When Men Were Men

Welcome back folks; hope you’ve enjoyed the break. Today we are going to explore the late twentieth century Metrosexual movement, discussing whether it liberated or destroyed the social mores of the time. We shall end with a case study that I hope illuminates some of the points of debate.

It may come as a surprise to you all, but there was a time when you knew who the straight men were. You could identify them by their over-sized Metallica t-shirts, uncontrolled facial hair and the unique smell you get when you follow a 4-day pattern of wearing underpants forwards/backwards/inside-out forwards/inside-out backwards before washing them.

In this world the gay male moved as a beacon of style, emotional intelligence, wit and charisma. Women wanted to date them and steal their skin products, straight men wanted their rakishly bouffanted hair, and the elderly thought that anyone who looks that good couldn’t possibly do those awful things to each other. They were golden times.

Then came the Metrosexual, and suddenly the gay man was nothing special any more. Thorpedo wore a white Valentino suit and designed his own pearl jewellery while telling the world he liked the ladies. Goldenballs grew his hair long and announced that all men were allowed to cry at small kittens and eat haloumi. The universe was undone overnight.

In its place a new world of social anarchy emerged where no one was ever quite sure of the rules. To illustrate this point I have brought along a video captured in the late-Noughties. You’ll find the transcript in your lecture notes.

The video shows a gay male out with friends on a Hen’s Night in Brighton. He is able to flout the traditional male-female Stag-Hen division thanks to Metrosexuality, and also to enter a predominantly heterosexual environment unchallenged. As the video begins the subject is approached by a large man with a shaven head; you can identify the gay male by his elaborately detailed pirate costume and ravishing good looks.


Start of video

Rugby Thug: “Hey mate! Wow, cool pirate costume!”

HW: [Oh god, is this how it ends? Beaten to a pulp and left to die in a Walkabout, my precious life-blood mixing with the sheen of spilt lager, vomit and discarded dreams that lacquer its foul floorboards? Fie on't, ah fie, fie!]. “Ummmm, thanks.”

RT: “Where did you get it?”

HW: [Recalling that – outside of London – conversations with strangers don’t necessarily precursor to a knife in the ribs]. “Ah, mostly I made it myself.”

RT: “Cool.” Pointing to the other clientele of the Walkabout dressed as pirates; “And are these your mates?”

HW: [No idiot, they’re my backing singers. What do you think?] “Yep.”

RT: “Nice. These are my mates here.” Indicates cast of Romper Stomper milling behind him.

HW: [Brilliant. GAY MAN DIES IN NAUTICAL HATE-CRIME. My mum is going to be so proud].

RT: “We’re out celebrating too. So, when’s your big day?”

HW: “Pardon?”

RT: “Mine’s in two weeks. I can’t wait. So, what’s the lucky lady up to while you’re out having one last go at it?”

End of video.


Yes, you’ll notice that the rugby thug thinks that the man dressed as a pirate, who is wearing a gold hooped earring, a pearl bracelet and mascara, who’s friends are 5 women and a gay man, and who’s pirate neighbour is wearing a 12-inch badge which says “Look out! Hen Night About”, is about to marry a WOMAN.

Social anarchy in its purest form.

And that’s all we’ve go time for. Leave your homework at the door on your way out, and tomorrow I want 500 words on Johnny Depp: how one man made seamen hot again.