Say No To The Metrosexual Man




Men who regularly dowse their body in St Tropez, or use a gradual tan building moisturiser, or lie under UV bulbs in a tanning salon, need to get a life. If you’re wearing fake tan, you may as well have got your best mate’s blind Grandma to tattoo the words ‘I AM A LITTLE BITCH’ across your forehead in Comic Sans; it makes you look like an instant twat. Perhaps in Essex or Newcastle or any of these places which have bred those horrific reality shows which parade around moronic lowlifes on our TV screens, you may be able to get away with it, and you may blend in with the rest of the neon cretins. Maybe the girls in those places like the fake tan – the girls with tits bigger than their baby daddy’s house and makeup so thick that if a fly landed on their cheek it would sink, suffocate and die. But just because it seems acceptable in these places, it does not actually make it acceptable, at all.

I completely empathise with the notion that being tanned generally does make a person look better, healthier and more attractive, there is no denying that people look nice after a holiday, but slathering on layers of what is effectively brown gloop onto your man skin in a fashion that is so glaringly obvious to everyone who looks at you, doesn’t make you look like you’ve acquired a healthy glow from Magaluf, it makes you look like a mug. That is the crux of the problem for me, the actual physical appearance of it, the mere fact you are doing it is bad enough, but the blatant shit quality of it is laughable. Men have been making jokes about Tangoed and Oompa Loompa girls for years and about the stained bed-sheets left behind after one night stands, so why then turn around and decide to do it to yourself?

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Now I know you’ve seen it in smut, and it did make his dick look bigger, but shaving your pubes for the big night with that girl you’ve been trying to bang for weeks is not a good idea, not least because putting something sharp near your precious man bits is unwise on the safety front.


Men have pubes, men have chest hair, men have leg hair, men have underarm hair, men have beards and facial hair, that’s what separates and distinguishes them from women and little boys, so I don’t understand the desire to shave off your pubes and regress back to prepubescent days of fantasising about the moment in Tomb Raider (PS1) when Lara Croft wears a wet-suit and her pixelated tits glisten in the sun. I’m sure they were good times, I’m sure you loved gazing down at your tiny little cock, marveling at the miraculous discovery of ejaculation, but you’re a man now, a big grown up man with pubic hair so why not try and look like one. Let your bits and bobs nestle in the warm protective bed of spongy pubes. Oh and also, leave your chest and back and sack and crack alone as well. Leave it all alone. Whilst some girls despise hairy chests, I’m pretty sure they’d be even less enamoured with a prickly bed of thorns on which to rest their weary head. Whilst I’m on the topic of head, gazing down at your red shaving rash and in-growing hairs while we suck your dick is not up there with our top five turn-ons either. Keep it as god/science intended and leave the long and arduous task of shaving, waxing and epilating to the women.

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Another arena which is for women only is makeup. I don’t even need to go into it, we all know it’s wrong unless you are a transvestite, whom I have nothing against and in fact know a few who look very nice in their makeup indeed. But as a straight man, you may have a little spot, you may have a big spot, but no spot is worth choosing to put makeup on for. Don’t even consider it. At all. Ever. Never ever ever ever ever ever ever ever, bar fancy dress.


Hair on the other hand, is something which has been bothering me for a while, however as much as I have tried to mock and fight the slickedy slick hairstyle, propagated by everyone’s favourite arsehole Joey Essex, a few of my friends are now sporting tamer versions of it and it does look quite nice. It will no doubt pass, along with the rest of the weird male hair fads including Peter Andre curtains, Take That spikes and bleached tips, so I am letting it go. But moderation is the key here, do not cement your hair into a giant Jedward quiff, do not try and emulate John Travolta, do not shave the sides and bunch it all up into a weird, fat, dead ferret on your cranium. If you must fuck with your hair, give it a little comb, a little product and be done with it, don’t fanny around trying to get every strand perfectly in place and using a spirit level for the first time in your life, to ensure the sides are sufficiently straight.

In my cruel, judgmental and unforgiving eyes, undergoing any of the aforementioned metrosexual activities is synonymous to cutting off your own cock, sewing it (like a girl) onto a pair of pants, fashioning a strap-on out of it, hunting down Jodie Marsh and paying her £1000 to sodomise you with it, while you marvel at her muscle tone.


I am sure I am not alone on this, there must be other women who like men to be rough and ready, not necessarily scruffy, but manly. Men who can build wardrobes without shedding a tear when their nail rips, men who shovel down a steak and then an hour later go out and get some fried chicken, men who drink pints and not red wine, men who roll out of bed and get going instead of locking themselves in the bathroom plucking their eyebrows in a magnified mirror, men who throw on a t-shirt and jeans instead of trying on every one of their seemingly identical dental floss vests to see which one shows off their pectorals in the most flattering light, WHERE ARE ALL THE REAL MEN? It really is time for us all to take a stand.

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Women, please unite with me in rejecting any of these orange, hairless men when they sidle up to you in clubs up and down the country looking like JLS have thrown up on them. Even if they offer you a drink, or a look down their pants at how big their dick looks without pubes to conceal it, say NO. That one tiny little word could help end this uprising of twats and together we could solve the problem entirely. Imagine a world where your boyfriend doesn’t take over an hour in the bathroom, leaving you with 15 minutes before you’ve got to leave the house, imagine a world where a man doesn’t nab the last bottle of St Tropez from the shelf seconds before you, imagine a world where your sink isn’t clogged with shaven pubes and your boyfriend doesn’t ask you to wax his back. Isn’t it magical? Remember all it takes is a firm NO. If these men are lead to believe that their look is no longer attracting women, maybe they will change it, just maybe.

And men, you may look at the likes of Joey Essex and your metrosexual mates and think ‘Wow I could be like them and get with girls who wear hot-pants with their arse-cheeks hanging out.’ But say NO to that inner voice, be strong, remember it’s just a phase and the you of ten years time will be so so grateful to the present you for not succumbing to it all and looking like an absolute bellend in photos. You also won’t have to hear the voices of your children ask ‘Why do you look like a carrot with a wig on daddy?’. You don’t really want a girl who is attracted to that kind of thing do you? You don’t really want to wake up in the morning next to her and panic that your hair is no longer pristine and your fake tan may have rubbed off on her white sheets, you don’t want to sit across the table from her itching your ballsack on a first date, do you? When your mate calls and asks if you want to come with him to get a sunbed, just a few minutes, to get a base tan before Ibiza, just say NO.




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