r H Y nolite
d is for Design.Monday, September 12, 2005
I read this article from Reader's Digest and found it most interesting:
Retrosexuals Rule
by Margaret Wente
This is a story of how my husband got mugged at the chemist.
It wasn't his fault, I suppose. On certain matters, he is as innocent as a newborn babe. Although he is a master of arcane soporting rules and regulations, he should not be allowed to roam around unsupervised at cosmetic counters. In other words, he's genuine guy.
Genuine guys are sometimes known as retrosexuals, to distinguish themselves from metrosexuals, who are men with the good taste of gay men, only they're straight. Metrosexuals are scrupulous about their grooming and are great consumers of men's cosmetic products. They use hair gel. Retrosexual are scared of hair gel.
Some people think retrosexuals automatically have Neanderthal views about women, but this is not the case. A retrosexual is someone who doesn't know the difference between teal and aqua, and couldn't give a damn.
Secretly I've always thought my husband could stand to be just a little bit more metro. Sometimes I buy him fancy shaving cream or scent and leave it suggestively on his side of the sink. He never gets the hint. He prefers a ten-second shave with a plastic disposable razor and toilet paper to stanch the wounds. If he's really in the mood, he shaves with soap. He doesn't like anything too smelly.
From time to time my husband's retrosexuality bothers me. He can't understand, for example, why it's time to paint the kitchen when we just painted it nine years ago. He doesn't grasp why we need expensive matchstick blinds on the kitchen windows when we leave them permanently rolled up. He's baffled that my haircuts costs ten times more than his do, and he thinks massages are a waste of time unless it was the one he got from two Thai masseuses on the beach at Phuket. There are many things on which we'll never see eye to eye.
But there are certain advantages to my husband's retrosexual orientation, and they are large. For example, being completely indifferent to appearance, a retrosexual will never complain that you're putting on weight. Also, it's easy to impress him with your culinary prowess. My husband is so grateful to get out of kitchen duty, he brags about my cooking even though its usually quite lousy. In return, he allows me to weasel out of certain household tasks, like garbage duty and replacing light bulbs. He knows it’s his jobs to talk to plumbers and electricians, man-to-man. We are aware that we have lapsed into tired gender stereotypes. We don’t care. We only wish there were a third gender to clean the kitty litter.
In a way, I blame myself for the mugging at the chemist. I never should have let him go alone. Something similar would have happened if I’d wandered into an electronics store and tried to but a fancy new TV. The chance of a good outcome was remote.
The troubles began when he noticed his shins were dry and itchy. So off he went to the chemist to get something to rub on them. Instead of heading for the aisle filled with Vaseline, he stopped at the cosmetics counter and asked the cute girl there for her advice. “Moisturiser,” he said. “I need moisturizer. I don’t want anything smelly. I don’t want to smell like a girl.”
He was quite excited when he got home. “This will do the trick,” he said. “It’s got lipidins in it.” I asked him what lipidins were, and he proudly showed me a small plastic bottle filled with something called Vichy Lipidiose 2 – Lipid Replenishing Body Cream Fluid. It came in a special aqua-coloured tote bag. According to the label, the ingredients included Vichy thermal-spa water from France, which probably explains why the bottle costs $43.
“You’ve been mugged,” I said.
“I thought it was a bit expensive,” he confessed. He was too intimidated to complain about the price. He didn’t know he could have got exactly what he needed for $3.99
Naturally I teased him mercilessly ever since. But the truth is, I really have no interest in men who are interested in skin care. That can be my job. In return, I’m happy to let them worry about the oil level in the car. Some might call this sexist. I call it a sensible division of labour, and it is one of the chief benefits of marriage. Each of you can specialize. And each of you can sometimes get away with acting like a helpless bunny.
Not surprisingly, my husband was too embarrassed to take back his relipidising cream, and today he’s probably the only male in the world who’s rubbing it on his itchy shins. “I’m locking in moisture,” he says defiantly.
