The Man Song

I sat in my doctor's office this morning perusing the magazines when I chanced upon two popular men's publications. GQ. Esquire. Perhaps you've heard of them. Yes? Good. I enjoy looking at ads, images, articles of what is important to men in the way of fashion, food, women, recreation, etc.

What occurred to me as I sifted through the pages was what I call, a redefinition of the modern male. Let me qualify that. The modern metrosexual, uber cosmopolitan, swag hip-switching 'gentleman' who wears skinny jeans and black lace wing tips with no socks. They don their black ankle length jeans and sport coats, and have impeccably coiffed short hair. Did I mention the face stubble? It's as if none of them would ever be caught dead clean shaven. I guess face stubble looks sexier with their mouths slightly agape  to give us that breathless expression. They are slim and trim, tall (or should I say, elongated) in stature.

I looked through several periodicals and was surprised to see this "type" depicted over and over. Then I asked the question: Where's is the image of my man?

My man that in his farm boy youth had heavily muscled shoulders and arms from slinging a pile hammer when he worked on the railroad in North Dakota during the winter. He had shoulder length hair tied with a bandanna, was clean-shaven (beards are a bad idea during North Dakota winters), wore his belted Wranglers around his waist and not drooped around his hips. His nails were not manicured, his chest was hairy, and his face was tanned without aid of a sunblock. He had (and has) the stature of an inverted triangle and not one that looked like an anorexic pencil.

Well perhaps my man's type isn't as fashionable. After all, one never sees Armani, Calvin Klein, or Hugo Boss attire in the middle of a corn field when it's time to harvest. I will certainly feel uplifted when "city boys" as I like to call them, yearn to shed their finery and spend their days outside their comfort zone(s) outside with other men. Really outside. Not a city park, but a place where the paved road ends, there are no street lights (because there are no streets), no taxis, and coffee is taken with real cream and not half-n-half.

Maybe we should encourage GQ and Esquire to include the kind of modern male that we might readily see in Outdoor Life and Field and Stream. Just to change things up a bit. Then I would happily sing the song of men that reminds me of my man. Maybe I might even buy a subscription.