Animal #01: The Polar Bear – Queen of Ice, Rage, and Survival

Let’s not waste time pretending this wasn’t inevitable.

The polar bear is my number one favourite animal in the entire world. Not because it’s the softest (it’s not), the cutest (sometimes), or the easiest to love (absolutely not). But because it is the perfect contradiction: majestic and murderous, adorable and apocalyptic, gentle with cubs and fully capable of hunting you down across a frozen wasteland for 3 days straight just to prove a point.

You know. Aspirational.

Not White. Not Nice. Not Here for Your Expectations.

Let’s start with the obvious: polar bears are not actually white. Their fur is translucent and hollow, and their skin underneath is black—because of course it is. Of course the most iconic white animal in the world is secretly a goth.

Their coat reflects light, giving them their snow-coloured glow, but in reality, they are just frosty little tricksters wandering the Arctic with Don’t approach me energy and You couldn’t survive what I’ve survived eyes.

They are also not soft. They are thick, oily, and smell vaguely like wet dog and existential dread.

And yet—stunning.

The Largest Land Carnivore on Earth, No Notes

Polar bears are big. Not “oh wow, that’s large” big—terrifyingly, awe-inspiringly huge.

Adult males can weigh up to 1,500 pounds and stand 10 feet tall when on their hind legs. That’s basically a fluffy, emotionally repressed SUV with claws.

Their paws are the size of dinner plates. Their noses can smell a seal from kilometres away under the ice. Their stride says, “I have never lost a fight, and I don’t intend to start now.”

They don’t just survive in the Arctic—they rule it.

The Diet? Absolutely Unhinged.

Polar bears eat mostly seals, but calling it “eating” doesn’t quite capture the vibe. They stalk the sea ice, waiting for a seal to pop up for air, then strike like a ghost-powered missile.

They don’t chew. They crush.

They also occasionally eat belugas, walrus carcasses, other polar bears (yes, cannibalism), and in desperate cases, garbage. So basically, they are powerful apex predators with the occasional chaotic snack spiral.

And, fun fact: their liver is so rich in Vitamin A it can literally poison humans. Which feels very on-brand for something that looks like a plush toy but is actually a biological death machine.

Cubs, Claws, and Cold Nights

Despite being terrifying, polar bear mothers are some of the most protective and nurturing in the animal kingdom. They dig snow dens, hunker down in total darkness, and go months without food to keep their newborn cubs safe.

When they emerge, the cubs are tiny, fuzzy, and weirdly cheerful for animals whose lives will consist entirely of freezing wind and running from adult males.

The mother? Exhausted. Furious. Hungry. Ready to kill. An icon.

Solitude Is a Sport, and the Polar Bear Is Winning

Polar bears are solitary unless mating, which—spoiler alert—is rare and does not involve candles, music, or even basic decency. They find each other, awkwardly do the thing, and then immediately go their separate ways. The male leaves. The female raises the cubs. She does not miss him. She does not look back. She thrives.

Honestly? Relatable.

They wander thousands of kilometres in a year. Alone. In silence. Through ice and snow and climate-induced devastation. And they do it without complaint. Without company. Without quitting.

Again: aspirational.

Global Warming’s Most Photogenic Victim

No other animal has become the face of climate change quite like the polar bear. And that’s not because they’re more important—it’s because their survival is so visibly, heartbreakingly affected.

Melting sea ice is destroying their hunting grounds, forcing them to swim farther, starve longer, and show up in human settlements with a look that says, “I did not ask to be here. You did this.”

The polar bear has become a symbol of what we’re losing—and the cost of pretending it’s not happening.

And yet, they keep going.

Ten feet tall. Alone. In the wind.

The Polar Bear Is Not Your Friend. And That’s Why I Love Her.

The polar bear is not here to comfort you. She is not here to entertain you. She is not here to be cute, marketable, or palatable.

She is power wrapped in fur.
She is rage given paws.
She is the last one standing when the ice melts.

She is dangerous, dignified, and doing her best with what she’s been given.

And for all of those reasons—and about a hundred more—she is my number one.

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