Friday, April 4, 2008

Warriors Are Real Men And They Come Out To Play-eyay!


My wife and I were watching the directors cut of the Warriors last night and it was really interesting to see this film again having not seen it in several years. It has dated somewhat, despite the fact that it was meant to be set sometime in the future.The clothes the actors wore in 1979 simply don't pass for the apparel being sold in today's stores. I suppose it's conceivable that 70's fashions like the large fuck off Concorde wing collars proudly displayed on men and women's buttoned shirts could make a comeback, but I wouldn't put a large sum of money down on betting it will happen any time soon. I think trouser flares, otherwise known as bell bottoms, will continue to come and go because each generation discovers the flattering effects they have on people with chunky legs such as myself. I could never wear drainpipe jeans as a kid or as a teenager because they made me look like a strangely shaped duck arse man. It wasn't as if I was a fat child in fact I was stick thin until I turned the age of 25 easily slipping into jeans with a 21 inch waistband. No my problem was I was short and drainpipe legs were specifically designed to look better on a taller, proportioned pair of pins.

I'm sure even way back then the film looked ridiculous to the tough guys who belonged to the real gang communities in the New York area depicted in the film. However the flamboyant gang colors and costume designs were a great way to identify each street or neighborhood clan individual, and was one of the strongest and most memorable elements of the film. But real hard men wouldn't be seen dead in those kinds of "faggoty" duds. Wearing that kind of accoutrement would most certainly get you your head kicked in on the mean streets of a notoriously dangerous city in the USA or UK. Which brings me to the topic of masculinity.

I never considered myself a macho man, you know, the type that likes to get together with the guys, chug down copious amounts of beer, watch the football match = soccer game, on telly ( British slang for television ) or going out to the pubs and getting into fisticuffs ( fight ) at the end of the night because someone "looked" at you the wrong way when you had one too many to drink. No I've always loved the company of women and being involved with more feminine pursuits.

A lot of guys who go clothes shopping with their other halves find the whole process unbearably dull, and intolerable to deal with without the distraction of alcohol or food to pass the time away. I see the hurt in their eyes when I stand alongside them outside the changing rooms of a female clothing shop while we both wait for our partners to spring fourth and give us an impromptu display of form and fashion. Time and time again I find most guys give me the rolled eyes expression to articulate their feelings of impatience and displeasure with the situation. It's their way of connecting with another like-minded individual and sharing some solidarity with another human being. Of course I play along in order to make the other dude feel at ease, but in all honesty I always look forward to lending my artistic eye and giving my wife some feedback on the clothes she's trying on. I guess I will never understand the other man's grief. It's not like you're being water boarded or having your eyeballs spooned out with a jagged teaspoon. All you have to do is wait there in the relative comfort of an air conditioned room and wait until you are asked to participate in the duty of decision making. It's not that hard and sometimes you get to sit in a comfy chair while you do this. So what if the female in your life can't make up her mind and has to visit and revisit various retailers for several hours until she's sure of what she wants it's a small price to pay for a happy coexistence.



If I happen to be wearing a baseball cap when accompanying my wife on our shopping jaunts this invariably prompts further interaction with blokes who are impatiently tapping their feet and shifting uncomfortably from side to side until their companions emerge from the mysterious aperture of the women's changing room. The reason for the verbal interplay is brought about by the fact that most of my hats usually have a sports team logo printed or sewn onto the front of them.

I buy hats that look good on my head. I have a very large forehead so to counteract the immensity of skull flesh on display I like to cover up. I buy hats that also suit the shape of my face ones that will slim my features down. I buy hats with colors and logos that I find attractive. I do not buy hats because I support a baseball team. In fact I don't know much about baseball at all and I never felt the need to get into it. Baseball just doesn't interest me. My lack of familiarity and enthusiasm for the sport often leads to very difficult conversations with those in the know, and I found that if I just keep my side of the chat to " yeah's " and let the other guy do all work I can come through it reasonably unabashed.

I didn't realize clothes were such a big part of American cultural identity until I moved here. Don't get me wrong; in Britain it's a similar situation. You are judged by how you look and what you wear to a certain degree but it's not on as grand a scale as it is in in the Land of Uncle Sam. A large percentage of society has been preprogrammed by the media and fashion police to invalidly assert that specific styles equate to a person's individuality, professionalism, intelligence and good standing in the community. It's bullshit. These archaic principles all adhere to the rule that the clothes maketh the man, but sensible, informed people know better, but unfortunately official bodies like to stick us with these antiquated protocols at work and at play and like the mindless sheep we are taught to be, a lot of us do not question or disobey these rules.

