Wednesday, 26 November 2008
It’s a question I’ve given thought to for as long as people have tried to convince me that pink is indeed my colour. Contrary to common clichés my disregard isn’t a matter of discomfort with my sexuality. My Oyster card simply doesn’t cover the bandwagon.
A broad misconception of the metrosexual is that he is the grey area between the hetero and homosexual male; I find this reasoning unfounded. I am also indifferent to ideas that are heavily anchored by the metrosexual’s fashion sense. Are we so quick to forget the skinny jeans and tight T-Shirts of Grease’s T-Birds, and Danny’s compulsion to ensure his hair was always kept in righteous order? Replace the leather jacket with a cardigan (which Danny eventually did) and we have today’s man.
So why then is a metrosexual? Well it’s more to do with social evolution than androgyny. And knowing how narrow minded we men can be, would it be so far fetched to pitch that this wave of image consciousness and liberal mind states is all a bid to improve our chances of getting laid? To swipe a term from Neil Strauss’ No. 1 bestseller The Game (the autobiography of a pick up artist), it appears that the metro is on a twenty-four hour peacocking binge.
“PEACOCK-verb; ‘to dress in loud clothing or with flashy accoutrements in order to get attention from women…”
The metro’s uniform is of importance and I do not wish to downplay this aspect. Their brash splashes of pastels and flashy accoutrements are arguably as noteworthy to their identity as black apparel is to Goths. The fashion codes may allow you to point out stereotypes and sub-cultures, but it doesn’t provide a clear indication of what they’re all about.
You see, this most certainly is a man’s world, but it wouldn’t be nothing without a woman. The further we drift from the creation of fire, the wheel, and the brilliance of sliced bread, the more this becomes undeniable. The liberal perception of the metrosexual stems from his acceptance of female independence in the Western world. A man’s car no longer holds defining value as it’s now more likely a woman will have her own. If a fight breaks out she’ll have her earrings off and hair tied back before a punch is landed. And what can he buy her that she can’t get herself . . . in the correct size with matching accessories?
It was once our differences that drew men and women together. As these differences have gradually dissolved men have sought alternative and less primitive methods of snaring their prey. Metrosexuality in this case is an expression of the similarities between men and women, simultaneously associating itself with stereotypes of homosexuality. After all, if you can’t beat them join them.
All is not lost for the macho, macho man. You’d lose a fair bit of money betting against a woman’s yearn for a man in uniform, hard hats, or Diet Coke breaks. The metro’s cutting edge is that he picks and chooses from the general consensus of what women want. He can keep the muscles and drop the dirty nails; the Timberland’s are traded in for plimsolls.
Modern men, regardless the colours of our shirts are dropping chauvinistic tendencies for more open-minded principles. And no one is waving the flag with more vigor than the metrosexual.
A to the . . .