When I arrived at the company’s offices, I was greeted by the editor.  He was in his 20s.  He had medium-length hair that was kept in place with large quantities of hair product.  He wore designer jeans, and a button-down shirt that had the top two buttons undone.  His facial hair was so perfectly trimmed, that I spent half the time I talked to him wondering if he penciled it in.

He informed me that they liked my writing, but they didn’t have any openings for sports writers. What about automotives? I asked. Nope. Travel? Nope. So why did they have me come in? They wanted to know if I’d be interested in writing about men’s fashion.

That’s the story of how I became a fashion correspondent for Askmen.com.  I wrote on such fascinating topics as how to wear color, and spray tanning.  At the time, I was still in school, and a new semester had started. One day, a classmate that I didn’t know approached me and asked, “Hey, do you write for Askmen?”

It was the first time I’d ever been recognized for my writing. I should have been proud. Instead, I was embarrassed.  You see, I was a fraud.  When my classmate approached me, I was wearing track pants and a hoodie.  I was still sporting my summer crew cut, and I hadn’t shaved in a couple of days. This wasn’t an off day. My appearance on that day was fairly representative of my attire and grooming throughout university.

Every article I wrote about fashion, I first researched heavily, and then wrote in a completely tongue-in-cheek manner.  After all of that, the only thing I learned was that my shoes should always match my belt (I now own a reversible belt that’s black on one side, and brown on the other).  Eventually, I stopped writing for the site.  My creativity well ran dry, and I just couldn’t come up with any more ways to write about the difference between gel and pomade.

From high school onwards, I’ve watched many of my male friends become the definition of metrosexual.  They own as many pairs of shoes as my female friends.  They take even longer to get ready in the morning.  I’ve watched this trend, and I’ve arguably contributed to it, but I refuse to take part in it.

No matter how modern a man is, there’s still room for being manly, and no part of being a man involves moisturizing and exfoliating.  There’s a pride in acting manly, the same way women feel pride in being feminine.  It has nothing to do with gender roles and traditionalism, it has to do with feeling comfortable in your own skin, and my skin feels most comfortable when it’s shaved only occasionally, preferably with a straight razor.  I like knowing that I can roll out of bed and be ready to walk out the door in ten minutes.  And I don’t particularly feel like I’m missing out on anything when I don’t purchase jeans that cost as much as half my wardrobe.

I used to regard my metro friends with a hint of disdain, a misplaced superiority. That’s not the case anymore. Now, I see them as conforming to a new set of norms. That scares me. Because if they’re conforming to norms, that means that metrosexuality is not just accepted, it’s being encouraged. And from an economic perspective, why wouldn’t it be? Clothing and cosmetics brands can now target men with the same gusto they used to only be able to target women. They’ve doubled their target market!

While I can’t deny the trend, and the pressure from billboards, tv spots, magazines and even peers to embrace it, I refuse. If you ever see me in a pair of D&G jeans, rest assured that they were a gift and I will wear them until they are threadbare in order to avoid shopping for another pair.  If you ever see me with a tan, I promise you that it’s from actually being outdoors, and I will never step foot in a tanning salon, or attempt spray tanning.

And I refuse to believe I’m alone in this. Men, if you’re with me, step forward, and beat your chest proudly. Ladies, speak up, and remind the men of our generation that you still like a man with a smaller closet than you.

Let’s hear it in the comments!

Image: Chrisamichaels

This article is part of 4-part series: Millennials on Metrosexuality
Read the other three:
Why I Hate Metro Men
A New Kind of Candy, A New Kind of Equality
Being Metro is More Than A Label

You might have heard he is not manly enough. You might think he is not manly enough. You might think he is not heterosexual. To that I have only one thing to say: It takes a guy comfortable with his sexuality and certain in his manhood to be a metro man.

You don’t want to know how he manages to look the way he does. That I learned the hard way. One of my best friends changes his hair color according to the season: dark in fall and winter and blond in spring and summer. My ex boyfriend has three different tanning lotions and sprays to maintain his perfect skin complexion. And he uses all of them together! My roommate (yes I do live with a guy) takes showers that last two hours.  Another one knows more about designers and fashion than I do. (I know what you are thinking, but no, he is not gay.) Yet another one has more moisturizing lotions than I do. He uses them according to his mood, schedule and who he meets during the day. Yet another one has more scarves than I do and I do have a huge collection.  Yet another one uses his colognes according to a schedule.

