I am a style-conscious man and deliberate in what I wear.  In this New York Times article by Eric Wilson, Patrick Li describes how he synthesizes the essence of a brand and communicates those we use to brand ourselves.  This piece might interest those men who are particularly drawn to the question of how brands…are branded.

Names matter. Brands matter.  And often people like to say that quality matters to them.

When I think about how I dress myself, I ignore brands in the traditional or banal sense.  But I pay attention when it’s an issue of quality.

Por esse mundo fora vai uma panóplia de coisas que suscitam a sexualidade e tudo o que ela acarreta e, partindo desse principio, vamos falar da antiga arte sexual que é acender o lume.

Desde os mais longínquos tempos, muito antes do homem, como o conhecemos, existir, que o fogo povoa a terra. Apareceu muito antes das baratas, para os mais curiosos.

O homem cedo quis possuir esse poder e para isso, fartou-se de esfregar paus uns nos outros (o acto homossexual de acender o lume) até conseguir uma chama pequenina. Deu-se ao trabalho de criar locais próprios para a queima e onde tinha de enfiar a lenha (o heterossexual nasce aqui) para que houvesse alguma reacção. Nos tempos que correm já se faz lume a partir de tudo e de nada, sendo os locais de queima alvo de design de topo (aqui aparecem as derivações dos dois tipos sexuais anteriores, desde o metrosexual ao tecnosexual).

Quantos de nós não ouviram, já, a bela frase:

Mete lá o pau!

Oh blogosphere, how I’ve missed thee. The rest of the week has been significantly more eventful. Sorta.

I went to Kjax’s party on Saturday with the girls, which was pretty sweet since I haven’t been boozing with those ladies in awhile. Some girl brought jello shooters, and so I proceeded to eat the entire tray. So delicious, and filled with vitamins.

Then Ani and I went downtown because everybody else was super lame, and I just needed to get out in public after being confined to my house for the previous week. So we went to Dusk where we met up with Ani’s boyfriend and his buddies, and danced up a storm. Then Metro Guy popped in, and quickly weaselled his way into our dance group, thus interrupting my stellar rhythm.

I told Ani she could leave me alone with Metro Guy (I don’t know why), and we proceeded to dance a little. He claimed I did not call him, I insisted that he was supposed to call me, and so went our tango of love. Finally I tried to enter his phone number into my Instinct, but accidentally entered his digits as a text message, and ended up texting him his name. I giggled, he was appalled, and then he left.

I was then entirely stranded downtown. I remember scrolling down through my entire list of contacts on my phone in SHEER UTTER PANIC, realizing for the first time ever, I had nobody to tag along with. So I went to Whalen’s where Greener was playing, tried to stay awake at the bar, and then bummed a ride home with him.

Hot girl action

I’ve just now realized the most ridiculous thing: I forgot to mention my friend’s wedding. Yeah, I’m fucking serious. I went to a friend’s wedding on Saturday with Bob and her boyfriend. It was a small ceremony with mostly family, so the three of us stood awkwardly in church while others just stared at us like we were wedding crashers. Don’t worry, there was no one there worth climbing into bed with.

I was sceptical about the whole thing because a) SHE’S 23 and b) I never met her fiance until that day, but everything changed when I saw my beautiful buddy walking down the aisle. Did I mention the onslaught of emotion? Holy shit. I suddenly realized “Wow, I can get married now” and I felt the earth tip considerably towards the direction of HELL. I can’t even consider a wedding until five years from now, it’s the furthest thing from my mind. I mean, I do want Nate Gates to be my photographer…and I have my wedding dressed bookmarked in Firefox…and I know my colour theme will be blues…but other than that, I haven’t thought about it AT ALL.

Never mind the man in the background

In other news, Chef has returned from Morocco! My life is filled with the musk of men again! I came home last night to find three boys cooking me supper once again, and now order is restored in my life. We ate lamb tagine and rice with an apricot/prune sauce, it was incredible. Plus Chef brought me back a handcrafted teapot, and did I mention that I really missed him?

FINALLY, finally…today Jagerbomb and I had this awesome conversation about Raffi.

