The Changing faces of Masculinity

I wake up Monday morning still hung over from the previous night’s debauchery. I suddenly realize I’m
late for work. Silently stepping out of bed I try not to wake my girlfriend, grab a sweater, throw on a pair of my new skinny jeans then run out the door. When I reach my office building I immediately realize
there’s something wrong. Entering the elevator none of the occupants would make eye contact, then
I hear the receptionist giggle as I walk by. Before I can sit down at my desk, a colleague in the adjacent
cubicle leans out and whispers “nice ass Ramsey!” I run to the bathroom to confirm, what at this point
I already know. In the washroom mirror I stare at the horrifying truth. During my haste to leave the
apartment I hadn’t put on my skinny jeans, I was instead wearing a pair of my girlfriend’s hip huggers.

Men’s fashion seems to go through cycles of chameleon-like masculinity. And pop-culture continues to heavily influence the latest trends in our wardrobe. It’s impossible to predict whether next year you’ll be wearing jeans so baggie you need to place your hands in the pockets just to keep them on your ass, or wearing skinny jeans and rocking a razor sharp Mohawk capable of decapitating low flying pigeons. Just a decade ago men’s fashion was led by bands like Metallica, Wu tang and Black Sabbath. During this era it was common to see men walking around wearing army jackets, ripped jeans and Timberland boots. It was impossible to distinguish if they were coming home from a construction site, or going to invade a small country. Today’s pop icons are quite the opposite. The music industry is now saturated with artists such as Bruno Mars, Drake and Justin Bieber. Dudes so sweet they probably ejaculate fruit punch. Men’s wear is now so androgynous it’s easy to check out women from a far without realizing she’s got a moustache, and a penis.

It’s comforting to know the B-boy days aren’t over, just suspended in fashion purgatory. Inevitably the
rude boys and hipsters shall kick off their open toe sandals and once again don hyper-masculine gear,
perfectly suited to whoop the ass of any dude looking at you sideways in the club. For now men, we
must ride the wave of effeminate capri pants and deep v t-shirts. And hope to god that the norm never
requires us to wear sweat pants with juicy written on the back or butterflies tattooed above our butt
cracks.

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