Friday, August 1, 2008

The lingering effects of that god-awful metrosexual craze

A beach, two guys, a girl, six empty beer bottles and a beer-soaked debate on the birds and the bees. During the conversation, A, a rather attractive guy in his early thirties, announces that he shaves his chest hair because women are appalled by hairy males. In response, I struggle to contradict what I consider such preposterous belief, only to be shot down from all angles.

Upon returning home, I poll quite a few female friends, only to discover that my preference for the non-metrosexual male is firmly in the minority. In fact, it seems that I relaxed a bit prematurely when I assumed gone were the days of spa trips seated next to a thirty-something year old man getting his nails polished in a shade oxymoronically named “masculine peach.” Or that the days were over where I would date men with more beauty products than a Long Island Walgreens. Or days of dating men who ordered salads for dinner (dressing on the side) accompanied with explanations such as “I’m watching.”

Call me crazy, but on any given day, I’d take a rugged, meat and potatoes eating, hairy beast of a male with nails bitten down to the quick, over this:

And I mean it- call me crazy.

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