All in Vain
Dear Jimmy,
Your dating advice is amazing! Please come to Cincinnati to do a workshop – the last person I saw perform in public was Ron White, and I need to get this horrible taste out of my mouth!
I tan three times a week to keep my skin tone at a dark hazel. By surrounding my naked body with sun-emulating fluorescent light for twenty minutes at a time, I take on the appearance of a rugged, uninhibited barbarian. My sun-battered exterior broadcasts my masculine essence to women and underscores my coarse features, all of which are derived from the $200 a month I spend in a “salon.”
What other methods of grooming can enhance my animal magnetism? I’ve considered plankton eyelid scrubs and full-body seaweed soaks, but I can’t stand the smell of fish.
Help, Jimmy Suede!
Oscar from Cincinnati
Oscar!
I don’t think we have the same definition of masculinity. You see, when I hear of a man going to painful, expensive lengths to perfect his appearance, I don’t lump him together with He-Man — I lump him together with Dolph Lundgren, the guy who played He-Man in Masters of the Universe. And if there’s anything less manly than a thespian, Oscar, I’ve yet to encounter and completely destroy it.
Masculinity is enhanced through accumulation. It’s simple logic — through the accumulation of age, you’ve become manlier as a man than you were as a boy. As an elderly man, you’ll be manlier still because your eroded mental faculties will prevent you from making rational decisions — like avoiding pain. As a dead man, you’ll exist at the pinnacle of manliness. Have you ever heard of a ghost being afraid of anything?
The perpetual passing of time enforces every facet of a man’s macho appeal. I was so nervous on my first trip to a bar that I stuttered when ordering my drink and shamefully nursed a Cosmopolitan the entire night. But my social demeanor has grown so confident through years of alcohol abuse that I don’t even order drinks at most bars. I simply shoot the bartender a glance and accept my Cosmopolitan with lemon.
Likewise, the first breath I took as a newborn was timid and unimposing. Now, my nostrils sing with cocksure glee when I inhale the lingering cigarette smoke ambling below the rafters of the bars I frequent. My ensuing coughs and hacks send a strong message to everyone within earshot: I’ll take as much air as I damn well please.
The point is, your masculinity is comprised of the things you accumulate as a man — and that includes your physical appearance. Scars, body hair, and pale, placid skin are all things you’ve accumulated along the road to manhood. Going tanning or maintaining your body hair is essentially throwing out your thumb and hitching a ride to Estrogenville.
The word groom shouldn’t be in your vocabulary, Oscar. Dogs are groomed. Protégés are groomed. Guys getting married are groomed. Men are not groomed. You need to cling desperately to the remaining elements of your manhood and preserve every last vestige of your devastated Y chromosome.
Throw away all the razors you own and vow to never trim any hair growing below your forehead. Bathe only under extreme circumstances, such as fording a roaring stream with your wagon of supplies and cholera-stricken children. Avoid buying new clothes until your worn jeans and tattered shirt raise eyebrows in public and cause you to be ticketed for public indecency.
Do not compromise any of the developments you’ve made toward manliness, Oscar. The damage you’ve done can’t be reversed, but your semi-manly state can be sustained if you forsake hygiene completely. Just remember: If the male body was meant to be maintained and manicured, years of terrible decisions would have prevented me from looking this good.
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