Candice says: did you know that the banana phone song was originally sung by raffi?

Jagerbomb says: who is raffi?

Candice says: you know, the guy who used to play guitar and sing in the woods and he’d crawl through that log

Jagerbomb says: fred penner?

Candice says: oh shit

Candice says: who the hell is Raffi

Candice says: Raffi does exist

Candice says: HE DOES

Candice says: GOOGLE HIM

Then we determined he sings “that baby beluga song.” Enjoy.



(I don’t know what the hell is up with the font in this post, but whatever, I’m spontaneous and you can’t handle it.)

Luciendo totalmente photoshopeado fresco y natural, tenemos al rey Leonidas, mejor conocido Gerard Butler en la revista Signature, con un ensayo fotografico sencillo pero eso si, dejando ver al actor como todo un macho-fashion-metrosexual, XD. Chicas y chicos, disfruten!!

click en las pics para agrandar imagenes en HQ

Men have become so openly affectionate with each other using mobile technology they’ve taken to signing off text messages to male friends with a kiss (x), giving rise to a new generation dubbed “metrotextuals”.

New research from mobile phone firm T-Mobile reveals nearly a quarter of men (22 per cent) regularly include a kiss on texts to their male mates, T-Mobile said.

“Metrotextuality” is most widespread among 18-24 year old males with three quarters (75 per cent) regularly sealing texts with a kiss and 48 per cent admitting that the practice has become commonplace amongst their group of friends.

Nearly a quarter of this age group (23 per cent) even appreciate an “x’ in a text exchange from people that aren’t close friends.

But it’s not just younger men that have become metrotextuals – one in 10 men over 55 often completes a text to another male with a kiss, according to the poll.

The research also revealed there’s a certain etiquette within metrotextuality.

A lower case “x’ is the preferred sign-off for most (52 per cent) compared to 17 per cent for a bolder upper case X), with one in three sharing the love in a big way with multiple lower case kisses (xxx).

Oh good god.

This is why rom-coms exist, and why rom-com directors need to be killed.

Yours, while being desperate to avoid being defined as a metrotextual  by becoming a hard man for a long while – covering over my sensitivity and capacity for empathy with a carapace of arrogance.

Righteous

p.s. I am so neurotically insecure about my abilities that I seek to hide them within dense arcane theories.

Here’s a picture that was first offered to The Worst of Perth, then snatched back Indian giver style when the Sunday Times entered a bidding war. I couldn’t compete with the chequebook journalism so had to wait to show it. I’m sure far more constructive criticism will be generated here rather than Teh Times. A metrosexual making his last stand against the Rosemount bouncers? It’s like something from Proust. Maybe even a Fin de siècle?  He may even have smart shoes on. The outcome, (which can be seen here in video) is a blow for all right thinking bumpkosexuals. Thanks Shonquice. Apparently the conversation went,

Metrocentric: Give back my Pahmina you cunt!

Bouncer: Pashminas are for girls. You were warned to stop insouciantly flicking it over your shoulder.

Metrosexual: A pashmina refers to the type of fibre. They can be worn by both sexes. It’s a simple handmade shawl…

Bouncer: Let me just get my colleague so we can discuss this further. He’s a massive pashmina fan.

Metrosexual icons such as David Beckham and Christiano Ronaldo have inspired a new generation of men to spruce up their act and embrace the ever-growing range of grooming products designed with men in mind. Many of these products as likely to feature in style magazines, newspapers, on television and billboards, in the run up to Christmas. With retailers expecting sales to be brisker than last year (Centre for Retail Research, 2009), one might also expect the market for men’s grooming products to follow suit. However, although Mintel (2007) estimated the overall market size for men’s grooming products was a good-looking £806m, it still continued to exhibit unfulfilled potential.

