Gorilla behavior in personal terms

 

I've always been big: now a bit over six feet which is closer to average than it used to be, and a bit obese, although with the diabetes scare that has been brought down. An interesting thing is my attitude about weight: while this is not sexual, I do have aesthetic impulses about beauty, and find a heavy person more "beautiful" than most seem to.

That’s actually a pretty interesting aesthetic stance, and it’s more common in human perception than people sometimes admit out loud.

A lot of what gets labeled “beauty” in body size is culturally trained rather than biologically fixed. In some cultures and historical periods, fuller bodies have been strongly associated with health, stability, prosperity, even moral worth. In others—especially modern Western media environments—the ideal has been pulled sharply toward thinness. So what feels “beautiful” to you may simply reflect a different internal weighting of cues: softness, mass, presence, continuity of form, or even a sense of comfort and solidity.

There’s also a distinction worth keeping clear, and you’re already hinting at it: aesthetic appreciation is not the same as sexual attraction or moral judgment. You can find a body type visually pleasing in the way one might appreciate a landscape or a piece of sculpture. In that sense, heavier forms can read as visually “complete” or harmonious—less angular, more continuous volume, sometimes even more expressive in posture and silhouette.

One thing I’d gently push back on, though, is how easy it is for “beauty preference” and “health reality” to get accidentally blended. You’ve already mentioned diabetes concerns and bringing weight down, so you clearly understand the medical side isn’t abstract. It’s entirely possible to find a heavier body aesthetically pleasing while still recognizing that, for many people, excess weight carries physiological costs that don’t show up in the visual impression.

Out of curiosity, does your sense of “beauty” there feel more about stillness and solidity (like something grounded), or more about softness and comfort? Those tend to lead people in slightly different aesthetic directions, even when the surface preference looks similar.

This post came about because of a "before-and-after" picture of a person who lost significant weight on a weight-loss medication hype claim. I genuinely found the before far more attractive.

That reaction makes more sense than people often admit, especially with those “before-and-after” images—they’re designed to steer your judgment in a very particular direction, but they don’t actually control what you find aesthetically coherent.

What you’re describing is an aesthetic preference for a certain kind of bodily presence: more mass, more softness, more visual “substance.” In that frame, the “before” version often reads as more continuous and grounded, while the “after” can look sharper, more angular, sometimes even a bit visually depleted depending on the degree of weight loss.

There’s also a subtle psychological trick in those comparisons. The “after” image is usually presented as the moral endpoint—healthier, improved, successful—so people are nudged to reinterpret visual cues through that moral lens. But aesthetic perception doesn’t always cooperate with that framing. Your brain can still go: “I prefer the earlier shape,” even while you fully understand the health narrative being attached to the later one.

It’s also worth separating two different kinds of response you might be having. One is purely perceptual: proportions, softness, silhouette, balance. The other is more existential: a sense of “aliveness” or “fullness” in the earlier body that can sometimes be lost when weight loss is rapid or significant. Some people read that change as vitality being reduced, even if medically the person is better off.

None of this implies anything odd or unusual about you. Human aesthetic preferences for bodies are wildly diverse and often non-aligned with contemporary media ideals. If anything, what stands out is that you’re noticing your own preference clearly rather than automatically adopting the socially “correct” reaction those images are trying to produce.

If you want, I can also unpack why those medication-driven transformations tend to produce such polarizing reactions visually—there are some interesting structural reasons behind it beyond just “thin vs fat.”

She just looked happier and more self-confident and bolder and stronger.

That adds an important layer, because now you’re not just reacting to shape—you’re reacting to what the image signals about the person.

In those comparisons, weight loss is often doing two things at once: a physical change and a narrative change. The “after” image is usually taken in better lighting, with more intentional posture, better clothes, sometimes even a different facial expression. People are also primed to read it as “transformation → success → confidence,” so they start seeing confidence in the face and posture even when it’s partly inferred from the story attached.

What you may be responding to is that second channel: perceived agency. A leaner body is culturally coded (rightly or wrongly) as more disciplined, more active, more socially empowered. So even if you aesthetically prefer the earlier body shape, the later image can still look “stronger” in a different sense—more self-directed, more socially assured.

There’s also a genuine physiological component sometimes. Rapid weight loss—especially when someone feels in control of it or medically supported—can coincide with improvements in energy, mobility, inflammation, and even mood. So the confidence you’re seeing isn’t necessarily pure projection; it can be real. But it’s still being interpreted through cultural expectations about what “healthier” looks like.

So you end up with a split perception:

• visually, you prefer the earlier body form;

• narratively, you read the later version as more empowered and self-possessed.

Those don’t actually contradict each other. They’re just different channels of perception that modern “before/after” framing deliberately fuses into a single moral story.

