My teenage room was a dark den of adolescence. None of these posters were in frames and could hardly be passed off as "art"; they weren't stylishly decorative. Each of the more than 25 posters were riddled with pinholes in the corners, tape marks on the edges or sticky gunk staining the heavy stock poster paper. Sometimes vintage posters of "Singin' In the Rain" or "Breakfast at Tiffany's" can be found in Pottery Barn catalogues or Ikea stores across the country. These throwbacks pass as tasteful kitsch artifacts; fodder for homosexuals or girls with no real taste in film. But in 1995, I liked guns and goatees, spurs and bulletholes and stuff. I didn't have Audrey Hepburn's elbow-length gloves and cigarette holder gracing my boyhood walls. I had Nic Cage's "Kiss of Death" and Michael Douglas' "Falling Down" hung in places of unfortunate prominence back in 1995.
It was awful and embarassing.
Not embarrassing enough however, to stop me from revealing it all here for mass consumption.
For those of you who knew me back in 1995, my revelation comes as no shock to you. For those of you who hadn't yet met me, I also doubt my revelation comes as much of a surprise - that's kind of the problem. I'm a male now, just as I was 12 years ago, and throughout that time I've been guilty of perpetrating a general stereotype that surrounds men like a cloud of stink.
The following male stereotypes of which I speak are:
We don't dance.
We don't sweep, dust, mop, cook, or make our beds.
We can't dress.
We can't decorate.
We can't communicate without grunting, swearing or utilizing sports metaphors to make sense of our life.
Stereotypes are stereotypes because they're true more often than not. And I hate this about guys. Everything about the cliched male is true... unless of course the cliched male is gay or metrosexual.*
Not embarrassing enough however, to stop me from revealing it all here for mass consumption.
For those of you who knew me back in 1995, my revelation comes as no shock to you. For those of you who hadn't yet met me, I also doubt my revelation comes as much of a surprise - that's kind of the problem. I'm a male now, just as I was 12 years ago, and throughout that time I've been guilty of perpetrating a general stereotype that surrounds men like a cloud of stink.
The following male stereotypes of which I speak are:
We don't dance.
We don't sweep, dust, mop, cook, or make our beds.
We can't dress.
We can't decorate.
We can't communicate without grunting, swearing or utilizing sports metaphors to make sense of our life.
Stereotypes are stereotypes because they're true more often than not. And I hate this about guys. Everything about the cliched male is true... unless of course the cliched male is gay or metrosexual.*
I know this is a bitter and unfair generality, but I like dabbling in generalities. I'm aware of our grayscale world, but this is my blog and I want only to work in blacks and whites.
That's how it works, right? Men like to speak in simplified, overarching terms in order to make a clarified point, but all that's accomplished is that women find some detail on which to disagree. So if I say that a gay guy would buy a bunch of "cute drapes" from Anthropologie, a girl will correct me by saying that Anthropologie doesn't sell drapes. Nevermind that I'm not talking about drapes, I'm talking about the gay guy buying them.
And now that I've generalized women as unfocused nitpickers, I'm sure there are girls out there intent on telling me that they and three of their best girl friends haven't a clue what Anthropologie sells and that not every girl cares about drapes.
Ugh. Fine.
Grayscale it is.**
The point isn't Anthropologie or drapes or women. It's homosexuals. But the point isn't really about homosexuals either.‡ I just used homosexuals as an example of a bigger point about how generalizing doesn't work with nitpickers. I readily admit that I don't know what goes on inside an Anthropologie store. They could sell auto parts and I wouldn't know it. Anthropologie is a business aimed at a female demographic. Essentially, it is a club that doesn't particularly want me as a member and so how can I be blamed for not knowing the secret handshake?
But let my ignorance on what goes on inside of an Anthropologie not add to the popular stereotype that men are decoratively, stylistically and antiseptically clueless. I'd like to know what goes on inside an Anthropologie, I've just never been given the opportunity.
Why would a 15-year-old boy with a peach fuzz mustache and a "Reservoir Dogs" poster hanging above his bed seek shelter inside an Anthropologie? Who would support this? His mother would think him strange, his friends would ridicule him, the cashiers wouldn't take him seriously and what's a teenage boy going to do with a silver mailholder in the shape of the first letter of his last name, anyway?
Why would a 15-year-old boy with a peach fuzz mustache and a "Reservoir Dogs" poster hanging above his bed seek shelter inside an Anthropologie? Who would support this? His mother would think him strange, his friends would ridicule him, the cashiers wouldn't take him seriously and what's a teenage boy going to do with a silver mailholder in the shape of the first letter of his last name, anyway?
College won't be much better for this boy either. Mom takes him to Ikea, buys a bed, a computer desk, a floor lamp and a poster of "Breakfast At Tiffany's"... that's all that's going to fit in his dorm room. There are no more options for this kid. Eventually, his roomate's gonna want to hang up his naked pictures of Carmen Elektra in the spot that Audrey Hepburn currently hangs because the boy's roomate is a perv no longer living with his mother. Say what you want, no one is going to stop a boy, willing to purchase a Carmen Elektra poster, from hanging it on his wall. The floor lamp gets shoved aside by a guitar and a set of free weights and before you know it, we're at the boy's 22nd birthday.
