Question: What is all this New Age Man rubbish? Metro sexual? What? Basically it’s supposed to mean that we have been delivered from the Neanderthal attitudes of men who used to holler out sexist comments at busty blondes and guzzle pints of Stella Artois at the same time.
Instead, a woman can now look forward to spending weekends traipsing round IKEA for “this, like, amazing retro lamp I saw in GQ.” She can look forward to standing outside the bathroom door in the freezing cold mornings, screaming “You bastard, I’m late for work, you’ve been in the bath for an HOUR!” Because of course he now has to exfoliate, cleanse, tone and moisturise. And to add insult to injury, it’s not even like he’s stealing your cosmetics any more. Oh no. He has his own (far superior, I might add) Clinique for Men range.
One evening perhaps he looks a little low. So having studied the intricacies of the English Premier League to please him, you take his hand and begin to gently inquire about the continuing crapness of Arsenal this season.
Then he turns to you; his eyes brimming with tears that begin to fall down his alarmingly polished cheeks. He sighs heavily and explains that actually, his limited edition Ralph Lauren fragrance has sold out, and Paul from next door got the last retro lamp they had in IKEA…
…Of course you don’t hear the end of the lament because you’ve dropped his silky smooth, lightly fragranced hand and run screaming for the hills.
All these points were further emphasised during a conversation with a friend of mine. She was telling me about her latest crush, and it was all going well until suddenly she sighed and said, “But…” And I thought to myself, “Aah.” After all, there’s always something, isn’t there? If he doesn’t secretly wear women’s panties, he collects dead lizards or something equally disturbing.
So she wails, “I can’t stand it. He’s so cute, but it’s getting ridiculous. He came over the other night and scolded me for not having decent toner!” I nodded in sympathy and she choked out bitterly, “And he keeps hassling me about having regular deep-conditioning done on my hair. He even recommended some products and hounded me until I bought them.”
So here’s a note for the men (or should I say “men” because I daresay some specimens are a shoddy example). Please. Grow. Some. Balls. Do some push-ups or something. Forgive me, but I’m not here for this new age crap. I want a man who is strong, fast, and fresh from the fight, dammit. Barrel-chested and gruff. Preferably in an oil-stained t-shirt. Because he’s spent the entire day fixing his truck, not relaxing at a frigging health spa. I mean for God’s sake.
And heaven FORBID that his hair be shinier than mine.