GIRLS, PLEASE SAY SOMETHING, ANYTHING
The Guys Need Help … Tout de Suite …
This mess has gone beyond My Humble, Always Jaded Opinion … from Bad Sci-Fi to The Un-See-Able Mortification of Vanity.
An intervention of Armageddon proportion is needed to Save The Males from Themselves, because the Ragazzi are not going to do it alone.
… I Promise To Help Where I Can, But Please Keep In Mind I May Be Part Of The Problem.
METROSEXUALITY ISN’T NEW
Men Have Been Grooming Themselves For Millenia …
Mr. Beckham – one of The Spice Boys – right, I know he Didn’t Start The Fire, but heck if Sir David doesn’t do a swell job of looking the part.
Prehistoric Beck wannabes looked first to their Canine Besties for inspiration, and then, well, that turned out to be something completely different. Dogs do what they do. Envy, much? To the Undercarriage. Never Mind.
Thus, Skivvies – underwear – became the must have Crudité of 13th Century Fashionista’s in The Mongol Empire … the movement to Cover Up – migrated across Europe as manly Scotsmen started donning Spandex Pull-Ups, ending the Ages Old Cry of What’s Under The Kilt, Angus?
Obviously Lives Here at Kuched.
Been providing a Safe House & Mirrored Sanctuary for Narcissists-in-Recovery
And, Those Pompous Bastards Cursed With High Cheek Bones & Squinty Blue Eyes …
… Survivors of Smack’able Face Syndrome.
Was An Obvious Solution …
Soap entered the routine around 1550 BC. Crazy Rich Egyptians Scrub-A-Dub-Dubbing on the Banks of the Nile.
Floatable Rubber Ducks debuted in 1940.
… Splish-Splash we were on to something big.
MINIMALISM IN MAN-SCAPING
Has Gone Further Than The Essential Grooming …
Stone Cold Killer Smooth has triumphed in the War of Vanity over Cheveux Naturels as the game – Playing Field – migrated South Down The Goodie Trail to establish The Hair Minimum or Not At All.
Suddenly, we lost our minds, masculinity morphed into something unrecognizable, we started muttering in Portuguese then Blamed It On Rio.
… And, in two easy Hot Wax Strips, everyone went from Yeti to Brazilian …
MAN BUNS VS MAN BRAIDS
I Need A Moment … A Pause To Dissuade Judgement – I’m skipping The Why? – And, going straight to Yeah, He Did!
My adorable intolerance of Dirty Hair Buns On Dudes has been placated by the emergence of Dirtier Man Braids … No hate – think Under-Loved or deferred appreciation.
I’ll come around, eventually, warm to the Challah Bread-inspired woven knots atop every fifth Hipster’s Melon.
Looking at you, Marshall. You’re no urban Viking. Ragnar Lothbrok would not approve.
IS THAT A SPIDER OR A BUTTERFLY?
Sitting On Your Eyelashes …
Couple Wednesday’s back, I’m standing crossed-armed – Got My Attitudinizer / Poseur Mode Dialed-In-Deep – abiding in the hellish cue at the local Starbuck’s … indecisive about Exactly How Much I’d Be Willing To Overpay For A Foamy Cup Of Latte?
$11 nine bucks sounds about right when The Darling Barista – Antoine was it? – interrupts my Daydream About Night Things … Afternoon Delight, with an elevated pitch, “Heeeeeeeeeeeeeey.”
… I’m not a “Heeeeeeeeeeeeeey” Guy. Nowhere close to it. Habitually, I’m slanted to non-elevated greetings. Because I’m Reverent As A Cucumber. Damn It.
I STARE IN PUBLIC BECAUSE I HAVE ISSUES
Like This: Jaw Dropped. Mouth Opened. Lower Lip Quivering. Unblinking. There May’ve Been A Tear.
I catch my inner voice go outer – An Out-of-Mouth Experience – loud enough to be audible to the construction workers outside jackhammering the sidewalk away:
I point with my chin at It.
It being when did the disenfranchised cast of Le Cage aux Folles start tending the Faema at ‘Bucky’s … And, Why Didn’t My Agent Get Me An Audition?
Swirling Lactose Behind The Counter … Was All In, Witness The Samurai’d “Up Do”.
Butterflied Lashes Glittering Under Impossibly Illuminated Brows. Fabulous doesn’t come cheap or easy in the Decadence of Shee-Shee.
There’s too little Joie de Vivre Floating The Boats In The Harbor.
So, I buy in. It’s not Me. But, I get It.
Is, Um, Still A Face Tat – Remarkably Like The Kind You Get In Prison – Except You Don’t Get A Homey C-Block Discount …
You know, that Sh!t doesn’t wash off, right?
“Does Dad Know About This?”
And, also, if you hadn’t neutered your man-brows – plucked, electrolys’ized them to threaded Smithereens – I’d have nothing to write about. So, Thanks, Antoine.
MANI PEDI – THE CURE
I Went To School With A Guy Named Manuel Peddy …
He had impeccable nails. Soft hands. Feet, too. What I hear.
Anyway, Mr. Peddy eventually went on to open a string of Aesthetician Studios.
Thus, the Obvious … in case you’re ever quizzed where the term originated … now, you know. Because Revisionist History just isn’t a Propaganda Teaching Rubric, its A State Of Mind.
From The Way, Way Back … Exfoliating Scrubs Was My Gateway Indulgence To The Heavier Stuff …
Charcoal Face Wash. Clay Masks. Purifying Mud.
Dramatically Different was what I was after. Pretty sure I nailed it.
… Mon Dieu, Homme cannot subsist of Hydrating Tonics alone.
LIKE ITS 1984 NOW
The Statute Of Limitations On Confessions Of Curious Choices …
Just expired on this one. So, here are the only 9 words to recount The Horror:
Culture Club in Concert. Boy George. Karma, Karma Chameleon.
… I Haven’t Had A Good Night’s Sleep Since.