The slow uptake of these products seems to be because of the continued identification of grooming and self-presentation practices with women and femininity. Harrison’s (2008) visual semiotic analysis of male cosmetics advertised online by Studio5ive found that the organisation reframed mascara and eyeliner in masculine ways (‘manscara’; ‘guy-liner’) in order to distinguish it from women’s products. Those men who actively engaged with such products, risked being critiqued and rejected as non-masculine (hence accusations of homosexuality, effeminacy and narcissism) and so tended to invoke conventional masculinity signifiers (e.g. heterosexual prowess, self-respect etc.) in order to justify their consumption (Hall, 2009). The apparent difficulty men face in enjoying such hitherto feminine identity products shows how more conventional or ‘hegemonic masculinities’ (see: Connell, 1995; Connell & Messerschmidt, 2005) still remain culturally available and are likely to influence men’s (and women’s) consumption patterns this Christmas.

Analysing Discursive Constructions of ‘Metrosexual’ Masculinity Online: ‘What does it matter, anyway?’

The Journal of Popular Culture

Men’s Grooming Habits – UK – March 2007

UK Christmas retail sales to rise 1.9 pct

A los hombres:

1. Calzoncillo debajo del bañador: NO. ¿Por qué lo hacéis? Si es por moda, sabed que en el verano del 98 ya había quien iba así por playas y piscinas y no hay moda que once años dure. Si es por comodidad, porque vuestro bañador no tiene todas las piezas que necesitáis, pues os ponéis debajo un Speedo o un bañador Adidas de los de ir a nadar al gimnasio y listo. Calzoncillo y bañador… habrase visto.

2. Axilas afeitadas a cuchilla: NO. Esto es por lo del rollo metrosexual, ¿no? Qué coñazo el universo metrosexual. Y tan antiguo como lo de los calzoncillos. Si por cualquier motivo crees que para estar guapo necesitas eliminar el vello de tus axilas, adelante pero recurre al láser o algún otro método serio. La barba sólo sale en la cara y las cuchillas son para eso.

Otro día atacaré a las mujeres, empezando por sus triquinis, que lo tapan todo menos lo que nunca queréis enseñar: los michelines. He estado casi todo el día en la playa y he visto cosas muy atroces, necesitaba desahogarme.

He desayunado en dos tiempos. Primero he ido a O Manguito a comer açaí. He pedido el bol grande, que era muy grande. Puedes escoger los “toppings” que quieras, cualquier fruta, leche condensada, frutos secos, chocolate… A mí me gusta con banana y cereales. Como el açaí lo sirven frío, con textura de sorbete, es súper refrescante y encima te lo vas comiendo orgulloso de ti mismo porque sabes que es lo más sano que le puedes dar a tu cuerpo al despertar. Además he pedido un zumo de naranja. La segunda parte ha sido en la playa, en A Cabana da Carol, que es mi chiringuito favorito. Esta fase ha sido un fracaso. He pedido un zumo de cajá sin saber qué era y el sabor no me ha gustado y la textura menos. Es como áspero y arenoso. Cajá nunca máis.

El reto del día ha sido encontrar un regalo de cumpleaños para mi sobrino, y en esto he fracasado tanto como con el zumo. Daba por hecho que lo encontraría en una tienda que me gusta mucho de aquí, venden instrumentos musicales artesanales pero no he visto nada que me gustara para él o que no le haya comprado antes.

Suena Fica comigo de Aviôes do Forró. Compré este disco la primera vez que vine a Pipa. Creo que este grupo para Brasil viene a ser lo que Camela para España. La diferencia es que en vez de un organillo suenan instrumentos de verdad, y  muchos. A mí me gustan porque cada vez que suenan, esté donde esté, me acuerdo de Pipa. Camela no me gustan, pero siempre preferiré que les compren discos a ellos que a Amaia Montero o a la plasta de la Morfina.

Acabo de verme en el espejo, soy del color de una tableta de Milka sin envoltorio.

Let’s be honest.  Most of us either don’t get enough sleep or go to bed wasted from drinking past our bedtime.  When you wake up in the morning, you typically look like you feel.  I swear on my freshly Nair’d nuts by this stuff right here.  Kiehl’s Eye Alert Cream.  I use this shit every day to clear up dark circles and bags around my peepers.