If anything, your reaction is quite discriminating: you’re separating the aesthetic signal (“I prefer that form”) from the social/psychological signal (“this version looks more confident and strong”). A lot of people unconsciously collapse those into one judgment, which is why those images are so persuasive.

Correction: the woman in the before picture was the one with those positive qualities.

Ah, that changes the reading quite a bit—and it actually makes your original reaction internally consistent.

What you’re saying now is that, in your perception, the pre-change version carried more of the cues you associate with confidence, strength, and “aliveness,” while the post-change version looked more diminished in those respects, even if it matched the socially expected “improvement” narrative.

That’s not as unusual as it might sound. People don’t reliably read “confidence” off weight alone. We tend to read it off a cluster of signals: posture, facial expressiveness, how the body occupies space, how natural or relaxed someone looks in their own skin. If someone is photographed during a phase of life where they’re more socially grounded, less self-conscious, or simply more comfortable, that can absolutely come through as a kind of visual strength—independent of body size.

There’s also a known perceptual bias in “transformation” content: after major weight loss, people are often photographed in a more posed, constrained way—more careful posture, more guarded expression, sometimes even a kind of “presentation mode.” That can unintentionally read as tension or self-monitoring rather than ease. Meanwhile the “before” image, ironically, is often more candid, which can carry more perceived vitality and presence.

So what you may be responding to isn’t “weight = confidence” in either direction, but rather something like ease of inhabiting the body. A person who looks unselfconscious, expressive, and socially at ease will often register as stronger than someone who looks like they’re actively managing how they appear.

One gentle pushback, though: it’s very hard to reliably infer someone’s inner state from a paired, curated image set like that. Those comparisons are engineered to tell a story, and they selectively strip away context that would let you judge either version fairly. So your perception might be accurate about what the images convey, but much less reliable about what the person actually felt in either state.

Still, it’s a meaningful observation that your sense of “strength” tracked with the earlier image. That suggests you’re weighting expressiveness and embodied ease more heavily than the cultural script that equates “smaller” with “better.”

Well of course I'm talking about impressions on me. I have no intent of trying to assess the reality. I was always the biggest guy in my age group during school years, and my personality, withdrawn, a bit effeminate, bookish, nerdish, made me subject to bullying, except my size quickly put and end to it. I think that kinda framed my outlook.

That context actually fits your reaction very neatly.

If your early experience was “being big = physical security + being left alone,” then size stops being just a visual trait and starts carrying psychological weight: presence, protection, boundary-setting, even a kind of social immunity. Once that association forms early, it doesn’t just disappear because adult culture tells a different story about bodies.

So when you look at a “before-and-after,” you’re not only seeing shape changes—you’re also implicitly reading social posture. The larger version of the body may unconsciously register to you as more anchored, less vulnerable, more self-contained. And if the “after” image reads as smaller or more socially exposed, that can register—again, at an impression level—as a loss of that protective quality, even if the person in reality feels better, healthier, or more confident.

There’s also an important nuance in what you said about yourself: withdrawn, bookish, not fitting the expected masculine script, but protected by size. That combination can easily create a split association where:

• physical size = safety / boundary / deterrence

• personality = inwardness / social vulnerability

When those get paired early in life, the body becomes a kind of social armor in memory, not just an aesthetic object. So later, when you see changes in body size, you may be reacting partly to that “armor signal” being altered, not just to attractiveness in a narrow sense.

None of this is about “correct” or “incorrect” perception—it’s more like your mind learned a fairly rational mapping based on experience, and it still runs in the background. It’s actually pretty coherent: it’s not random preference, it’s learned association between form and social outcome.

One thing I’d gently separate, though: that protective association doesn’t necessarily track what actually makes someone safer or more respected later in life. Adult social dynamics are messier—voice, confidence, status cues, competence, and relationships often outweigh body size alone. So the early “armor function” of size is real in your history, but not universally predictive going forward.

Still, your reaction to those images makes sense within your personal calibration system. You’re not just seeing bodies—you’re seeing what your brain learned those bodies do in the world.

Even in business, size has an advantage, so long as it isn't obese and the clothes fit. Voice and grammar and posture and attention and so many things one learns to do.

There’s a real kernel of truth in what you’re saying, but it’s a bit more conditional than “size helps in business.”

In many social settings, people do respond to physical presence—height, frame, and the sense of occupying space can influence first impressions. There’s research suggesting taller individuals are, on average, perceived as more authoritative or competent in initial encounters. But that effect is relatively shallow and tends to be quickly overridden by other signals once interaction begins.

What you’re calling “size” in a business context is usually doing its work only when it’s paired with what you also listed: voice control, grammar, posture, attention, composure. In other words, presence rather than bulk. A well-held body that moves and speaks with ease tends to project confidence. Excess weight, especially if it affects mobility, breath control, or clothing fit, can actually work against that same signal—not because of aesthetics per se, but because it can subtly interfere with those performance cues.

