IS A METROSEXUAL THE NEW AGED GUY???
The modern man who cares about the right clothes, the right grooming products and the right restaurants. Think David Beckham and you've got the general idea.
We might as well get this over with at the start: I don't believe in "metrosexuals" and neither should you. Men are men. They are hairier and stupider than us girls but they can shoot straight. Ok we now have a dilemma, on one hand you want your guy to be Real Man - a protector, provider and arouser. But on the other hand you want him to be a Metro Man - well groomed, sensitive, and upwardly mobile. What strange qualities does each possess that might enable us girls to construct the Ultimate Male.
Lets start with the basics however harsh they may appear. A Real Man is straight and straight up. A Metro Man is androgynous, the fruit hard work of and honestly, a marriage of advertising and ego as characterised by Metro Man poster boys such as Ian Thorpe and Becks.
A Real Man had character while the Metro Man has an "identity". The Metro Man is the label on his clothes, badge on his car, title on his business card. He is his salary. He weighs his contemporaries by their handshakes and judges them by their ties. He pays over $20 for a hair cut and he considers truffle frittata incomplete without drizzling in jus.
Unlike Metro Man, Real Man has testicles and balls. That means having the balls to get and select his wardrobe for the day by applying odour tests to the clothes left arranged ever so slightly on the floor. The balls to moisturise but calling it showering. The balls to splash on a sent and call it deodorant. And believe it or not a Real Man is in touch with his inner feelings. That's why he's always touching himself.
A Metro Man is at ease with the ways of women. He knows where to shop, understands the rudiments of exfoliation and he works for half an hour each day on his hair to ensure he looks just like he got out of bed. he saves for Gucci not Bludstone and snorts at King Gee while slavering over Calibre. He's a girls man - preening and primping, and possessing a disturbing talent for spotting a bargain while maintaining a back catalogue of The Secret Life of Us and Sex and The City Videos.
A Real Man craves the company of women but depends on the fellowship of men. He's a pack animal. Like a dog prone to running around with his tongue hanging out, spreading his sent and humping your leg when his blood is up.
A Metro Man is capable of a meaning relationship, but he's in love with his own reflection. He's a hypochondriac, clucking over his chipped fingernails, cursing over his split ends, and carrying on like an old woman about how little bounce there is in his hair. Narcissism is his religion. The only altar he worships is his mirror. What a bitch Metro Man is.
A Real Man doesn't go to the doctor. It's part of his innate stupidity - and lovability. He'd rather die than be called a coward. Real Man doesn't go to gyms either. He pays homage to his ape forefathers by swinging on monkey bars for exercise. He'll chop up wood , run in soft sand and do push ups - anything to appear less ridiculous in the nude. If that means exercise then so be it.
A Metro Man is dangerously obsessed with his penis. It's his be -all and end-all - his compass driving rod and member in the upper and lower houses. That's why his cars are big his suits are slick and his upper lip is stiff - everything in his pants isn't.
A Real Man isn't worried about the size of his penis. Sure there's not one guy who wouldn't blow up a panda farm for a extra inch. but no. Real Man accepts the sword he's given and strives only to wield it as best he can.
The Real Man only wishes that he could convince us girls to think the same way.