'Fessing Up, My Ode to the Contortionist

     Time to settle in with a coffee and chat for a while. That's right, Tuesday, our topic today, confessions. Being the saintly creature I am, this proved a challenge. What could I possible have to cop to? Maybe the better question would be what am I willing to cop to?
    
     I was going to write about this, because I confess, the whole situation escapes me but perhaps a longer post tomorrow.
http://www.dramarama.ca/2012/03/rihanna-tells-miranda-lambert-to-pipe-down-about-chris-brown.html

     My previous thought, the saintly one, led me to this.

    

      Remember Mac Davis? anyone, anyone, no one? I used to sing this for a friend. I had a mean warble. She would laugh and laugh. That got me to thinking about my childhood, and some of the stories my friend shared about her husband. We discussed beauty a couple of weeks back, an idea was forming in my brain. I do have a confession. I've hinted at it before, you all seemed intrigued. Why not?

     Here is my confession. I have been duped by slick marketing, caving  just like everyone else. Here it is, my ode to the contortionist, the Gentleman's Guide to Good Grooming, other wise know as, Yes, I have manscaped. You've been warned, it's not going to be pretty.

     Things used to be so much simpler for us men, right. Never bombarded with images of how we should look, never insecure about our appearance. Uh, right. I will concede, we got off pretty easy for a long time but oh how that has changed.

     In the 70's and early 80's, it was all about the hair. Being masculine meant the 'stache and a chest of thick manly hair. The above mentioned friend's husband, who is almost albino fair, used to mascara his chest hair so it would show up. Seriously.

     Being bulky was also pretty manly too. You didn't want to be that 98 pound weakling after all, getting sand kicked in your face at the beach. And of course, the taller the better.

     There was Tom paddling his surf board into our hearts on television,

and Burt on the big screen.

     Anyone remember that centerfold. I remember the scandal it caused, an almost naked man, in Cosmo!

     Then it all changed.

     We were invaded by the likes of River

and Johnny

and Keanu.

and of course Brad.

     Guys like this were selling us cologne, not after shave, cologne.

     Guys like this were hawking underwear.

     Clinique gave us our own soap, we  were now moisturizing, buffing, polishing, exfoliating, but above all else, we were shaving. That manly pelt just had to go. How better to show off the now ripped physique, cuz now being big wasn't enough. You had to ripple.

     Not wanting to be left as the hairy Neanderthal, knuckle dragging my way through my youth. I relented. A girl friend in uni, decided I should wax my chest. I'm not very hairy, never have been. How hard could this be? She's a woman, they know about these things. Right?

     The blind leading the stupid. She of course had never done this before. We melted the wax in the handy little container, way before strips. Liberally applied it to my chest and torso, then waited for it to harden. That's right, harden. No little pieces, quickly torn off. My entire upper body encased in now rock hard wax. Your entire body is covered in fine hair. Oh the fun that was getting it off.

     By the time the bleeding stopped and the rash went away, the hair had re established itself quite nicely. I decided I could live with that. Then the game changed again.

     I'm not sure how this happened. I blame the porn industry going mainstream, our fascination with Olympic athletes, the rise of the gym bunny culture or maybe the inter web for making it all so accessible. Now we all had to shave down there. Sharp implements going to places they should never go. First, to tame then ultimately to take it all off. Not just the treasure trail, now it all had to go. This is how they sold it to us.

     It made you look bigger. Really? If you are in that desperate a need for your manly bits to look larger, I'm guessing removing a little hair isn't going to help that much. Just throwin' that out there.

    The clincher? Sex, throw in oral sex, even the remotest possibility that it might happen and watch the fur fly. Hell, we even created a new word to describe this well groomed man, the metro sexual. Bastard.

      Of course, I wanted to get lucky. Who doesn't? I tried.

     According to the Urban Dictionary, I have myself-ed, myself. It's number 7, just for brevity's sake.

Waxing hurts, a lot, still, you would think I had learned my lesson. Creams burn, even the ones for sensitive areas. As you women have know for years, this is a job for professionals.

     What they don't tell you. Reducing yourself to pre pubescent status, other than being just plain creepy, you sweat, you chafe, in grown hairs abound and you itch. Like crazy. So now instead of hair, your potential play mate is confronted with less than desirable red, blotchy, pimply skin or the taste of Gold Bond's triple medicated anti itch powder. Sexy, non? Scratching incessantly in public goes a long way to increasing your list of potential mates. I can hear them lining up already.

     A colleague of mine was moving a little gingerly a while back. Out of concern, not really but I can fake it sometimes, I asked what happened, expecting some kind of injury. Well, there had been a blood letting. While trying to groom, to impress his girlfriend, he gashed his ass.

    Once I stopped laughing,  I asked him, "Are you really that hairy?" He responded," No, but that's what girls want these days, isn't it?". Why I, looking vaguely like the poor homeless guy who sleeps on our foyer couch, 20 years his senior and out of the dating game for most of the last two decades would know about that, I don't know. I of course teased him mercilessly until he could sit comfortably again. 

     How could this happen you might wonder? Because we can't do this, or at least most of us can't.

     We can't see what we're supposed to be removing. Intimate grooming, or weed wacking, requires a steady hand and a lot of taking it on faith. Throw in some strangely propped up mirrors, a few positions worthy of a world class gymnast, yogi  or circus acrobat, well I'm sure you get the idea. Strangers are not readily welcome in the "man zone". We have our pride after all. Professionals be damned, we're DIY'ers.

     We have a clothing optional beach here in Toronto. While cutting through, to get to the Point (it's faster and nudity doesn't faze me really) I was confronted with a perfectly groomed 60 year old, wearing nothing but sunglasses, flip flops and a cock ring. Now I can applaud him for being au courant, wonder about the tan lines that will cause, maybe it never comes off, but it does bring up another point. Guys do dumb shit.

     Now that we're bald as eggs, we're covering all that naked skin up with jewellery, piercings, tats and my personal favourite, brands. I'm gonna stick with my hair. Far less painful and way cheaper.

     In the same, guys do dumb shit, vein, maybe re-think before you do this.

or this

or this

     

     It's your choice of course, but .....

     These days, I trim, a little, sometimes. I've never had the uni brow, guys with perfectly waxed eyebrows, wrong some how. Getting older, nose hairs and now my friggin' earlobes. What the hell is that about anyway? Occasionally I will trim my under arms, nothing spells class like two Brillo pads on either side of your arms when you're wearing a tank top. You all know what I'm talking about. All the other stuff, no, just plain no. I finally learned my lesson. If you do have to shave your back, get it done. Nothing kills the mood faster than, "Honey, can you shave my back." Even we should have that little air of mystery about us.

     I noticed the hair removal ads for a local place feature a guy and there is one on that No No hair removal system as well. The big shaver companies all have lines catering to intimate grooming, complete with how to web sites. It looks like manscaping is here to stay. We have been convinced that that secondary sexual characteristic, the one we used to be so proud of, is now unsightly, even dirty. Kind of a sad day for puberty.

     So here is my question. Does your partner being "groomed" make any difference? Is it really the deal breaker? Do you care? Cuz I can guarantee, we're not doing it for ourselves. It can be a real pain in the arse just for the sake of a little snogging or shagging. (Just for you Ado. LOL)

     Don't forget to swing by Rory's and see what else made it to the confessional. I'm pretty confidant it will be nothing like what you just read. LOL