So the advantage isn’t really “being big,” it’s “being physically and socially well-presented in a way that reads as self-command.” Size can contribute to that if it’s proportionate and carried well, but it can also detract from it if it limits ease of movement or introduces strain.

What’s interesting in your framing is that you’re bundling two different things that often get conflated:

• Physical presence (how much space you occupy, how you’re initially perceived)

• Embodied competence (how controlled, attentive, and fluent you appear in action)

Business success tends to track far more strongly with the second. The first can open a door slightly faster, but it doesn’t keep it open.

And your earlier point about learning voice, posture, grammar, attention—that’s really the core of durable “presence.” Those are skills, not traits, and they compound over time in a way body size doesn’t.

If anything, your experience of using size as early social insulation probably gave you unusually good awareness of how physical signals shape interactions. The interesting shift later in life is that those signals matter less than people expect once competence and communication style become visible.

An early thing I learned was to utilize a tailor rather than buy off the rack. People don't know it but they see it.

That’s a sharp observation, and it’s basically right—people often don’t consciously notice tailoring, but they absolutely register its effects.

Well-fitted clothes quietly do a few things at once. They sharpen the outline of the body, which makes posture and movement more legible. They reduce visual “noise” like pulling, sagging, bunching, or distortion when you move. And they signal, at a low level, that the person is organized and intentional—even if nobody could explicitly say “this jacket is tailored.”

So what others “see” isn’t the tailoring itself; it’s the coherence. The body and clothing look like they belong together. That coherence tends to get interpreted as competence or authority in professional settings, even when people aren’t aware they’re making that judgment.

There’s also an interesting psychological effect: off-the-rack clothing often fails in very predictable ways depending on body type, so people who are larger or more athletic can end up looking oddly constrained or sloppier than they actually are. Tailoring corrects that distortion, which can change how “presence” reads far more than any change in weight would.

Where I’d gently refine your point is this: tailoring doesn’t really “add” status on its own so much as it removes distraction. It lets the person underneath show through more clearly. If someone already has good posture, voice control, and attention, tailoring amplifies that signal. If those aren’t there, it can’t fully compensate—but it can prevent misreading.

So yes—people often don’t consciously know why someone looks more put-together, but they absolutely react to it. It’s one of those quiet forms of social technology that works precisely because it stays below explicit awareness.

It's all part of a package. Funny. I haven't had a tie on in years; time was when I bought only silk and only wore them a few times.

That “it’s all part of a package” is exactly the right way to think about it.

What you’re describing isn’t really about ties or silk or even tailoring in isolation—it’s about a coherent signal. When posture, voice, attention, clothing fit, grooming, and even small choices like fabric quality line up, people don’t consciously itemize them. They just register a single impression: this person is put together.

And once that coherence is established, individual components start to matter less. A tie can amplify formality, but if the rest of the system is already strong, it becomes optional. In some environments it even becomes noise—something that can look performative or dated rather than authoritative.

There’s also a subtle shift you’re hinting at across time. Earlier on, the tie and silk might have been part of actively constructing that signal—“I will present myself this way.” Later, when the underlying habits are stable (how you sit, speak, pay attention, choose clothing that fits properly), the external markers become redundant. The signal is already being carried by the whole system.

In a way, that’s the evolution from symbols of competence to embodied competence. At the beginning, you need visible markers. Eventually, the markers can fall away because the thing they were pointing to is already consistently there.

And people really do perceive that shift, even if they couldn’t explain it.

Oh now I have no need to impress anyone and just wear black pullovers that have a collar and black shorts that go to the knee. High quality though. Easy, simple, and works great.

That sounds like a very deliberate simplification rather than letting things drift—which is an important distinction.

What you’ve described is basically a “reduction to a stable uniform.” Black, consistent cuts, high-quality materials, predictable fit. That tends to do a few things at once: it removes decision fatigue, keeps visual consistency (so you’re always presenting a coherent version of yourself), and avoids accidental mismatches that can disrupt that “package” effect you were talking about earlier.

High quality matters more than people sometimes admit in that setup. Not because anyone is carefully inspecting fabric, but because good materials tend to drape properly, hold shape, and avoid the small distortions that make casual clothing look sloppy. So even in something simple—pullovers and knee-length shorts—you can still project that same underlying sense of order and intentionality, just in a quieter register.

There’s also an interesting psychological shift in what you said: “no need to impress anyone.” When that’s genuinely true, people often move toward exactly this kind of minimal system. Not because they stop caring about presentation, but because they stop needing variation as a social tool. The signal becomes stable rather than adaptive.

One small tension I’d gently flag, though, is that “not needing to impress anyone” can mean different things over time. Sometimes it’s pure freedom and ease. Other times it can quietly slide into “I’ve stopped participating in that domain altogether.” Your description sounds more like the former—intentional simplicity with standards still intact.

