Not all glamour is fake
Two days ago, Charlie wrote about his take on Playboy. Yesterday, Kat picked up on the topic, and wrote a piece on the somewhat lost glamour that went away with the relevance of such magazines as Playboy. Kat’s piece evinced a record of comments. At some point the comments turned ever so slightly virulent in a bitter sort of way around the age old topic that is of concern to men: “What do women want?” A sentiment was heard that on the one hand women want “charm,” “class,” and “sophistication” out of the men they are with, but that the ostensible behavior that is classified under the above label is shallow and empty. Women should accept men as they are – beer bellies, belching, greasy hair and nothing but football on TV. I am exaggerating a bit, but you can read through the comments to Kat’s post if you wish to see the language yourselves.
I feel a bit bad for what class and suave behavior came to represent, and how they are viewed by many of my contemporaries. True, no one can be (nor should aspire) a James Bond like figure. We seldom, if ever, live up to any ideals – that’s why they are called ideals. At the same time, aspiration determines direction, and if we aspire to a certain image and type of behavior, then we, more likely than not, will come closer to the ideal of that behavior than if we were not to aspire at all.
Among the comments to Kat’s posting there was a decrying of women losing their mystery to men. Another response urged everyone to get over themselves – women don’t want to go around being beautiful all the time (I assume the reference is to the pain of putting makeup on and the lack of comfort of pumps and tight dresses). And then came the assertion that prompted me to write this piece – that being a gentlemen is just a mask. While this can certainly be true, it’s not universally true – I’ve met plenty of real gentlemen.
My point is the following – our true self is only revealed when we die – a heap of rotting fetid flesh, eventually eaten by maggots with nothing to leave after ourselves but bleached bones. The corollary of that attitude is “why bother?” If we have “stuff that can hang out” why not let it “hang out,” why prim and groom yourself for a potential or an actual partner if they do see you in the morning – tousled hair, stale breath and all? The resounding answer (from this corner of New England at least) is that we have a choice as to who we are while we are kicking around. It is this mysterious “life force” that keeps the heart pumping and the body from degenerating. It is our inner sense of who we are and who we want to be that keeps us as human beings rather than degenerates. With notable exceptions we have some control over how our body looks (you work out or not), how sharp our mind is (you practice it or late it go numb) and how engaging and engaged we are (you sit home all day or you expose yourself to people and events). So, it may be appropriate for some, it may be their true core to sit with a beer belly and watch football. And if that is the case, you will come across as a kind of modern day Spirit of Christmas Past, rather than a slob. And if Opera, monogrammed shirts, cigarette holders and martinis are your style, you will look great and alluring, if they are not, you WILL look like a phony. And if you like one look over another, with will and effort you can make it part of your persona. To some degree it’s up to you.
But please, let’s not complain about the loss of mystery in women. A woman is infinitely mysterious, alluring and charming – a phantom of beauty lurking at the edge of your peripheral vision – trust me on this one. If this has not been your experience, you just have not found the right woman for you.
I apologize for the rant, but I felt it should be said. And while I sometimes long for a different cultural and interpersonal environment, I do NOT wear a fedora without a coat, and the only non winter gloves I have are for driving.
10:43:04 AM 
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