I don’t have the heart to tell him it makes him smell like a girl.
Retrosexuals Rule
by Margaret Wente
This is a story of how my husband got mugged at the chemist.
It wasn't his fault, I suppose. On certain matters, he is as innocent as a newborn babe. Although he is a master of arcane soporting rules and regulations, he should not be allowed to roam around unsupervised at cosmetic counters. In other words, he's genuine guy.
Genuine guys are sometimes known as retrosexuals, to distinguish themselves from metrosexuals, who are men with the good taste of gay men, only they're straight. Metrosexuals are scrupulous about their grooming and are great consumers of men's cosmetic products. They use hair gel. Retrosexual are scared of hair gel.
Some people think retrosexuals automatically have Neanderthal views about women, but this is not the case. A retrosexual is someone who doesn't know the difference between teal and aqua, and couldn't give a damn.
Secretly I've always thought my husband could stand to be just a little bit more metro. Sometimes I buy him fancy shaving cream or scent and leave it suggestively on his side of the sink. He never gets the hint. He prefers a ten-second shave with a plastic disposable razor and toilet paper to stanch the wounds. If he's really in the mood, he shaves with soap. He doesn't like anything too smelly.
From time to time my husband's retrosexuality bothers me. He can't understand, for example, why it's time to paint the kitchen when we just painted it nine years ago. He doesn't grasp why we need expensive matchstick blinds on the kitchen windows when we leave them permanently rolled up. He's baffled that my haircuts costs ten times more than his do, and he thinks massages are a waste of time unless it was the one he got from two Thai masseuses on the beach at Phuket. There are many things on which we'll never see eye to eye.
But there are certain advantages to my husband's retrosexual orientation, and they are large. For example, being completely indifferent to appearance, a retrosexual will never complain that you're putting on weight. Also, it's easy to impress him with your culinary prowess. My husband is so grateful to get out of kitchen duty, he brags about my cooking even though its usually quite lousy. In return, he allows me to weasel out of certain household tasks, like garbage duty and replacing light bulbs. He knows it’s his jobs to talk to plumbers and electricians, man-to-man. We are aware that we have lapsed into tired gender stereotypes. We don’t care. We only wish there were a third gender to clean the kitty litter.
In a way, I blame myself for the mugging at the chemist. I never should have let him go alone. Something similar would have happened if I’d wandered into an electronics store and tried to but a fancy new TV. The chance of a good outcome was remote.
The troubles began when he noticed his shins were dry and itchy. So off he went to the chemist to get something to rub on them. Instead of heading for the aisle filled with Vaseline, he stopped at the cosmetics counter and asked the cute girl there for her advice. “Moisturiser,” he said. “I need moisturizer. I don’t want anything smelly. I don’t want to smell like a girl.”
He was quite excited when he got home. “This will do the trick,” he said. “It’s got lipidins in it.” I asked him what lipidins were, and he proudly showed me a small plastic bottle filled with something called Vichy Lipidiose 2 – Lipid Replenishing Body Cream Fluid. It came in a special aqua-coloured tote bag. According to the label, the ingredients included Vichy thermal-spa water from France, which probably explains why the bottle costs $43.
“You’ve been mugged,” I said.
“I thought it was a bit expensive,” he confessed. He was too intimidated to complain about the price. He didn’t know he could have got exactly what he needed for $3.99
Naturally I teased him mercilessly ever since. But the truth is, I really have no interest in men who are interested in skin care. That can be my job. In return, I’m happy to let them worry about the oil level in the car. Some might call this sexist. I call it a sensible division of labour, and it is one of the chief benefits of marriage. Each of you can specialize. And each of you can sometimes get away with acting like a helpless bunny.
Not surprisingly, my husband was too embarrassed to take back his relipidising cream, and today he’s probably the only male in the world who’s rubbing it on his itchy shins. “I’m locking in moisture,” he says defiantly.
I don’t have the heart to tell him it makes him smell like a girl.
