A new study from scientists in Britain and Germany suggests that men who are “flamboyant” dancers attract women best.
Flamboyant? How do you mean, exactly? John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever (replete with white polyester leisure suit)? Patrick Swayze in Dirty Dancing (did we ever establish what the age of consent was wherever that little camp was?). Elaine in the fateful Seinfeld episode?
No, no, no, a thousand times no.
A frequent reader of The Dude’s wisdom asks, “Why does a guy think it is ok not to own a blazer at age 35?”
I might reframe the question: “Why would a woman hang out with a guy who thinks it’s ok not to own a blazer at age 35?”
A man will cling longingly to his favorite pair of old jeans, his college intramural championship t-shirt, his old hockey jersey, and a handful of other things. You MUST respect his need to own these. For him to wear these is for him to remind himself of his youthful virility, which may be flagging, but you are ill-advised to remind him of that.
But I digress.
An adult male worthy of female companionship, regardless of his profession (investment banker, school teacher, sanitation engineer, professional athlete) MUST own at least one decent suit, one decent pair of pants (which is to say, a pair that requires professional laundering, not blue jeans) and, yes, gentle reader, at least one blazer. If it’s just one, it’s probably blue, which is fine. He should have at least one tasteful silk four-in-hand necktie that can go with either the suit or the blazer.
Moreover, he should know when it is appropriate to wear these items of clothing, and he should do so without protest, partially because it makes him look like an adult, partially because it is a reflection of his excellent taste and judgment, and partially because failure to do so will result in the evolved woman telling him that he is an uncultured rube who isn’t going to get any for a while.
He should also own a black tuxedo with a black bow tie that he can tie himself, in part because it is a sign of his elan, but mostly because the James-Bond-untied-bow-tie-look late in the evening rivals Bryan Ferry and Seal CDs for encouraging a woman to part with her clothing.
The only exception to the guidelines above relate to rugby clothes, which, after being worn in a legitimate rugby game, are appropriate attire for any occasion.
This actually came out of a woman’s mouth once: “If you don’t know what’s wrong, I’m certainly not going to tell you.”
In a more calm moment, we’d hope that the utterer of the phrase might see the absurdity of the comment.
We’re simple. We generally want to make you happy. Tell us what’s wrong when we ask. We’re wired to want to fix things…so we’ll probably try to fix it.
Unless it’s outrageous or silly, in which case you’re on your own.
There is little that makes our blood run as cold as the topic of an X-month anniversary of dating where X is not a multiple of 12. Why?
We’re simple creatures, right?
That means that sometimes, we’re not so perceptive. It’s not because we don’t care, it’s because we’re genetically wired to be hunters, not gatherers. Consequently, we hunt solutions but are often not good at gathering information. Like hints. You may find that you drop them all over the place…and that we don’t get it. This often leads to frustration or disappointment that we haven’t done something, or stopped doing something, or something like that.
Another, probably more effective way to approach the unmet need might be to ask directly. Typically, we want to keep you as happy as we can (within reason — you’ll have to watch a Meg Ryan chic flic with your friends, not us)…so we’ll usually try to accommodate. Even if we won’t, or can’t, you’ll at least know that you have an answer.
The wife and I went to see “Sex In The City 2.” I implore you not to see this movie.
The original series and first movie were edgy. Witty. Insightful. Even, as HBO brags, “groundbreaking.”
The characters were likable. They reminded us of people whom we knew. The were multidimensional. They had at least a fleeting sense of reality to them.
What the hell happened?
This sequel made “Caddyshack II,” “Slap Shot II,” and “Major League II” (horrifyingly bad sequels to seminal guy movies) look like Oscar candidates.
The dialogue –when it wasn’t finding ways for the characters to drop gratuitous f-bombs, no doubt intended to simultaneously shock the overwhelmingly female audience and tell them it’s cool to cuss — was too clever by half and peppered with pitiful puns that made me want to puke.
The plot? Preposterous. The girls (easy there ladies, that’s what they call themselves…I’m just the reporter here) were caricatures of themselves. Hokey cameos by semi-starlets. Yawn.
The whole thing was a showcase for excess — remarkably tasteless in a 10% unemployment environment. Who goes to Abu Dhabi on an all-expenses paid junket? Who drives around in chauffer driven Maybachs? Who goes out drinking like that all the time? And why the hell is it always Cosmos? Those are so 2007. If you’re going to curse, would it kill you to drink scotch or a proper see-through with an olive or an onion? Really.
And look…I like to feel pretty as much as the next guy, but the cavalcade of crappy couture was criminal. Who are they kidding? Nobody wears this shit any more than any man wears the overpriced garbage in GQ and Esquire (and don’t get me started on who must pick the models…).
Oh…and Samantha? The lascivious sexpot routine was funny and alluring for a while, and we’d even throw her a bone (so to speak) in the first movie even though she was getting a little tired…but she is now a genuine hag, and shouldn’t be wearing half of what she was wearing (or more accurately, should have been wearing TWICE what she was wearing). The close-ups that suggested that she still had a shred of hotness simply ruined the speed-dinner we needed before we had to spring the babysitter. Men generally love women who are open about their sexuality…but have a little judgment and taste, and act more than HALF your age.
The wedding (Big gets in trouble for referring to it as a “gay wedding” so I’ll refrain), though, was screamingly funny. A men’s chorus singing romantic standards in glittery top hats. And swans. And Liza Minelli. Priceless.
Take my advice. Skip it. Watch “The Godfather” again. You’ll thank me later.
For the next four or so weeks, the most important thing in the world of sports is taking place.
Some will try to poo-poo it claiming that “soccer” isn’t real football. I note, even as a diehard NFL fan, that what we call “soccer” is called “football” by, oh, everyone else on the entire PLANET.
Most countries don’t [...]
A reader has inquired about my opinion on “the new men’s Spanx, aka “shapewear.”"
The punchline: I’m an “anti.” Spanx smacks of false advertising, false vanity, and worst of all, strikes another blow against all that is macho, virile, and right. As if earrings, carryalls, and make up for men aren’t offensive enough.