For starters, trees don’t deal with dating apps. No swiping, no ghosting, no awkward small talk—just standing tall, minding their own business, and letting the right creatures come to them. No one asks a tree, “Why are you still single?” or “Aren’t you worried about your biological clock?”—because trees are out here living for centuries with zero pressure.
Trees also don’t have to shrink themselves to make others comfortable. No one tells a tree it’s too much—too emotional, too ambitious, too loud. They just keep growing unapologetically, stretching toward the sun, taking up as much space as they need. Meanwhile, women are constantly expected to balance confidence with humility, ambition with likability, and independence with the ability to nurture. A tree? It just exists in all its glory, no apologies necessary.
And let's talk about beauty standards. A tree never worries about its leaves being the wrong shape, its bark looking “too old,” or whether it’s summer-body ready. Meanwhile, women are bombarded with ever-changing beauty trends, trying to keep up with unrealistic expectations. Trees shed their leaves in the fall and still get admired—imagine being celebrated for aging naturally instead of being pressured to fight it.
Finally, trees have deep roots. They’re supported by an underground network that helps them grow, connect, and thrive. Women, on the other hand, often have to fight to find that kind of support in a world that still expects them to do it all.
So yeah, being a tree sounds pretty great. No dating drama, no unrealistic expectations, no constant emotional labor—just steady growth, deep roots, and the freedom to be exactly what they are.
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