Death To Metrosexuals
August 20, 2008
7:40 AM CST
Sorry, but I roffled at this article:
Throw out the sarongs. Bin the man mascara. Yes, the ‘retrosexuals’ are coming, real men who are determined to banish the metrosexual for ever and return the modern man to his former status as a simple, masculine being who knows what he likes and his place in the world.
That wasn’t the cause of the ROFL, however. This was:
It was my girlfriend’s fault. Not content with the tight drainpipe trousers and Day-Glo tops she’d insisted I start wearing, the nightly chats about my apparently ‘pent-up’ feelings, and the staring at me after a forced viewing of yet another romantic comedy, waiting for me to cry, she then decided I should wear mascara - to the pub.
It was the Nineties, the nation was idolising pretty-boy David Beckham, and men in their 20s and 30s had been indoctrinated with the idea that what women really wanted were metrosexual pushovers. So, yes, I succumbed to her soothing suggestion that a little eye make-up would be ‘cool’.
But 15 minutes later, having bumped into an incredulous, sarcastic colleague in the boozer, I was back home angrily washing my face clean. That night I binned my Clinique moisturiser, GQ magazines and volumising hairspray - and then I dumped the girlfriend, too. I suddenly realised that metrosexuality was a game I shouldn’t be in; why on earth, I wondered, were men trying to imitate women?
Well, yes: the answer lies in the very first sentence: ”It was my girlfriend’s fault.”
You fucking girlyman. You let your girlfriend decide your appearance and your lifestyle, and then blame her when your friend called you a nancy-boy?
Gah. One of the (very few) nice things that came from the publication of That Essay was the realization that not only did other men feel the way I did, but that a huge number of women felt the same way. Indeed: I would say that of the many thousands of emails from men, about 80% were “attaboy!” in nature—but I can count on one hand the number of women who disagreed with me, out of a thousand-odd emails from the Opposite Sex.
Even more interesting was the number of women who told me that they had once been attached to metrosexual men, but soon tired of them, and tossed them aside for men who were, well, men and not ur-women. And were now as happy as could be, content in their role as women, while the men were being men, and the women loved them for it.
In fact, although I know that mnost of my Lady Readers are attached, and well so, to Real Men, I would suggest that if any casual Lady Reader is unhappy with their current relationship, they should check for signs of metrosexuality in her partner. If the Metro Quotient is high, I would bet money that the lady’s unhappiness would disappear if she tossed the girlyman out of her life, and found instead a man who was not afraid of being a man.
I’m not going to run through the checklist, because that just causes trouble, and I’m sick of fighting that battle. Instead, I’m going to ask my Lady Readers to do what they’re always asking men to do: examine their feelings, and go with their natural instinct.
Nor, of course, am I suggesting that ladies resort to “cavemen” types—that’s going to cause unhappiness of a different kind altogether—but I think we all know what I am talking about here.
Let me end with this quote:
We have been turned into asexual creatures barely worthy of the name - strange, uncomfortable beings whose self-esteem has been eroded, whose needs had been ignored and desires suppressed.
No, we haven’t. Any man who allows himself to be turned into an asexual creature deserves all that he gets.
I treat this “retrosexual” nonsense with scorn. When you never left in the first place, there is no “retro”.
