One item on news last night caught my attention. Some guys in Nyeri town decided that their colleagues had stayed too long without taking a bath and so they decided that this trend had to stop. So they forcefully washed about 20 men. I guess they decided with the new constitution, their brothers could not stay dirty, not during their watch, er, wash.
Well, it would seem that when these group of men is trying to keep as far as possible from being clean, there is another group that is taking men’s cleanliness to dizzying heights.
They are called the metrosexual men. A metrosexual man is simply a man who embraces and accepts his feminine side and takes care in his appearance. Examples include the make-up wearing Johnny Depp or even the British soccer star David Beckham (whose wife is Victoria Adams - a.k.a. Posh Spice) may be the quintessential metrosexual icon, sometimes attired in a sarong and embellishing his nails with colorful polish.
Your boyfriend or husband might take care in his appearance and care about the way he looks, but that does not necessarily mean that he is metrosexual.
There is actually a difference. A man who cares about his appearance is just that. But a man who goes over the top about his appearance, his clothing, and his material possessions is definitely a metrosexual.
Several items that a metrosexual man might own include mantyhose, this is simply defined as the male version of pantyhose. Now, am not even going to understand when he will need to this especially in Nairobi and no, I will not appreciate a growl of hearing a man discovering a run on his mantyhose!
I can only imagine the agony of being married to metrosexual man…the intensity of the discussion on whose face has an oily T-zone, the latest products to cleanse, tone and moisturize. I am ok with my husband thinking cleanse, tone and moisturize your t-zone is something you do to meat before you grill it, thank you very much!
I like to think that in the unfortunate event of a fire, my husband will give priority to rescuing us, our son and me his wife and not his toilet bags and other necessary accessories so that he can be well-groomed for the eventual interview with the television reporter to discuss the fire that gutted his house.
In other words, me Jane, you Tarzan … now swing home and bring with you some form of dead animal and let me not hear a tweet from you about your freshly manicured nails. Capisce??
Blessings y’all!
