WHEN up-and-coming fashion designer JW Anderson paraded his male models down the a/w 2013 runway wearing frilly dresses, bustiers and mini-skirts — I couldn’t help but question whether or not the whole metrosexual thing had been taken a skinny jeans-belt notch too far.
Although I’m all for freedom of expression — and am certainly not against men indulging in the odd bit of pampering — for some reason I still can’t read about the latest man-frock without noticing a small smile play around my lips.
We all know that metrosexual — a buzzword for a heterosexual man whose lifestyle, concern for personal appearance, and spending habits are likened to that of a woman — has been around now since before the millenium. However recently it appears that metrosexual has now been taken to a whole new level, perhaps thanks to reality TV shows such as Geordie Shore and TOWIE.
According to a revent survey by designer secret sales website www.HushHush.com, one in ten men now admit to wearing makeup. Upon hearing this — coupled by some stark findings from myself at a recent visit to a popular Glasgow nightclub — it dawned on me that men today are now becoming far more fussed about their appearance than women are.
Just last week I was persuaded to visit a club that eventually made my eyeballs bulge like hard-boiled eggs. A club that I had heard endless jokes about previously in relation to poseur type behaviour and people standing around pouting as opposed to dancing.
“Now when we go here we can’t dance, you know, the way we normally do, like complete muppets let loose,” my friend, who was meeting someone she wanted to impress there, hissed.“What do you mean like muppets?” I recoiled, largely insulted by her accusation. However much to my amazement, I understood exactly why.
You see, the club, which I won’t name because — quite frankly — I’m too embarrassed to, contained what appeared to be the entire cast of Geordie Shore. “Look! That’s that Jay guy that was on Geordie Shore!” I elbowed my friend Natalie, pointing to a toothy, shaved-headed guy wearing fake tan the colour of Chicken Tikka. “That’s not him,” she sighed, rolling her eyes in amusement. “It’s just full of people who look like they’re from Geordie Shore.”
Ah. That’s when realisation hit. As I turned my head to stare around my room, I recognised that the hundreds of male species, most of whom eerily resembled cast-mates from that MTV programme, were actually just new age metrosexuals. I stood there in awe, people-watching for at least twenty-minutes, taking in the array of fake-baked men wearing low-cut tank tops — which were bizarrely teamed with scarves — and realised that metrosexual had been taken to a whole new level. I couldn’t help but notice how the majority of men there looked almost permanently startled, thanks to either botox or just some overtly-plucked eyebrows.
My findings felt rather disconcerting. How long it had taken these men to preen themselves before heading out? I pictured their poor girlfriends, glancing down at their watches, banging on the door to tell their men to hurry up because it had been FOUR BLOOMING HOURS. I shuddered. Fair enough, metrosexual isn’t exactly a new concept, however cocktail dresses, makeup and nail polish for men? Isn’t this just a step too far?
My concerns are mostly devoted towards thousands of wives-to-be in future — if their husbands start getting up at 6am on a Sunday to gym, tan and hammer down protein shakes — then what would they say about us when we roll out of bed for a full-english, resembling the corpse bride out of Sleepy Hollow?
I’m not sure if I like this idea of all these men becoming all scarily buff and Twittering about how many women they’ve pulled on a night out. It’s bad enough that us women are pressured to look a certain way, without our future-husbands ending up taking longer in the bathroom than we do — or worse — haranguing us for eating bread. It has to calm down now. No good can ever come of this.
It’s good to be fashionably groomed but metrosexual men, if you’re listening, please don’t take our makeup, our lengthy bathroom hogs or — horror — our carbs away from us. You’re making us look lazy.