Kiehl's Eye Alert Cream 0.5 Fl. oz. $20.50

Now, let’s move along to face wash…My everyday in the shower steez, I go for the Facial Fuel Gel Face Wash.  But, if it’s shaving day, I go with the Facial Fuel Buffing Scrub.  The buffing scrub is the shit because it softens up your facial hair helping to get a closer shave in less passes.  

Facial Fuel Buffing Scrub 3.4 fl. oz. $16.50

Facial Fuel Gel Cleanser 8.4 fl. oz. $17.50

Through my twenties I only had to shave like once every two weeks. Now into my thirties, it’s up to a whopping twice a week. I used to dread having to shave, because my white ass sensitive skin did not take well to this weekly chore. I would get the worst razor burn, and be miserable for days, as well as looking like a jerk-off. I tries all sorts of shit from the local store, but nothing ever worked. Then I hooked up the Kiehl’s shaving set up. The most important two things are the “Close Shavers” Shaving Formula #31-O and the Blue Astringent Herbal Lotion. The Shaving Formula is a lotion type thing you rub into your facial hair pre-shaving cream. It is another beard softener, that definitely helps with the razor burn bullshit. Honestly, the most important thing by far is the Astringent. After I’m all done shaving, I squirt some of this on a cotton round, and rub it all over my face and neck. I don’t even use any type of after-shave lotion anymore. I swear to fuck, I haven’t had razor burn in ages, and all this jazz keeps the skin feeling and looking proper too.

"Close Shavers" Formula #31-O 1.7 fl. oz. $18.00

Blue Astringent Herbal Lotion 8.4 fl. oz. $15.00

Cop up at: kiehls.com

Zumindest in Australien beobachtet man dieser Tage eine zunehmende Verwischung der Geschlechter-Indentitäten. Nach den Metrosexuals, Leuten mit einem für beide Geschlechter zutreffenden Sex-Appeal, identifiziert man jetzt bis zu drei Viertel der jungen Männer als “Metrotextuals”.

Unter den 18 bis 24jährigen, das ergab eine Studie durch T-Mobile (btw.: Was geht die eigentlich der Inhalt von SMS-Nachrichten an?) verwenden 75 % das “x” oder “Kuss”-Emotikon in Textbotschaften an ihre männlichen Freunde. Bei über 55jährigen Männern seien es immerhin noch 10 %.

( via smh)

Usually it would be transvestite or crossdresser style fetish pictures I would have taken if it is about a male wearing latex, pvc, corsets or thigh high boots. So here it was a new experience for me too beyond the clichees one might have concerning that issues  – - – elegant metrosexual fetish style would probably be the right term for that as it was not about beeing feminine even if those are high heeled stiletto boots.  I appreciate the nice figure of my model as well as the posing- thank you, it was a pleasure for me indeed! – even the passing by seemed positively curious and impressed which is always a nice aspect of things like that. Hope you will enjoy the pictures too though this might be quite another style of what one usually sees here .

A NATION MUST RISE AND BAN TOGETHER: DEATH TO SKINNY JEANS!

Fellas, I certainly believe in fashion and staking claim in your own freedom of expression, but if there’s one thing that should be burned at the stake like a witch in Old Salem, it’s those mother-effin’ skinny jeans!  To put it simply, skinny jeans are evil.  They should be anointed with holy water and exorcised!  They are the devil incarnate.  They are ugly and stupid and just as painful to look at as they must be to wear. 

How was this wretched style ever inducted into the Urban Fashion Hall of Fame?  Better yet, why was it inducted?  There are some things that just shouldn’t catch on and these skinny ass jeans just happen to be one of them.  The only thing they should catch is ON FIRE! 

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve seen guys walk the streets with jeans so tight, they can barely pull them over their ass.  This has got be the reverse of a female’s midriff.  There is nothing hard or masculine about any man in skinny jeans.  For that matter, there is nothing remotely masculine about a man insisting on showing his ass to the world.  If you were incarcerated, would you want to promote your ass the way you are imposing your skid marks on innocent by standers and passers bys on the city streets?  I think not. 

