“BELTS ARE FOR PUSSIES”
—by Eric Kim (Unleashed, Beltless, Unapologetic)
Let me say it clear, raw, and bar-loaded:
Belts are for pussies.
If that offended you, GOOD.
You’ve been softened by straps, padded support, and dopamine addiction disguised as discipline.
You think you’re lifting—but you’re still asking for permission.
I don’t ask.
I PULL.
1.
THE BELT IS A CRUTCH FOR THE UNPREPARED.
You slap on a belt because you never built your spine.
You outsourced your core to neoprene.
Your midsection is soft, your obliques are decorative, and your “brace” is a desperate prayer for artificial tension.
Me? I built my belt from within.
Six years of beltless pulling under increasing stress.
Weighted dips. Front squats. Zerchers.
Spine forged in fire, abs stacked like bricks.
My belt is bone.
My belt is will.
My belt is pain turned into pressure.
2.
YOU’RE AFRAID OF FEEDBACK.
When you pull beltless, the lift talks to you.
Every micro-shake is feedback.
Every bar-path deviation is a lesson.
Every rep is an argument between fear and force.
But you? You mute the dialogue.
You silence sensation.
You hide behind Velcro and foam and dare call it strength?
Real lifters don’t hide.
We confront instability like we confront truth—directly, naked, and with chalk on our hands.
3.
A LIFT ISN’T JUST A NUMBER. IT’S A NARRATIVE.
1,071 pounds at 165 bodyweight.
6.5×BW.
No belt. No wraps. No gimmicks.
Just rage, conviction, and a spine that doesn’t negotiate.
That’s not a lift. That’s a story.
That’s philosophy made visible.
That’s “F*** your limits” turned kinetic.
4.
YOU DON’T NEED SUPPORT. YOU NEED CONVICTION.
You don’t need a belt.
You need to suffer.
You need to feel the panic as the bar bends and your core screams and your vision tunnels.
Because THAT’S where the transformation happens.
You don’t get strong by padding your insecurities.
You get strong by removing layers—until it’s just you versus the cosmos, and only one walks away.
5.
IF YOU NEED A BELT TO LIFT, WHAT ELSE ARE YOU DEPENDENT ON?
- Caffeine to think?
- Social media to feel?
- Validation to exist?
Your belt is just a metaphor for everything else you lean on.
Cut the belt. Cut the excuses.
Get raw. Get primal. Get BELTLESS.
FINAL ROAR:
Every time I step under the bar, I’m telling the universe:
“You will not support me. I will support myself.”
And that’s why I don’t wear a belt.
Because I’m not afraid to collapse.
I’m afraid to live a padded life.
So rack the bar, drop the belt, and step into the storm like a man possessed.
That’s not just lifting.
That’s GOD MODE.
.
— An Eric Kim Manifesto
I. Introduction: The Crutch of Comfort
You strap on that nylon loop, cinch it tight around your waist, and call it “support.” You call it “safety.” But here’s the unvarnished truth: a belt is a confession—a declaration that you can’t trust your own body to stand up under the weight you claim to conquer. You wear a belt, you admit you’re afraid of honest resistance. You’re not here to overcome gravity. You’re here to obey it.
II. Courage Forged in Core Steel
A beltless pull is a trial by fire. No external shell to brace you, no passive bubble to hold your guts in place. Every fiber of your core, every inch of your spinal erector, every muscle in your midline screams to stabilize that bar. In that moment of pure vulnerability, you either rise—or you crumble. This is where legends are born. This is where weakness is incinerated in the furnace of raw, unfiltered effort.
III. The Stoic Spartan Ethos
The ancient Spartans didn’t wrap their bellies in leather and say “thank god for synthetic belts.” They forged their bodies in the crucible of discomfort, standing naked to the storm of life’s demands. A belt? That’s a luxury. A concession. Stoicism teaches that virtue lies in embracing hardship, not hiding from it. If you can’t handle 165 pounds without gear, how will you handle the thousand-pound bar of fate that life will sling at you?
IV. Hormesis: Stress as Catalyst
Every time you lift beltless, you’re inviting stress into your body—raw, unfiltered stress that tears muscle, challenges stability, and forces adaptation. That’s hormesis in action: what doesn’t kill you makes you unstoppable. A belt filters out stress. It cages adversity. But adversity is your teacher. Adversity is the weight that chisels your mind into a weapon.
V. Psychology of the Maximalist
Wearing a belt is saying: “I’ll take the shortcut.” Shortcut to slight gains, shortcut to comfort, shortcut away from true transformation. We are maximalists. We chase the extreme. We thrive on the margins where most fear to tread. A beltless lift is a screaming challenge: “Do you have the balls to stand naked under this bar and rip it from existence?” If you shy away, you’re not human—you’re a machine programmed for mediocrity.
VI. Alchemy of Flesh and Iron
There’s a moment when your hands crack chalk dust into the air, when your breath hitches, and your body trembles under the initial tension of the bar. In that suspended instant, you’re not separate from the weight—you are the weight. Every fiber of you resonates with kinetic purpose. That’s god-mode. And no belt can buy you that transcendence. You earn it by staring down doubt and ripping reality apart with your own visceral will.
VII. Conclusion: Embrace the Uncaged Life
Belts are for those who cling to safety nets. Belts are for those who worship comfort. But you—the true forge-master of your destiny—you need no such crutch. You demand the raw edge of challenge. You crave the searing heat of resistance. You bleed iron, sweat conviction, and scream defiance at gravity itself.
So rip off the belt. Stand naked to the bar. And prove to yourself—beyond any doubt—that your body, your mind, and your spirit are the only armor you’ll ever need.
Belts are for pussies.
Champions are forged beltless.
