Real Men?

I asked the man recently if he would ever consider a hair transplant. He looked at me as if I had asked him if he wanted to wear a dress; despite bemoaning the demise of his hairline for as long as I can remember it seems as if a hair transplant would be going too far. Most men don’t like to look as if they have tried too hard. The man is very much a blokey man. As a mechanic he comes home grubby and sweaty and frankly there is no vision I like to imagine more than that of him topless, overalls tied round his waist and carrying a tyre, a la Athena poster circa 1989.

The rise of the metrosexual man has been well documented and is now creeping into the lives of ‘normal’ men. Where previously it had been women who were bombarded with images of perfection in the media, men are now starting to get a taste of it and are feeling the pressure to buff, polish and beautify themselves to keep up with current trends. But should men be men? Should plastic surgery, beauty treatments and Botox remain women’s domains?

Men and women’s roles have become more interchangeable in society, so it is inevitable that other lines are becoming blurred. And why shouldn’t men make more of an effort? Us women have been using beauty products and primitive forms of makeup since time began, going so far as to use toxic ingredients to create makeshift face powder and mascara, the danger of blindness clearly outweighed by the thrill of having long eyelashes to bat at potential suitors.

In the last twenty years we have seen a massive growth in the male beauty industry, with male grooming products seeing a rise of 900% in less than 5 years. So many men are clearly jumping on board. But having a neatly trimmed beard and using moisturiser is one thing, wearing guyliner and manscara is a completely different animal.

Ollie from Made in Chelsea is a case in point. He has enviably shiny, swingy hair, fake tan and wears more than a hint of foundation. And he is, for want of a better word, beautiful. I think there is something intriguingly sexy about him but I’m not sure I could relax around a man who is prettier than me. In reality, I like my men to be men, including a satisfyingly rough face and chest rug long enough to twirl round my fingers. If I wanted a smooth chest to stroke and someone to borrow my makeup I would become a lesbian.

I see nothing wrong in men looking after themselves. Moisturiser, body lotion and aftershave show that you care about your skin and smelling nice, I would even go so far as to say a bit of concealer to cover the odd spot wouldn’t detract from a mans innate masculinity.

There is however, a limit, and I think for me that line is with obvious makeup and excess plastic surgery, a little nose job I could handle but shiny foreheads from Botox, implants to increase the size of random body parts or wind tunnel facelifts are out.

But two areas of metrosexuality that I fully support are pedicures and man bags. In my experience a man with nice feet is as rare as the proverbial flying pig. Horny, yellowy toenails and random tufts of hair sprouting from misshapen toes, even my sons have gross feet and they’re only 2 and 4. But it’s nothing that a nice pedicure wouldn’t fix (if only the sons would allow me). And man bags are just good sense. How nice would it be to go out and not hear the dreaded words “can you put this in your bag?”, your tiny beautiful clutch only designed to carry a lipstick, a twenty pound note and a Tampax is now bulging with car keys, an extra mobile and a mans wallet. A man bag would solve all this. They could carry our lipstick and Tampax instead, and of course, their concealer.