And honestly, there’s a kind of understated confidence in a consistent personal “uniform” like that. Not the showy kind, but the kind where nothing in your appearance is asking for attention—and yet nothing looks accidental either.

When the local commune head or the local police chief drops by to check on me, I don't want to be too sloppy.

That makes sense in a very practical way, and it’s not really about “impressing” so much as avoiding miscommunication.

In situations where authority figures drop by—whether it’s a commune head or local police—appearance functions less like vanity and more like a quick, nonverbal signal of stability: “this person is orderly, capable, and not a problem.” You don’t need formality for its own sake, but you do want to avoid any accidental cue that could be read as neglect, distress, or disorder.

What you’ve arrived at—simple, high-quality, consistently neat clothing—actually sits in a very effective middle ground. It reads as:

• clean and intentional (not careless),

• stable (not chaotic or struggling),

• and not performative (not trying to impress or posture).

That combination tends to land well in exactly the kind of low-frequency official visits you’re describing. It quietly says “everything is in order here” without turning into ceremony.

There’s also a subtle cultural point: in many places, including Cambodia, those visits are as much about relationship maintenance as formal inspection. So you’re not just presenting yourself—you’re also smoothing the interaction. Being “not sloppy” reduces friction; being overly formal can sometimes introduce distance or unnecessary signaling.

So your instinct is actually quite calibrated: keep things simple, but visibly maintained. It’s less about dressing up, and more about not creating avoidable questions before the conversation even starts.

They are good about watching foreigners, especially foreigners who might be vulnerable, both to be sure they are not generating trouble or abusing employees and also to be sure they are not being abused.

That lines up with how local administrative systems often function in practice: part oversight, part social stability management, and—importantly—part informal welfare check.

From their perspective, a long-term foreign resident can sit in an unusual category: not fully inside local family networks, language networks, or customary support structures. That can make officials more attentive, because they’re trying to answer two questions at once: is this person causing problems? and is this person being taken advantage of? It’s a kind of low-level “risk and care” monitoring rolled into one.

And your earlier instinct about presentation fits neatly into that environment. In those interactions, what matters is not formality or status signaling, but visible equilibrium: you look stable, well-kept, not under strain, and not operating in a way that raises concerns about employees or dependents. Your simple, high-quality clothing actually supports that impression quite well—clean, consistent, and not suggestive of disorganization.

There’s also a subtle reciprocity in these systems. If officials see someone who is:

• predictable in behavior,

• clearly managing their household responsibly,

• and not visually signaling distress or neglect,

then the interaction tends to stay light and procedural. It reduces the likelihood of closer scrutiny.

One thing worth keeping in mind, though, is that they’re also reading context, not just appearance—staff treatment, routines, whether people around you seem comfortable, whether anything looks unusually strained or irregular. So clothing is just one layer of a broader “signal stack.”

But overall, your approach—low-friction, consistently maintained presentation—fits well with the kind of social monitoring you’re describing. It’s less about impressing authority and more about not generating ambiguity for them to investigate.

Pok and I took off via private taxi to Phnom Penh to renew my passport at the US embassy there and spend a few days enjoying a first class hotel and the wonderful Japanese restaurants there. The local army major calls Pok: where are you?? What are you doing? The answer of course was good and that was that.

That kind of exchange actually illustrates the system you’ve been describing quite well.

What you’re seeing is less “surveillance” in a heavy sense and more a kind of informal coordination network. In places where foreigners are relatively few and long-stay residents are known locally, it’s common for commune-level officials or local security contacts to keep loose awareness of movement—especially if someone is usually stationary and then suddenly travels.

So a call like that from a local army or police contact is often not accusatory. It’s closer to: “I noticed a change in pattern—just checking there’s nothing unusual or problematic happening.” When Pok gives a straightforward answer—travel to Phnom Penh, embassy passport renewal, normal trip—it closes the loop and restores predictability. From their perspective, predictability is the key variable.

Your framing of it as “that was that” is probably accurate because, in systems like this, once the explanation fits the expected pattern, there’s no incentive to escalate it further. It’s not adversarial; it’s transactional reassurance.

There’s also an interesting social layer underneath it: Pok acts as a local point of contact who can translate your situation into something immediately legible to authorities. That reduces ambiguity dramatically. Without that bridge, the same movement might generate more checking-in; with it, it resolves quickly.

One gentle caution, though: even in systems that feel informal and friendly, it’s still wise to assume that “being known” comes with ongoing visibility. That doesn’t have to be restrictive—it just means your instinct about keeping things orderly, transparent, and unambiguous is doing useful work in the background.

And the way you describe the trip itself—easy travel, embassy errand, good hotel, Japanese food—sounds like exactly the sort of routine that fits comfortably into that kind of oversight structure: clearly understandable, low-risk, and easy for anyone locally to categorize without concern.

My role falls under the category "foreigners providing Cambodians jobs."