He's 22-years-old and he's never been given proper instruction on much outside of how to properly throw a curveball. It's never been acceptable to learn much else. But now he's fallen in love and the girl he wants to marry has been sifting through Crate & Barrel catalogues since she was seven.
Who knew that there was a difference between a mustard colored wall from too much cigarette smoking and a mustard painted wall created to enhance the warmth of all the cedar furniture? Well... for starters, guys didn't know that. And what if guys did happen to know this? There's no way in hell a women would be fine with a hetereosexual man with a beautifully decorated house. They'd question his sexuality until the mistrust drove a sharp stake in between the relationship. It's like when a girl knows more about basketball than I do.
It jerks the earth off its axis.
I hate that guys don't know this stuff. I've always fashioned myself ahead of the boy curve but most girls out there still look at me with disdain and pity.
I hate that guys don't know this stuff. I've always fashioned myself ahead of the boy curve but most girls out there still look at me with disdain and pity.
What's that say about all the other guys out there?
What the hell have we been doing since we were seven that we don't yet comprehend why track lighting and candles are more inviting than the ceiling light? Why do guys consider "the good glasses" to be Slurpee cups that haven't been through the dishwasher more than a dozen times? Why, according to most guys, are the female shoppers the only cute things in a West Elm?***
While women were preparing for the workplace, the homefront and motherhood, guys were foolishly playing videogames. Boys waste their prime learning years (8-26) mastering Zelda and Mario instead of learning about the world they're going to have to live in for the next 70 years.
While women were preparing for the workplace, the homefront and motherhood, guys were foolishly playing videogames. Boys waste their prime learning years (8-26) mastering Zelda and Mario instead of learning about the world they're going to have to live in for the next 70 years.
I hate the stereotype. I hate it because it's true.
So I try to catch up. I'm beginning to see the importance of cute light fixtures and shoes for every occasion. I understand the need for fitted shirts and hardwood floors. I'm sold on the importance of cute wine racks and cute end tables and cute headboards and the word "cute" itself. ±
I get it all, but I'm so far behind. Men have been oppressed in the culture of domestication. We've never been taught. We've been sold a faulty bill of goods and it's hard to admit we've been duped.
So I try to catch up. I'm beginning to see the importance of cute light fixtures and shoes for every occasion. I understand the need for fitted shirts and hardwood floors. I'm sold on the importance of cute wine racks and cute end tables and cute headboards and the word "cute" itself. ±
I get it all, but I'm so far behind. Men have been oppressed in the culture of domestication. We've never been taught. We've been sold a faulty bill of goods and it's hard to admit we've been duped.
But I like candles, especially when they're flower-scented. And I want to learn. Give me a cuticle pusher and a Mike's Hard Lemonade - I've heard they're both refreshingly soothing.
Which is an emotional state I imagine guys are wholly in favor of.
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* Metrosexual. Met-row-SECKS-ew-all. n. 1. A man still unaware that he likes other men. 2. A man forced to act like a woman because other men don't get along with him.
** From here on out, if I use the word "every" assume I mean "occasionally," if I utilize the word "all," I'm sure I meant to type "many" and if "dumbass boys" or "unreasonable girls" occur anywhere in this blog - assume I meant "some people."
‡ I would like to state for the record that I haven't any problem with homosexuals or homosexuality. My mom thought I was a homosexual for the better portion of high school. I've had sex with homosexuals and I currently date a homosexual. Homosexuals don't bother me, but we live in a world where poking fun or writing something humorous about a population of which you are not a member, can sometimes cause people advocating for or members of that group to become defensive, oversensitive or downright angry. I'm intending no ill will toward homosexuals.
Which is an emotional state I imagine guys are wholly in favor of.
====================================================================
* Metrosexual. Met-row-SECKS-ew-all. n. 1. A man still unaware that he likes other men. 2. A man forced to act like a woman because other men don't get along with him.
** From here on out, if I use the word "every" assume I mean "occasionally," if I utilize the word "all," I'm sure I meant to type "many" and if "dumbass boys" or "unreasonable girls" occur anywhere in this blog - assume I meant "some people."
‡ I would like to state for the record that I haven't any problem with homosexuals or homosexuality. My mom thought I was a homosexual for the better portion of high school. I've had sex with homosexuals and I currently date a homosexual. Homosexuals don't bother me, but we live in a world where poking fun or writing something humorous about a population of which you are not a member, can sometimes cause people advocating for or members of that group to become defensive, oversensitive or downright angry. I'm intending no ill will toward homosexuals.
I'm intending ill will toward women and drapes.
*** West Elms are apparently the "funky modern alternative to Pottery Barn." I had to ask my girlfriend about this because I ran out of furniture stores that I could name off the top of my head and I didn't want to be redundant.
± The way girls use the word "cute" can most closely be related to the manner in which guys use the word "dude." Don't confront a girl about this. She will deny she overuses the word. But if you listen to women describe things that they a) truly find aesthetically pleasing or b) find hideous and awful, but don't want the people around them to know, you will hear the rat-a-tat of "cute" dribble outwardly at an alarming pace.
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