For the life of me, I can’t understand why some fellows are wearing them to the point of halted circulation.  Let’s be honest here, there is nothing more unflattering to the male body as these heathen denim slacks and anyone who believes otherwise should take a long nose dive off a short cliff.  I’ve rallied for various colors and styles and labels and looks, but the skinny jeans craze does not get my support.  In fact, I would sign my name on a petition five thousand times with a crayon if I thought it would bring this blunder to a screeching halt!  Alas I am but one voice.  My tears alone can not cry enough of a river to flush this trend downstream.  I beg of you, please stop this madness.  Take your skinny jeans and donate them to the starving children of Africa who are actually small enough to fit into them, thanks to the growing horrible pandemic known as kwashiorkor. 

I’ve taken the liberty to pull together a list of items that will help any man surpass this fashion faux pas and catapult himself into a higher realm of a respected level of fashion.  As you peruse this list, you will notice that the words “skinny jeans” are nowhere to be found.  This list is for mature young men, grown ups and any other male species who have some level of dignity and moral sense.  I am sick and tired and tired of being sick and tired of seeing Fruit-of-the-Looms bulge over the top of too tight jeans.  Should I see one more person attempt to pull off this look [and undoubtedly unsuccessfully I might add], I will pull out my sling shot and launch miniature torpedoes at their ass.  This will definitely give me greater pleasure than seeing their unmentionables in public.  Take heed and be warned, if I am nothing else, I am a man of my word. 

ALTERNATIVES TO SKINNY JEANS: 

Grow up and take style a little more seriously, please.  Following these rules below should save you the embarrassment of my wrath.

1. Socks should match your pants. Easy as 1, 2, 3.
2. Belts should match your shoes. Not every one is color blind like you.
3. Never wear both a belt and suspenders. The combination makes you appear less confident – you big wuss.
4. Your shoes should be clean.  Dirty shoes can ruin a nice outfit leaving you vulnerable to harsh and heavy insults.  Trust me. I’ll be the one doing the insulting!
5. Don’t wear a short sleeve shirt in combination with a tie. Actually, never wear a short sleeve shirt period. People have the perception that short sleeve shirts are only worn by lower class people. You can wear one if you want to be a McDonald’s manager, but that’s about the only exception to the rule. 
6. Wear the right size pants ok? This statement should be self explanatory however I am sure there is some moron out there who will overlook this very small detail.  If your pants are too long, you should be thrown into a dryer, body and all, until your clothes shrink to fit your body.  If your pants are too tight, then you are the person this whole article is all about. 
7. Socks with Sandals. Even if you live in Maine, don’t do it – you’ll look like a schmuck and I’ll hunt you down and attack you with skunk spray.
8. Chunky Shoes. Lose them, this is Earth, not the moon.
9. Clashing or too many colors. Do you really want to look like a gay pride flag? Stick to complementary colors (those opposite from each other on the color wheel) or colors from the same pallet. You can find one on the web very easily by searching on Google!

With these thoughts in my mind, I invite you join with me in the rise of the death to the unforsaken skinny jean!   It is my solemn duty to spread the word!   

As always folks, stop on by and pay me a visit any time.  My door is always open, except in the morning before 11.  If you knock on my door or ring my phone that early, I’ll cut your ass!  I really will.    Until next time my little refurbished zebra hoofs.  I must bid you a fond farewell and remember 90% of any effort is getting started.   

Quote of the Week:    “Where humor is concerned there are no standards – no one can say what is good or bad, although you can be sure that everyone will.”

Follow me on Twitter at http://twitter.com/mrhollywood2009

Every morning, as Im sipping on my cup o coffee, and looking through my closet, I find myself in the same dilemma. What the f*@k do I wear to work?!?!

I know youre probably thinking: “Listen to this ol Metrosexual ass mofo whining about what to wear”.

Let me explain why its such a pain to decide what to wear. Aside from selling lotto tickets, berating the drunkies who are a nickel short for their beer EVERYTIME they go in my store, and thwarting would be quarter water and lil debbie Zebra cake (deeeee-lic-ous, btw!) thieves, we also prepare lechon asado (FYI:we are taking orders for the upcoming holidays already!). I need not explain to my fellow Latinos/Hispanics what a lechon asado is, but for all my readers who werent born with the Sazon Goya genome, its a whole pig cooked to perfection via a big ol’ pizza oven.

