FOUND myself at a conference the other week in a motel, on a roundabout, in the middle of three motorways near Coventry. Well some people have all the luck. But over a late night session in the bar the topic of metrosexuals came up. Metro what? Well it seems that while I’ve been swanning around the Mediterranean, a phenomenon came and went in the Big Smoke.
I was with a group of thirty-something London males: well dressed, arty, flirty and all very pretty. “Hadn’t I heard of the term metrosexual?” “Well no” But now I have, and I think I’ve spotted quite a few here in Cyprus. The urban dictionary defines it “A straight guy who’s so cool, smart, attractive, stylish, and cultured, that everyone thinks he’s gay.
But he’s so secure in his masculinity that he doesn’t care.” I tried this definition out on a particularly butch male mate. “Bollocks” he said. “They are gay, just don’t want you to know.”
But I disagree; I have definitely seen the trend towards dandies returning, for this is after all what we are talking about. Men who wouldn’t have been out of place in the vanities of the late eighteenth century: those men who loved the finer things in life. Baudelaire wrote that dandyism elevated aesthetics to a type of religion. For anyone who is a follower of Six Nations Rugby, I think we can safely say that most prop forwards are the antithesis of dandyism, but maybe I’m wrong, maybe they emerge from the showers, smelling as sweet as the English rose on their shirts and nattily don their brocade waistcoats with a cheeky knotted cravat.
Brad Pitt, David Beckham and, of course, Captain Jack Sparrow with his camp love of clothes and hip wiggle might all qualify. But it seems to me that David Bowie and Mick got there before them, with their gender bending eye shadow and drainpipe trousers.
There is even a website called metrosexual, where our latter day Beau Brummells can get advice on body washes and bespoke tailoring; discreet little bangles and eyebrow shaping.
But my newfound metrosexual friends had other ideas about its definition: they weren’t just wanton wastrels, narcissists; they could cook and talk about their emotions. They went to hair stylists and the gym, had personal trainers and man bags. They knew how to knot their stripey scarf like Sebastian Flyte and tell a saucy joke or two. They are sexually ambiguous and worryingly attractive. Girls feel at ease with them because they flirt with each other, other men find them embarrassingly seductive.
But at heart I miss the good old British male who hates going shopping and wouldn’t dream of splashing on cologne: who still goes to a barber and thinks that moisturiser is something you do to steaks or put on the garden. They call them retrosexuals, the tweed jacket, the slight smell of wet Labrador and a love of rough, tough sports.
But, oh no, what is this, on the metrosexual website in their celebrity endorsements: it’s Charlie Hodgson, British Lion, “I am so pleased with my m-sxl shave set. The shave cream feels absolute quality and leaves me with one of the closest shaves I’ve ever known. The minty and refreshing fragrance makes me feel alive in the morning and ensures I’m on top of my game once training starts.” Blimey, no wonder he couldn’t always kick, thank goodness we got Jonny back.
Anyway enough of all these terms, bisexual, ambisexual, homosexual, heterosexual, metrosexual I’m just going to be sexual. Much more fun.