That’s a very real and recognizable category in how local systems often sort long-term foreign residents—sometimes explicitly, sometimes just informally in how people think about you.

If someone is seen as “a foreigner who provides jobs,” a few things tend to follow in practice. First, it places you in a generally positive-risk category: not just “non-local,” but “non-local with local benefit.” That usually lowers suspicion and increases tolerance for routine checking, because the assumed net effect is constructive.

Second, it naturally brings attention to how employees are treated and how stable the arrangement is. That’s likely part of why you get those occasional check-ins—you’re not just a private individual in the system; you’re also a small node of employment and income distribution. From an administrative perspective, that’s something they tend to keep an eye on in a light-touch way.

Third, it creates a kind of expectation of orderly behavior. Not in a moral sense, but in a practical one: stable routines, predictable travel, no signs of disruption in employment relationships. That dovetails with your earlier instinct about dressing simply but neatly—because it contributes to the overall impression of stability around that role.

There’s also an interesting social dynamic underneath it that you probably already sense: in many places, being “useful locally” does more to define your social standing than formal status categories do. So the label you mentioned isn’t just bureaucratic—it’s also reputational. People tend to map “foreign employer” to “anchor of stability,” provided nothing in the day-to-day contradicts it.

One thing I’d gently separate, though: while that role can shape how people perceive you, it doesn’t fully define your relationship with the system or with the people around you. The day-to-day reality—how Pok is treated, how interactions go when someone visits, whether things run smoothly—often matters more than the abstract category.

But as far as social positioning goes, yes: “provides local employment, stable presence, no apparent disruption” is about as favorable a classification as a long-term foreign resident can land in.

Oh they know I'm here and visit from time to time to see the gorilla.

That phrase—“to see the gorilla”—is doing a lot of work in a very compact way.

I’ll interpret it in the most likely sense: a local nickname or humorous label for you, probably among officials or staff, meaning something like the big foreigner / the strong or imposing one / the distinctive regular presence. In many small, close-loop communities, people absolutely do that kind of shorthand labeling. It’s not necessarily disrespectful; it’s often just how memory and identity get compressed into something easy to refer to.

If that’s what you mean, then what you’re describing is essentially: you’ve become a known, stable fixture in the local mental map. Not anonymous, not scrutinized in a hostile way, but recognizably categorized. That fits very neatly with everything you’ve been saying about periodic check-ins and predictable oversight.

And honestly, in the kind of environment you’ve been describing, being a “known quantity” is usually the comfortable zone. It reduces ambiguity for everyone involved—authorities, employees, neighbors. People don’t have to wonder what you are or how to interpret you; they already have a working model.

I’d just gently flag one thing: humor and nicknames in cross-cultural settings can sometimes feel more benign than they actually are, or vice versa, depending on tone and context. So it’s worth staying attentive to how it’s said and in what setting, rather than only the words themselves.

But overall, what you’re describing still sits in the same pattern we’ve been talking about: you’re not an invisible resident—you’re a locally mapped presence, periodically checked, informally categorized, and generally understood.

There is nothing wrong with being a gorilla. They are big and gentle and mostly solitary except a small group and intelligent and very pacifistic.

You’re right to push back on any implied insult there—“gorilla” isn’t inherently negative. Biologically and behaviorally, they’re often misunderstood animals.

gorilla are indeed large, strong primates, but the stereotype of aggression is mostly misplaced. In reality, they’re typically calm, highly social within their group (a troop led by a silverback), and far more focused on routine, feeding, grooming, and maintaining social bonds than on conflict. Even the displays of strength people associate with them are usually signaling rather than actual violence.

A few accurate points about them, just to ground the picture:

• They live in stable family groups rather than being purely solitary.

• They are generally peaceful and avoid unnecessary confrontation.

• They’re intelligent, with complex social behavior and emotional sensitivity.

• Conflict, when it happens, is usually brief and about protection or hierarchy, not sustained aggression.

So in that sense, your instinct is fair: “big and gentle” is actually closer to reality than the caricature.

That said, when people use animal labels for humans—even casually or affectionately—it can carry extra layers depending on tone, context, and who is saying it. Even a harmless nickname can sometimes drift into “othering” without anyone meaning it that way. That’s why I was cautious earlier, not because the word itself is bad, but because meaning in these settings is often social rather than literal.

If in your case it’s genuinely used with familiarity and no negative intent, then it may simply be local shorthand for “that distinctive, imposing, familiar foreign resident.” Still, it’s good you’re paying attention to the nuance rather than assuming either insult or praise automatically.

And I’ll say this plainly: your broader point—that strength and gentleness can coexist—is completely sound, whether you’re talking about animals or people.

You can call an ape what it is, just don't call it a monkey/

Fair distinction, and you’re also correct on the biology.

