A random thought on modern masculinity
I'm not a big believer in the cult of fake masculinity that seems to have inundated certain areas of discourse. I don't believe in manning up, I'm not a fan of overwired man caves or the notion that we need a different word for "manscaping", and I refer to my "man suit" as my skin. Because, well, that's what it is. All of these ridiculous attempts at reclaiming an imaginary heritage of machismo are I think, sops to the fact that so many jobs today involve nothing more physically strenuous than typing, attempts to reaffirm for ourselves (for certain loose values of "ourselves") that should the situation require it, we could still draw upon our latent manliness, slap on a horned helmet, and lead a viking raiding ship against the cyborg Nazi zombies of Mars. There's an insecurity there, one that ad agencies and media conglomerates are eager to fill by pouring endless drivel about being manly by wearing the right smell or having the right lawn tractor (for a patch of grass the size of a postage stamp that you don't actually want to spend the time mowing anyway) or drinking the right light beer.
All of which is, of course, idiotic. One suspects that something truer to the quintessential nature of masculinity would be about drinking whatever you damn well please, not about being shamed into ordering one light beer over another because an impossibly hot bartendress mocked you for having the wrong sunglasses. It's a false notion of masculinity, carefully cultivated and sold and having about as much to do with the real thing, whatever that might be, as it does to, say, good-tasting beer.
All that being said, a week or so ago I found myself at an excellent cocktail bar with a bunch of men who happen to be friends and coworkers, folks whose opinions I greatly respect. We ordered drinks. We talked. Some of it was about work. Some of it wasn't. The complimentary peanuts got eaten. All of it was convivial. And it was very much effortlessly that sort of masculine moment that I am so damn sick of having whiny announcers and flaccid talk radio hosts and damaged forum commenters try to force on the public to make up for their own lack of self-confidence.
Come to think of it, that - confidence - may be the key. All of us knew we belonged there. All us appreciated it. And none of us felt the need to prove a damn thing. Now put that in your man-suit and smoke it.
All of which is, of course, idiotic. One suspects that something truer to the quintessential nature of masculinity would be about drinking whatever you damn well please, not about being shamed into ordering one light beer over another because an impossibly hot bartendress mocked you for having the wrong sunglasses. It's a false notion of masculinity, carefully cultivated and sold and having about as much to do with the real thing, whatever that might be, as it does to, say, good-tasting beer.
All that being said, a week or so ago I found myself at an excellent cocktail bar with a bunch of men who happen to be friends and coworkers, folks whose opinions I greatly respect. We ordered drinks. We talked. Some of it was about work. Some of it wasn't. The complimentary peanuts got eaten. All of it was convivial. And it was very much effortlessly that sort of masculine moment that I am so damn sick of having whiny announcers and flaccid talk radio hosts and damaged forum commenters try to force on the public to make up for their own lack of self-confidence.
Come to think of it, that - confidence - may be the key. All of us knew we belonged there. All us appreciated it. And none of us felt the need to prove a damn thing. Now put that in your man-suit and smoke it.
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