The style of clothing we wear is not an equivalent to ones individuality, it is simply a means of expressing ones individuality and probably in most cases not a very good marker for expressing a persons individuality when you consider we can only buy what clothes retailers sell us, the choices are not infinite.

The most commonly touted benefits for wearing casual clothing in a professional working environment has been improved morale, increased worker productivity, more open communication between staff and managers, cost savings to employees because casual wear is less expensive, and improved quality of work. The few pitfalls caused by a casual working environment have all been cited by the old guard a generation of people who stick rigidly to obsolete beliefs because it makes them feel in control and comfortable in their surroundings. All the complaints come from a place where the practice of " dressing down" is only practiced on one day of the week. The confusion of not knowing what to wear would be virtually eliminated if you could go casual every single day. People eventually get into the groove if given enough time to settle into a routine. The arguments for the lack of uniformity and conformity are valid depending on which profession you're talking about. I think those are a matter of executive decision.

Intelligence comes from the wearer of the clothes and in no way do the clothes have some invisible union with the brain. Here is a link http://www.worldnetdaily.com/news/article.asp?ARTICLE_ID=54984 to a funny article on a the web which takes a satirical look at an IQ test involving the use of baseball caps.

As for good standing in the community... well, we all know how our perceptions of the holier than thou, frock wearing priests have been turned upside down after one sex abuse scandal after another. Yet bikers continue to get the bad rap simply because they have a penchant for wearing leather, have long hair and like to bike the open roads. The fuds of the world regard them with distain and consider these individuals raunchy, boozy, dangerous, unsavory misfits, who happen to raise millions of dollars for children's charities everywhere.

After watching the Warriors together my wife said to me the next morning that it was refreshing to see a man with chest hair. I believe she was referring to the character named Vermin played by Terry Michos. In the film he wore a leather waistcoat unbuttoned exposing his manly man of a hairy chest. This after all was the era of the Bee Gees, golden medallions resting upon weaves of virile fur. It was perfectly acceptable in those days to look like this; in fact it was preferred,
but at some point in the 80's it became unfashionable to have body hair anywhere except on top of your head or face. People like Arnold Schwarzenegger and Sylvester Stallone shaved their chest hair in order to show off their muscles.


The Glam Rock and New Romance movements of the music scene encouraged guys to wear make up, shave unwanted body hair and in some respects transform their appearance to that of a more androgynous creature. This, I think, was the beginning of the end for guys with their fair share of animalistic, naturalistic body coats. I have chest hair and my wife loves it. In fact when we first met, I was a patient in hospital and she was the nurse assigned to my ward and she tells me that seeing my chest hair under my open pajama top was one of the first things that attracted
her to me. My stepson's girlfriend absolutely hates body hair on a man so the poor kid has to shave all the time to keep her happy. The aversion to this kind of hair has grown to pandemic proportions. This younger generation of girls want their male bodies bald and soft to the touch and won't accept anything less than artificial perfection. Maybe this is payback for all the years men told women to get bigger tits and plumper lips and shave their bushes away until no hair was present. Indeed something has changed the public consciousness in regard to what is pleasing to the eyes, the fingers
and the nose.


Guys have lapped up the trend to become more feminine just like the poor teenage girls who became anorexic and bulimic in their singular quest to try and become the impossibly unattainable Barbie body beautiful. Guys bathroom medicine cabinets are now stocked full of all manner of creams, potions and lotions when once there may have been only some toothpaste, shaving cream, and a bar of soap on the sink basin. The female only domain of moisturizers and exfoliates has now been invaded by the enemy.

So where does this leave me? I don't shave my chest hair. I don't use any health and beauty products. A bar of soap a flannel and some shampoo does me fine. I have no need for conditioners, hair gels or waxes, styling mousse etc. By these standards I should be considered a throwback, but on the other hand I like shopping with my wife and I hate sports and beer. So what the fuck does that make me? A metro sexual? Not quite, not by the definition of that word. I guess I'm just complicated and maybe there are other fellows out there who are equally complicated and refuse to be pigeon holed and categorized. Perhaps there are people out there like me who are disgusted at how superficial both males and females have become and are sad that we can't just be ourselves anymore. In a way, watching a 70's film like this reminded me of freer times when men could be men and women could be women, more or less. It's funny the things that go through your head when viewing a film full of beefy testosterone action.

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