The Pussification of the American Male

I recently watched a Presidential debate on tv.  CNN (you know, the Castro News Network) made sure to throw the obligatory bone to the Facebook-and-Twitter crowd, thereby adding to the lack of dignity and general discombobulatory feel to the proceeding, but the candidates themselves seemed much stronger than the media had heretofore portrayed them (big surprise there). However, the stupidest moments of the debate were easily the pop culture questions that John King asked the candidates. And the most disconcerting moment of all came with his question to Newt Gingrich—a former Speaker of the House of Representatives and a candidate for President of the United States: “American Idol or Dancing With The Stars?”

Really? 

Unfortunately for Newt, he answered the question. That’s sad, because until that moment I had seen him as a candidate with some intellectual heft. But acquiescing to the inane question merely highlighted what might be the most significant cultural problem facing America today: the pussification of the American male. 

I know that a lot of feelings are going to be hurt in this column, and that actually underscores my premise. There was a time that men acted like men, and if you got your little pumpkin feelings hurt by a column you’d have been told to check downstairs to make sure you had all your equipment. But those days appear to be gone—at least for the moment. And perhaps, for our younger male readers, a little history lesson is in order, so that we may all understand how we got here. 

It all began with the militant feminist movement of the late 1960’s and early 1970’s. The ultimate objective of the movement was to re-engineer the normalized gender roles that had been prevalent throughout the history of civilization. A much wiser observer than I once remarked that “feminism was invented to give ugly women access to the mainstream of America.” Interesting observation. Most of the culture rejected militant feminism, and all of its asinine arguments. But by the 1980’s, when I was in high school, you could see the Politically Correct movement gaining steam. I can remember being told that we should stop saying “retarded,” and start saying “mentally challenged.” And other such schlock. The men who actually fell in line with this sort of thinking were generally sneered at by the rest of civilization, and eventually Newsweek even ran a cover with a picture of a random man in flannel shirt with the tag line: “Where Are The Real Men?” So the nags had eliminated men, then whined about the absence of men. Those of us who watched this farce made a mental note to never change a single thing about ourselves in some misguided attempt to curry favor with the nags—and the PC movement was relegated to graduate school classrooms where it belonged. 

But apparently it caught on with Millennials. 

The Gentle and Sensitive Man archetype has now become quite commonplace, particularly among the young. It is positively amazing to a Gen-Xer like me to note that it wasn’t that long ago that this sort of fellow would have been taken out behind the football field house and pummeled about the head, shoulders, and clavicle region. Now he appears in magazines and on billboards as The Man To Be. I can remember when a man would choose beer over wine. Torque over gas mileage.  A 1967 GTO over a Prius. A house over an apartment. A burger over arugula. He mowed his own lawn, rather than hiring a lawn service. He changed his own oil and tires, and had a can of Goop beside the outdoor water spigot to clean the grease off his hands when finished. You might see him in blue jeans and a t-shirt driving a truck or a hot rod, but you would never see him wearing Speedos and a safety helmet, riding a ten-speed. The question you asked that man was “Ginger or Mary Ann?” NOT “American Idol or Dancing With The Stars?” If you happened to be a wine-sipping, Whole Foods-shopping, Volkswagen-driving pantywaist, you called him “Sir” and ardently hoped he wouldn’t step on you as he walked past. 

But one quick perusal of the clothing section of any store catering to “men” of a certain age will show you how far we’ve fallen. Let’s examine how today’s young man looks when he leaves his upstairs flat:

Yes, you, too, can feel sensitive and enlightened with these breezy pastel plaid shorts. You can accessorize your ensemble with the iPod buds, disheveled undershirt and zip-up hoodie. The ladies’ sunglasses are sold separately, but are a must for summer fashion.

This bright and airy yellow v-neck sweater fits snugly over a dress oxford shirt to give you that I’m-Sitting-With-The-Band-Geeks look.

Nothing says “I don’t have a penis!” quite as efficiently as flip-flops. Impress the Millennial ladies today with yours! If you act now, you can order the special rhinestone-studded flip-flops to go with your oversized ladies’ sunglasses.

Ah, yes….the cuffed designer shorts, v-neck sweater, cloth knapsack to carry his bean sprouts home from Whole Foods, and hipster glasses. What lady wouldn’t be mesmerized by this lad’s sensitivity?

It’s not the Millennials’ fault; they’ve clearly been misled by some of their chosen cultural leaders. Consider the ramifications of what happens when famous men set the example of douchery:

Plaid shorts? Check! Ladies’ double-notch cloth belt? Check! Tattoos that you thought might make you look tough, but really just look like every other sensitive boy? Check! Bonus points for being a soccer player….mmmm…..dreamy…..

It’s not enough to vote Democratic…one must also dress the part. With his pastel shirts and pink and yellow ties, Anthony Weiner shows us all why it became necessary to actually prove to the ladies that he was, indeed, a man….

I have many friends and acquaintances who had the bad judgment to be born in the younger generation, so I’m going to help you cats out with some free advice from a Man who was raised by another Man:

Rule #1: if you can’t imagine that article of clothing being worn by John Wayne, do not purchase it.

What? you ask. Who’s John Wayne? That’s actually part of the problem here. Many of you just weren’t raised right.

But you don’t have to just narrow it down to one man—although John Wayne is the quintessential symbol of American masculinity. I’ll broaden it: if you can’t picture Charles Bronson wearing it, you shouldn’t wear it. If you can’t picture Chuck Norris sporting those shades, you shouldn’t be, either. If you can’t see Lee Marvin traipsing into the fresh produce aisle in plaid shorts and flip-flops, listening to the Black-Eyed Peas, then you should stay away from that, too. If James Arness wouldn’t have been caught dead in a pink tie, then you shouldn’t either.

But, you sensitively ask, those guys are, like, old. Why can’t we update it to some action stars from my generation?  Shouldn’t we keep it, like, relevant?

The answer is NO. Let us compare and contrast: 

• Your action stars shave their chests and wear Toms shoes. Charles Bronson killed people.·        

•  Your action stars dress as though they are thinking seriously of performing a sex act on another man. Lee Marvin whipped the Dirty Dozen into shape in order that they might kill many Nazis inside the palace.

• Your action stars tweet and twitter their every illiterate thought. If Chuck Norris wants you to know what he is thinking, he’ll roundhouse kick that thought into your head.

• Your action stars drive tricked-out Hyundais with big, gay spoilers on the back. Steve McQueen drove a Mustang GT in Bullitt—and was racing away from a Dodge Charger 440.

Yesterday’s Man, without even consciously thinking about it, exuded Masculinity. Your male action stars appear to be attracted to other male action stars. Look to an earlier generation for male guidance, young Jedis, or you’ll all end up being the princesses you already look like.

If it had been me running for President instead of Newt Gingrich, and John King had asked me that question, I would have answered thusly:

“Smooth out your skirt, John, and listen up. I wouldn’t watch either one of those retarded shows. I TiVo’d the The Magnificent Seven and watched it for the twelfth time. Now go fix me a Scotch or I’ll have to come down there and give you a wedgie in front of Anderson Cooper. That is all.”