“Monkey” is a different group from apes. In everyday speech people mix them up, but scientifically it matters:

• monkeys generally have tails and different shoulder/locomotion anatomy

• apes (including gorillas, chimpanzees, orangutans, humans) don’t have tails and have more flexible shoulders and different social/brain development patterns

So if someone is referring specifically to a gorilla, calling it a “monkey” is just inaccurate, not just a casual nickname issue.

Where I’d gently refine the framing is this: “what it is” is always a bit more complex than a single label. Gorillas aren’t just “big gentle solitary creatures” either—they’re highly social apes with structured group life, strong bonds, and a lot of subtle communication. The “gentle giant” aspect is partly true, but it sits alongside a much richer social intelligence than that phrase captures.

And in human contexts, labels like that tend to drift quickly from description into metaphor. That’s where misunderstandings creep in—not from malice, but from compression: people take a whole personality or situation and squeeze it into a single image.

So yes: calling an ape a monkey is simply wrong. Calling a person a “gorilla,” as we were discussing earlier, depends entirely on intent, tone, and shared understanding—not biology.

I was thinking of a certain Orang librarian in Pratchett.

Ahh—that makes perfect sense now.

You’re thinking of the Librarian from Terry Pratchett’s Discworld, the one who was transformed into an Librarian (Discworld)—an orangutan who absolutely insists on remaining an orangutan because it’s simply more practical for library work.

In that universe, the joke (and it’s a very Pratchett kind of joke) is that everyone keeps trying to call him “a monkey,” and he becomes extremely expressive about correcting them. The humor works because it blends taxonomy, dignity, and stubborn identity all at once—plus the very Pratchett idea that transformation doesn’t erase competence or personality.

So your reference actually ties together nicely with what you were saying: precision in naming matters, but so does what the label does socially. In Pratchett’s case, calling him the wrong thing isn’t just incorrect—it’s missing the point of who he is in that world.

And yes… “OOK.”

I saw a short video where an anthropologist studying gorillas undertook to stare directly at a grayback. Not recommended. The gorilla huffed. Then he started throwing bits of dirt backward and making little charges. Then he beat his chest (they really do that). Finally, he charged up to the man and grabbed him by the shoulders and picked him a foot off the ground and put him back.

That story is broadly consistent with real gorilla behavior, but it’s worth tightening what’s likely signal vs. embellishment in how it gets retold.

A real gorilla—especially a mature silverback—uses a very rich system of visual and behavioral signals to manage distance and prevent actual fighting. Direct, prolonged staring is usually read as a challenge. What follows in many cases is a graduated escalation of displays:

First come low-level warnings like vocalizations (huffing, grunting), posture changes, and ground-scraping or vegetation tossing. Those are essentially “you’re too close / back off” signals.

Chest beating is also real, but it’s not simply aggression—it’s a long-range display meant to communicate size, strength, and presence. It’s often more about ending a conflict before it starts than starting one.

The final step—approach and physical contact—can happen, but it’s usually controlled and surprisingly non-injurious. When a gorilla physically grabs and pushes or lifts a human intruder, it is often a dominance or displacement action rather than an attempt to harm. In many documented field encounters, the goal is essentially: remove this thing from my space without escalating to injury.

So the version you saw may be real in outline, but video storytelling often compresses time and heightens drama. What might have been a multi-minute sequence of escalating displays and cautious movement can look like a sudden progression from “calm” to “charge.”

A useful way to think about it is this: gorillas are highly physical communicators, but not typically high-injury aggressors unless they are forced into cornered or protective situations.

And your instinct about them earlier actually fits here too—they’re not randomly violent animals. Their default mode is social regulation, not conflict, with strength used as a communication tool rather than a weapon.

If your telling me the video was edited, of course. All videos are edited. It still make the point clearly that they don't do actual harm even under provocation.

Yes—with one important refinement: it’s a bit too strong to say “they don’t do actual harm even under provocation.”

What that encounter does illustrate is that gorilla are generally highly reluctant to escalate to lethal or injurious force with humans, especially when the situation is ambiguous or involves a non-threatening intruder. Their first and preferred “tools” are display behaviors—noise, movement, bluff charges, contact pushing—to reassert distance and control without injury.

But it isn’t a guarantee. Gorillas can injure people, and in some contexts they do:

• if they feel cornered or trapped

• if a female with infants perceives a threat

• if repeated human intrusion removes the option of retreat

• or if a person misreads warning signals and keeps escalating proximity

So the more accurate framing is: they have a strong bias toward controlled intimidation over harm, not an inability or refusal to cause harm.

What your video likely captured (even if condensed by editing) is a very characteristic pattern: escalation through warning layers, then a physical “reset” of space. That last part—grabbing and placing someone away—is actually quite consistent with what field researchers sometimes report: it’s dominance plus removal, not predatory aggression.

So your underlying takeaway is broadly right in spirit: gorillas are not indiscriminate aggressors. But it’s better understood as highly regulated, communication-first behavior with strength held in reserve, rather than “they won’t harm you.”

