Man up, and face it

Being a heterosexual male, there are certain things which you’re allowed to say openly – without fear of punishment or excommunication – when in the company of those other bumbling cretins who seek work in the vagina business.

“She would definitely get it” is one. That’s allowed. Also: “I can’t for the life of me understand why the manager keeps ploughing ahead with 4-4-2. It’s clearly not suited to the modern game.” That’s similarly acceptable. But “you really suit three day stubble.” At no point is it permissible to suddenly announce this. There are rules against such an obvious display of feelings.

Why, though? Perhaps it goes back to the religious fundamentals of ‘Lad’ culture, where men are strictly men, and all variants of masculine emotion can only be displayed through physical acts of aggression or monosyllabic, guttural grunting.

On the whole, however, this seems unlikely, primarily because not all men submit to the strange cult of Banter.

Arguably the roots lie deeper within the male psyche. Maybe it has something to do with raw, untainted biology; specifically breeding.

As is well known, men are essentially a penis attached directly to an ego, random body hair and a small repository designated with the task of retaining utterly meaningless facts. Two things are therefore very important, namely status and spreading love-juice like Russell Brand at a convention of nymphomaniac lingerie models.

Because of this emotion takes a back seat in female-free environments. With no women to impress, normal men, who probably do have feelings, revert to borderline homophobes, disconnected from reality, incapable of thinking in anything other than football formations.

In this dark, primeval world testosterone rules with abandon. Compliments are for the weak and aspiring air hostess. Phrases are latched onto and gain a lifeforce of their own, representative of status and influence and sexual prowess. To an unsuspecting witness this probably seems frankly bizarre. It is.

Admit it men, we’ve all been there. And we’ve all experienced that same feeling of shame upon our re-entry to the real world. Shame unmatched this side of the Steps reunion tour.

Nevertheless, all hope is not lost. One species of bloke has found a way to overcome these obstacles, a shining beacon of light to us all. I am of course referring to the metrosexual. This is our redemption. Scoff if you wish, deep down I know you want to believe: you wouldn’t be perusing the Lifestyle section if you weren’t looking for such guidance.

For too long we men have fallen victim to ourselves. It is time, brothers, that we rise up. It is a revolution. Prove to me that I am not alone. We will not go quietly into the night. Next time you see a ‘Lad’s Mag’, or a football hooligan, or Dappy – renounce all.

Find a friend, stroke his beard, tell him what you are honestly thinking. He will nod sagely, and what’s more, you’ll be a man, my son.