Dear Fashionable Gentlemen;
We know that you primp, preen and hone yourself to as close to perfection as your physique and modern cosmetic technology will allow you. By ‘we’ I mean the female population in general and we, the part of the female population that appreciates your efforts to catch our interest, can completely sympathize with the pains you put up with simply for our benefit (I suppose it’s really all to your benefit if you are getting the attention, but that’s beside the point.). Regrettably, a sizable share of you has taken the task of preening too far. Luckily for you, however, a large proportion of the above mentioned women who, as much as this may personally bewilder me, more than simply value those of you who are well groomed, but swoon over men with perfect tans, frosted tips and that oh-so masculine diamond earring hanging off of your earlobes. Fine; I’m sure your matching tans and Luis Vuitton purses will look great together.
Over time, I have learned to repress my gag reflex (as it really is rather unhealthy to heave so often) when I happen to run into those of you who spend more time on your two inches of one hundred and fifty dollar hair than I did on my entire outfit before heading to the bar that night. Despite obvious distaste and a general disapproval for men who remind me more of my female friends than of those with bits that dangle, I have come to accept that you will forever be a part of the social scene. The past three years or so, however, have brought a new idea to the ‘fashion’ stage that has left me completely bewildered and near incapable of speech. It is just that horrendous.
Why the fuck would you shave racing stripes into the sides of your heads?
Do they make you go faster? (which is not something you should be advertising to get sex anyway) Is it perhaps an accelerator to your love lives that I have failed to notice? I suppose it is plausible that in my distaste for men like you, I have somehow managed to block an innate female draw to men with stripes by their temples. That must be it! The patterns you dropped your last pay cheque for (or had your mother cut in her kitchen) must be some sort of archaic natural symbolism designed to draw us females into your arms and bedrooms. Better yet, it is entirely possible that those outlines were not even a result of conscious design but rather that of a vicious street fight in which you were repeatedly knifed across the temple and nowhere else, thanks to your incredible testosterone drive and the inevitable defeat of your attacker.
…Right. As a gesture of peace, however, I wholeheartedly allow you to take those excuses as your own and run with it if you still feel the need to flex your waxed, cheddar-coloured arms and zoom by us ladies at the bars. Whenever you see any of us smiling at you from the dance floor, try not to ponder too deeply into whether we’re smiling at you or if we are really reading the message shaved into the side of your head; you’ll just end up lowering your hard earned self-esteem.
We know that you primp, preen and hone yourself to as close to perfection as your physique and modern cosmetic technology will allow you. By ‘we’ I mean the female population in general and we, the part of the female population that appreciates your efforts to catch our interest, can completely sympathize with the pains you put up with simply for our benefit (I suppose it’s really all to your benefit if you are getting the attention, but that’s beside the point.). Regrettably, a sizable share of you has taken the task of preening too far. Luckily for you, however, a large proportion of the above mentioned women who, as much as this may personally bewilder me, more than simply value those of you who are well groomed, but swoon over men with perfect tans, frosted tips and that oh-so masculine diamond earring hanging off of your earlobes. Fine; I’m sure your matching tans and Luis Vuitton purses will look great together.
Over time, I have learned to repress my gag reflex (as it really is rather unhealthy to heave so often) when I happen to run into those of you who spend more time on your two inches of one hundred and fifty dollar hair than I did on my entire outfit before heading to the bar that night. Despite obvious distaste and a general disapproval for men who remind me more of my female friends than of those with bits that dangle, I have come to accept that you will forever be a part of the social scene. The past three years or so, however, have brought a new idea to the ‘fashion’ stage that has left me completely bewildered and near incapable of speech. It is just that horrendous.
Why the fuck would you shave racing stripes into the sides of your heads?
Do they make you go faster? (which is not something you should be advertising to get sex anyway) Is it perhaps an accelerator to your love lives that I have failed to notice? I suppose it is plausible that in my distaste for men like you, I have somehow managed to block an innate female draw to men with stripes by their temples. That must be it! The patterns you dropped your last pay cheque for (or had your mother cut in her kitchen) must be some sort of archaic natural symbolism designed to draw us females into your arms and bedrooms. Better yet, it is entirely possible that those outlines were not even a result of conscious design but rather that of a vicious street fight in which you were repeatedly knifed across the temple and nowhere else, thanks to your incredible testosterone drive and the inevitable defeat of your attacker.
…Right. As a gesture of peace, however, I wholeheartedly allow you to take those excuses as your own and run with it if you still feel the need to flex your waxed, cheddar-coloured arms and zoom by us ladies at the bars. Whenever you see any of us smiling at you from the dance floor, try not to ponder too deeply into whether we’re smiling at you or if we are really reading the message shaved into the side of your head; you’ll just end up lowering your hard earned self-esteem.
No comments:
Post a Comment