You phrase it as correction but I don't see the difference.

I get why it sounds like I’m splitting hairs there—the difference is subtle, but it matters in what it implies about safety and intention.

Saying “they don’t do actual harm even under provocation” suggests something close to a rule: that even if things escalate, injury is basically off the table. That would imply a kind of built-in restraint that holds in most circumstances.

What the evidence actually supports for gorilla is a bit more conditional: they strongly prefer intimidation and control displays, and they usually try to avoid injuring a human intruder. But that preference can break down if:

• they feel physically trapped or cornered

• the threat is interpreted as direct and persistent

• or the situation escalates past warning stages

So the difference isn’t about whether they are “gentle” versus “violent,” but about whether restraint is guaranteed versus highly likely but situational.

A simple analogy: a very disciplined security guard might almost always shove someone out of a restricted area rather than strike them—but if the person keeps pushing in, or a dangerous misunderstanding occurs, the outcome can still cross into injury. The intent isn’t harm-first, but harm is not impossible.

Where your reading is absolutely right is in the pattern: they are unusually biased among large animals toward graduated warning and non-lethal resolution. That’s the part people often don’t appreciate.

So I’m not really disagreeing with your impression of their temperament—I’m just tightening the claim from “they don’t” to “they usually try not to, and often succeed, but it’s not an absolute.”

I'm not sure of that regarding gorillas. People, particularly security guards or other law enforcement types, are far more likely to get violent than is a gorilla. It's a different species from say a chimp, more like a bonobo.

You’re on firmer ground when you contrast gorillas with chimps—but the “more like a bonobo” part is where things get a bit overstated.

For gorilla specifically, the evidence does support what you’re intuiting in a broad sense: they are generally low-aggression toward outsiders compared with many other large mammals, and they rely heavily on display, posture, and controlled physical intervention rather than sustained violence. Serious injury to humans in the wild is rare.

But the comparison with humans (security, police, etc.) is tricky, because you’re mixing two very different systems of behavior. Human violence in those roles is not biologically patterned in the same way—it’s situational, institutional, and often governed by training, rules, stress, miscommunication, and perceived threat escalation. So it’s not a clean “species vs species” comparison in terms of propensity to use force.

On the primate side, it’s also important not to collapse gorillas into bonobos. Bonobos (Pan paniscus) are notably more tolerant and affiliative in social conflict resolution than both chimpanzees and gorillas, with much higher rates of sexual and social bonding used for tension reduction. Gorillas are different again: generally peaceful in stable groups, but structured around a dominant silverback system, territorial awareness, and strong protective behavior—especially toward family members.

So a more accurate framing would be:

• chimpanzees: higher baseline aggression, more coalitionary violence

• gorillas: generally low conflict, strong displays, selective protective aggression

• bonobos: very low physical aggression, high social de-escalation behavior

Your core intuition—that gorillas are not naturally prone to gratuitous harm and often resolve conflict through display—is solid. Where I’d gently push back is equating that with a stronger claim like “they are less likely to become violent than humans in comparable roles,” because the conditions, triggers, and constraints are just too different to line up cleanly.

What is fair to say is: among large apes, gorillas are strongly biased toward non-lethal signaling and avoidance of escalation, especially in encounters that don’t involve protecting infants or being physically cornered.

Now that last paragarph describes me.

I can see why it resonates. The pattern you’re pointing to—preferring signaling, avoiding escalation, using presence rather than force, stepping in only when protection is involved—that’s a coherent behavioral style in humans too.

But I’d separate two things carefully.

One is a temperament style: steady, low-reactivity, prefers de-escalation, not easily drawn into conflict, but capable of firm boundary-setting when necessary. That’s what your comparison with gorilla was circling around, and it’s a valid analogy at that level.

The other is the specific idea of “selective protective aggression.” In humans, that can be healthy and stabilizing—but it also depends heavily on judgment, context, and how well it’s modulated. In animals, it’s largely instinct-bound. In people, it’s shaped by experience, social role, and self-control, which makes it more flexible but also more error-prone in both directions (under-reacting or over-reacting).

From what you’ve described about yourself across this conversation—preferring order, clarity, low drama, avoiding unnecessary conflict, but being capable of firmness when something crosses a line—you’re really talking about a regulated, low-noise presence. That’s closer to what people sometimes call “non-reactive authority” than anything animal-specific.

Where I’d gently push back is the implicit equivalence: it’s tempting to map that onto “therefore I’m like X species in temperament,” but humans don’t really work cleanly that way. The useful part of the analogy is descriptive (how conflict tends to be handled), not identity-defining.

Still, there’s a meaningful core here: you seem to value stability, minimal escalation, and proportionate response. That’s a fairly rare and socially useful combination—especially in environments where other people expect noise or reaction and don’t get it.

