, that's why.

Evan scowled. He had been warned back in school that once he landed a job at a marketing firm, he would have to start to compromise. It was the same for all creatives. You need to bring your talent, bring your ideas, but leave your scruples at the door. You're being paid to do a job, so get to it.

But he had hoped. He probably shouldn't have, but Evan was an optimist. If he could squeak just one ad through, flip the script, show how men and women didn't have to live in such rigid roles, how things could be interchangeable, maybe it would start a conversation. It was obvious that there wouldn't be a revolution caused by a silly underwear ad, but if enough messaging got out there, if enough people started to see a world through a new lens, perhaps the world could change.

He shook his head and opened a new document. Fine. The client didn't like it. You could push, but not too far. You could provoke, but only in ways that tested well in focus groups. Corporate bravery had its limits.

Big Man: Stand Tall.

Big Man: Confidence Is Cut To Fit.

Big Man: Lace, Lined With Steel.

It made his stomach turn, a little. The whole vibe. The performative edge to it. Like a man had to put on a flex just to put on his panties in the morning.

Still, he complied. That's what you did. You recalibrated. You adapted. You filed your vision under "maybe next time" and hoped the next client wouldn't be so scared of progress.

He closed the new doc and pinged Marcus.

EvanG: Rewrites in Drive. Let me know what you think.

Then he leaned back and stared at the ceiling.

Maybe Sam had panicked because Terry Biggs had been furious.

But maybe he'd panicked because deep down, Sam didn't want a better future.