When people look at me, there’s no chance that the word metrosexual just pops into their mind. I just don’t exude that aura of femininity that one associates with metrosexuality. However, when people take a closer look at my day to day activities, they start to wonder. I’m here to set the record straight - I am no metrosexual. I do see how people get tripped up though... I wear argyle sweaters on occasion; I enjoy sporting brands such as Lacoste, Polo, and even rock the designer jeans, which I refer to as my fancy pants. When it comes to clothes, I try to keep things classy. But I never go over the top. I don’t wear the super premium brands out there like D&G, or Burberry, and I’m just as happy sporting sweats and a t-shirt as I am wearing the nicer stuff.
Those of you have been following my blog for a while know that I also try to take care of my physical appearance. I workout regularly, and I take care to keep myself groomed, which involves taking a weed-whacker to the ole’ chest every once in a while. Now, I know that this doesn’t exactly make me Paul Bunyan – but it certainly doesn’t put me next in line for a role in ‘queer eye for the straight guy’ either. Here, again, I don’t go overboard. I never moisturize, I’ve never gone to the spa for anything other than a massage, and I’ve never even considered the prospect of getting a manicure. Decidedly un-metrosexual I’d say.
For those of you who say that I’m merely a sea-weed wrap away from crossing that line, I ask you, where is your evidence? If it is only that I wear decent clothes, and try to look good without a shirt, then I’m guilty as charged. But before you condemn me to the stigma of metrosexuality, think about these accusations, and try walking a mile in my Prada shoes.
- Jack Asher
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