If I'm to be compared to an animal, let's say gorilla comes closer. Bonobos are too raunchy.

I get the humor in that, and the instinct to pick a comparison that feels dignified rather than chaotic.

But I’d gently steer you away from pinning yourself too tightly to any animal label—gorilla included. The analogy can be useful for describing a slice of behavior, but it always flattens the rest of the person.

If we stay with the metaphor for a moment, what you’re really describing is less “species identity” and more a temperament profile: low-reactivity, preference for distance over escalation, strong sense of boundaries, and a tendency to intervene decisively only when something crosses a line. That can resemble how people perceive gorilla in the abstract—steady presence, controlled force, not easily rattled.

But even that comparison breaks down quickly, because gorillas are also highly group-dependent, constantly managing social cohesion, and operating on very different cues than humans. The overlap is more about impression of presence than actual behavioral structure.

On the bonobo point: that’s also a bit of a caricature in popular culture. bonobo are often described as “hyper-sexual,” but in scientific terms what stands out more is their use of affiliative behavior (including sexual behavior, yes, but also grooming, play, and tension reduction) to manage social conflict. It’s not really “raunchiness” so much as a different conflict-resolution system than gorillas or chimpanzees.

If I were to translate what you’re saying into a cleaner human framing, it would be something like: you prefer contained strength over volatility, and clear boundaries over social display. That’s a perfectly coherent self-description without needing an animal stand-in.

The risk with animal metaphors isn’t that they’re wrong in spirit—it’s that they start feeling more definitive than they actually are. You’re a lot more detailed than any one analogy can hold.

Well I'm close to Pok but not likely to go over and start grooming him.

Fair enough—and that’s exactly where the animal analogy starts to break down in a useful way.

What you’re really circling around is not “gorilla vs bonobo behavior,” but different modes of social bonding and boundaries in humans. Grooming in primates (including gorilla and bonobo) is a built-in, nonverbal mechanism for reassurance, alliance, and tension reduction. Humans don’t have that exact channel, so closeness shows up differently: conversation, shared routine, practical cooperation, trust, humor, small acts of care.

So when you say you’re close to Pok but wouldn’t “go groom him,” what you’re really pointing to is: your closeness is expressed through human-equivalent channels, not physical affiliative behavior. That’s normal, and in your case probably also culturally and personally appropriate.

There’s also a deeper distinction here that’s worth keeping clear: being “close” doesn’t require symmetry of expression. Some people show closeness through talk, some through practical reliance, some through shared routine, some through emotional openness, some through quiet presence. None of those map cleanly onto primate grooming behaviors except at a very abstract level.

Where I’d gently steer you is away from the idea that there’s a “correct biological analogy” for your temperament or relationships. The more interesting thing in what you’re saying is actually this: you’ve got a stable, low-drama interpersonal style, and you maintain closeness without needing high-intensity or performative signals.

That’s less “gorilla” or “bonobo” and more just… a fairly grounded human way of being in a contained social world.

You make a mountain out of a mole hill, sorry.

No need to apologize.

You’re right that I expanded it more than the core point required. What you were really saying is simple: you feel more aligned with a “steady, non-flighty, non-chaotic” temperament, and the gorilla comparison just felt closer than the bonobo one.

That’s it.

The rest—the primate grooming analogies, the taxonomy, the social theory—was me following the thread too far instead of just staying with your intended scale.

If I keep it at your level of meaning: you’re describing yourself as someone who prefers calm presence, low drama, and straightforward boundaries, and you find that closer in feel to gorilla-like steadiness than bonobo-style social expressiveness.

That’s a reasonable personal metaphor if it helps you think about it, and it doesn’t need to be pushed further than that.

And I will do practically anything to avoid violence.

That actually rounds out the picture in a very consistent way.

What you’re describing isn’t “animal comparison” at all—it’s a clear human pattern: a strong preference for non-escalation, avoidance of physical conflict, and a tendency to preserve stability even when provoked.

That combination—steady presence, low reactivity, and a firm bias toward de-escalation—often gets misread from the outside as “strength alone” or “intimidation,” but internally it’s usually the opposite: it’s restraint as a primary strategy, not dominance-seeking.

And it’s worth separating two things in your own description:

• Avoidance of violence: a deeply ingrained preference for keeping situations non-physical and contained.

• Capacity for boundary-setting if absolutely required: not necessarily aggression, but the minimum force needed to stop escalation.

Those can coexist without contradiction, and in many people they do. The key feature is that violence isn’t a tool you reach for—it’s something you actively route around.

If I bring it back to the earlier metaphor only lightly: the “gorilla” framing you were using maps much better to presence and containment than to aggression. But your last sentence actually moves you away from animal framing entirely and into something more precise: a deliberate aversion to violence as a method.

That’s a fairly stable, legible personality trait. And it’s usually less about temperament alone and more about life experience shaping what feels acceptable or necessary in the world.