But it really doesn’t matter how he manages to look the way he does. We, women, don’t care about the hours he spends grooming. We don’t care about the efforts it takes him to achieve his appearance.  All we care about is the fact that he looks so great.  Why? Because we deserve it!

Millenniums of changing what we are given. Millenniums of putting up with torturous procedures just to meet men’s ideas for beauty. Millenniums of putting up with being men’s jewelry. Now is our turn to demand human jewelry hanging on our arms. Now is our turn to see men going through the same torturous procedures we’ve known for millenniums. Now is our turn to see men trying to change the way they look to meet our requirements for beauty.

Yes, we deserve it.

We supposedly live in a society of equality. But we don’t. We don’t get paid as much as men do. We don’t get the same benefits. We don’t get the same treatment. With the metro man we get a new kind of equality. We get the opportunity to go out to dinner with a guy who smells great.  We get the opportunity to kiss a clean and smooth chest.  We get the opportunity to date a guy who looks great.  We get the opportunity to date a guy who appreciates our efforts to look amazing because he knows what it takes.

Yes, we deserve it!

Image is taken from FFX © florbelas fotographix.

This article is part of 4-part series: Millennials on Metrosexuality
Read the other three:
Why I Hate Metro Men
Being Metro is More Than A Label
Males Against Metrosexuality

The whole idea of a metrosexual -  guys who spend more time in the shower than their girlfriends, neat freaks who care more about their appearance than just about anything else – goes against everything I find attractive in a man.  I’m not exactly the daintiest of creatures and metro men generally do the whole femininity thing better than I do.  In a relationship I expect to be the better dancer, have better moisturized skin, and be able to occupy a room with my boyfriend without choking on his designer fragrance.

With metro men, women are constantly in competition.  There are some days when I put minimal effort into my appearance.  Dating a metrosexual would put an end to this—I’d feel pressure to constantly be as put together as he is, to avoid others saying “How did she get him?!”  I enjoy time spent in front of a mirror primping, preening, and powdering myself to perfection and the subsequent male reaction.  There’s a certain mystery to women that should remain as a mystery – I find it endearing that most non-metro men wouldn’t be able to tell my mascara and lip gloss tubes apart.

I’m not saying I want to throw down with every sweaty, dirty man’s man I see screaming at a ref through the TV, but I don’t mind an unshaven face and belching contests. I like my man to have that natural musk that comes from a day spent with firearms.  An ex-boyfriend of mine had some metro qualities, and I found that they gave me anxiety if nothing else.  During a five minute conversation, he would flip his gleaming bangs away from his face no less than twelve times, always one violent head jerk away from certain paralysis.

My current paramour is much more of a man’s man: he knows his way around a grill and doesn’t always make showering a top priority.  He can put together a decent outfit, but his bedroom floor is the only place he keeps his clothes, both dirty and clean.  It’s not that he’s a slob, non-metro guys just have different priorities that are more in line with my own.   He provides a level of comfort that a metro man can’t—a surliness that lets me know if in grave peril, he could literally carry me out of harm’s way.

Non-metro guys don’t have to be physically stacked football lovers.  The guy I borderline stalked for most of high school is a waif-thin skateboarder whose body is covered in scars from wipeouts and surgeries.  He drives the world’s un-sexiest station wagon and prefers buzz haircuts to managing his head of curls.  He just doesn’t care, and that’s the biggest difference between men and their metrosexual peers.  Guys are generally apathetic about most things in life, but when they do care about something it’s not whether they should spray tan or fake bake.

My ideal man cares enough about his appearance to not show up for a date drooling in his pajamas, but his total getting ready time takes no more than half an hour.  I want to feel safe with him, not like I’d be left for dead if attacked by a bear because he didn’t want to rip his favorite shirt.  Oh, and my blow dryer and flat iron?  As far he knows, those are just some of my arsenal of torture devices should he ever get out of line.

Photo Credit: brooke

This article is part of 4-part series: Millennials on Metrosexuality
Read the other three:
A New Kind of Candy, A New Kind of Equality
Being Metro is More Than A Label
Males Against Metrosexuality