Era of the Manorexic?

I think of my old roommate Bill and I think of what a man should be. Picture this: it’s Saturday late morning. Bill is in a tshirt from 1992 and some old sports shorts. He’s wearing slippers. Showering has not occurred and most likely won’t until the evening…or the next day. He’s got are paper in his lap, opened to the sports section. His beloved “Pats” are on tv. He’s in his green lazy boy chair, reclined. He has a huge plastic cup with the Incredible Hulk on it that he got with his value meal at McDonald’s in 2001, filled with Gatorade. Bag of Wise brand Potato Chips in his laps. Crumbs being brushed off hands directly onto recliner. This, this is manhood. No grooming products here. No counting calories. No gym obsession. Pure, unadulterated embracement of being male.

Now picture this. I'm hanging out with a guy friend last weekend. I am guessing his his morning routine looks like this: He wakes up, showers (probably uses something pomegrante-scented in the shower) gets dressed in jeans (probably from Neiman Marcus) and some trendy t-shirt. Rubs some hair wax (from Kiehl's most likely) into his locks. I meet him for brunch. I order: Eggs, pancakes, bacon, and a side of toast to sop up the yolks. He orders: two pancakes and a side of fruit. After eating he estimates he has eaten 500, at most, 600 calories. I invite him to yoga with me. It’s not enough. Forces me to run with him post-yoga. He is practically is on the verge of pinching his waist to ensure its still trim.

What has happened to males embracing their maleness? How on earth am I to feel dainty and feminine if I am constantly eating more than my male companions at meals? (well, one issue here is that I generally eat like a man, but let’s ignore that…). I shouldn’t be the one dragging you to Carl’s Jr. late night – you should be dragging me there! I should be counting the calories post-dinner, not you! And I should feel much less confident in my bikini than you do in your swim trunks. Well, except…no…nevermind…let’s keep the ego under wraps.

Anyway. It’s not just the example cited above that has made me call this male stuff into question. It’s a number of creatures I’ve encountered over the past year. I won’t name names, but, Newman obsesses over the gym and food like it’s his job. Joe, I eat more than you on a consistent basis. Eric caresses his abs more than SS touches her hair. Oops!! I think I named names. But I need concrete examples in order to make my point.

The thing is, I do try to take care of myself and preserve my sexy, of course, but I think it’s important to let go, particularly on weekends. Enjoy food when you hit up a restaurant. Eat that bread! Go ahead, dip it in olive oil! Drink that third glass of wine if you want it! I’m personally fine w/ the metro-ness in respect to grooming, b/c girls go crazy for a sharp dressed man (that’s an 80s song right??) but when I start to feel like the man in the relationship, and I’m pretty prissy, I feel like nature’s balance is being thrown off. I hear that machismo is coming back – check out the new Hummer commercial (hate the car but like this message) and take it to heart, please, so I can feel dainty again. And pretend like you keep your body looking svelte by eating cheetos and Miller High Life. No one has to know you are on the Lemon Cleanse. Oops, I’m slipping off my soap box, time to go. The end.