Getting in Touch with My Masculine Side
Last night I went to see the brilliant new film The Hangover - for those of you who haven’t yet seen it – go. It is laugh out loud brilliant and the cameos from Mike Tyson and his pet tiger are fantastic.
After my mini rant last week about women’s mags and their obsession with all things skeletal I was interested to see an advert for a male skin care product just before the film. To an accompanying musical score that sounded like it came staight from Top Gun, male patrons in the cinema were advised (by a booming, baritone voice) that it wasn’t enough to just use foam when you were having a shave, but you had to prepare your skin beforehand and then – get this – MOISTURISE – afterwards.
However, the voiceover didn’t actually say the dreaded M-word. Instead he roared – ‘NOW IT’S TIME TO REFUEL.’
Refuel?!! I watched as the male model in the advert slathered cream all over his chops, my heart pounding in time with the music, as I imagined a fighter pilot somewhere topping up his tank before zooming off on his next mission. All clean shaven and moisturised and ready for whatever might happen.
No talk of ‘pepty-penty-bismides’ or ‘oxy-collagen Q10′ and all the other sci-fi nonsense that accompanies adverts for women’s moisturisers.
Did you know by the way, that as well as recently having her breasts re-re-sized so that they are more in keeping with the dictates of the fashion world, Posh Beckham has been paying hundreds of dollars for a moisturiser made out of bird crap? And that elsewhere, desperate women are smearing snail slime on their wrinkles as some genius has told them it holds the key to ever lasting youth?
Is it just me, or is there a hint of the Emperor’s new clothes about all of this?
I can half imagine some evil-doer somewhere (in my imagination he looks like a cross between Lionel Blair and Quentin Crisp) rubbing their hands with glee as they come up with yet another mad scheme to make fools of anxious women.
‘I know, how about we get them to smear crystallized dog turd on their faces – bird crap is SO last season.’
I’m telling you ladies – dog crap is only small step away from sparrow poo!
I can’t ever imagine men being told to ‘REFUEL’ in this way – and accepting it.
In The Hangover four male friends go on a stag weekend to Las Vegas. What follows is two hours of adventure, mayhem and fun. At no point do the protaganists stop to smear bird shit on their faces, obsesess about their weight or decide which part of their anatomies they’re going to disfigure next. THEY WERE TOO BUSY HAVING A GOOD TIME!!
In stark contrast, every time the film cut to the bride to be, she was pictured looking sulky and thin as she lolloped about her parents’ house waiting for her betrothed to return.
Well no more I tell you. For the next week I’m going over to my masculine side. Instead of moisturising I’m going to ‘refuel’ (with a £2 pot of Nivea from Superdrug, containing no faeces of any description). When I put on make-up I’m going to be a Native Amercian applying tribal war paint – and a booming voice in my head will say things like, ‘ARE YOU READY TO KICK ASS, BIG CHIEF CURLY HAIR?!’ . I’m going to boycott women’s mags and I’m going to drink pints and eat pies and organise burping contests and tag team wrestling in my living room.
I’ll let you know how I get on….