“But Mr.Bodega Life, what does this have to do with what you wear?”

Excellent question. You see, when one cooks a whole, 70-90lbs relative of Porky Pig, it release a lot of grease. Said grease occasionally spills out of the pan and on the oven, which creates a wonderful, but not really, cloud of smokey goodness that flows throughout the whole store, and for some strange reason, seems to collect in my office. Now, after a whole day of this, you start to feel the grease on your face. And by the time I leave the store, I smell like I sprayed eau de pork fat all over myself. Pretty nasty feeling. But it gets worse. The really bad part is when its time to take piggy out of the oven. Imagine trying to balance a tray with a whole pig on it thats been in the oven for 5+ hours, full of hot ass grease AND the person helping you remove it from the oven is an old, arthritic man who pays more attention to anything that walks by him with a pulse rather than the scolding hot pan in his hands.

The end result is usually the same. Grandpa loses focus, tips tray towards me, I get burned AND end up with nice grease stains on my AF1’s and on those really expensive jeans that I paid bottom dollar for at Marshalls! Imagine my frustration. Imagine going through a whole work day not only smelling like a fry cook but also wearing grease stained clothes while dealing with customers and vendors. Not a good look….not a good look at all. Ive thrown out countless shirts, jeans, shorts….most of which were relatively new…… because once those stains set in, no amount of Wisk in the Universe is getting them out.

So I end up staring at my closet way too long, just to put on the same ol’ cargo shorts and musty ass Tee’s that I usually wear ( I have a heavy rotation of 3 shorts and about 5 or 6 shirts that I normally wear).

Oh, how I wish I could wear my Hare Jordans, or maybe even my nice Bruno Magli shoes and a fly ass Express button down to work.

*sigh*

You desk jockeys got it made………

Isso mesmo gautams, as bolsas masculinas estão desse jeito!

Loosho!

Até que enfim os estilistas viram a necessidade de criar bolsas maiores para nós!Aí estão alguns modelos para nos inspirar! Do mais contemporâneo, à mais pintosa mesmo…Um amigo meu diria conceitual!

 O homem moderno precisa de espaço para carregar: Filtro solar, estojo de óculos,caneta, bloco de nota, o carregador do celular, o próprio celular,um quite higiene básico, um conjunto calça-camisa-cueca-meia(caso alguma eventualidade),preservativos, documentos e algo mais!!!Ai morri!!!Que fazer num mundo metrosexualista?!

Today, I listened to Katy Perry’s I Kissed A Girl. FML.
(If you got that joke, you spend way too much time on the internet)
Yeah, feel sorry for me. I know its on the radio all the time but c’mon people! You actually like this garbage? I guess men hear something about girl on girl action and get happy so that’s where her ratings come from, but seriously? Hot ‘n cold? All that song is composed of is opposites and a few catchy lyrics! Good job, Katy Perry you FINALLY learned your opposites! Well, I for one, learned it in fucking kindergarten but you don’t have time for school when you’re selling sex to men through music. Fuck you, Katy Perry, FUCK YOU! Might as well slap a penis on her and call her Lady GaGa.

I will, however, give you props for the song “Ur so gay” which makes fun of metrosexual guys. But if you hate them so much then why did you date one? You make no sense to me. Back to kindergarten for the famous singer. Kindergarten or rehab… your choice.

KTLIOADJ
Keep it right and keep it tight.
But not you Lada GaGa.
Make ‘em loose.

Recently, I have been dropping in, sporadically, on Jade’s relationship with her ex – a man I have seen a picture of just once when in the midst of paranoia I sought out his myspace page and was gleefully faced with the antithesis of myself – a very effeminate metrosexual pretty boy. But, thankfully, one good looking enough to assure me my Mrs has, at least, taste, even if it was directed, for a time, to the wrong type of aesthetic (yeah, take that articulation).

And I say ‘dropping in’ purposefully, though you may think it not literal.

For when a couple attains a level of togetherness, there comes a mixing of possessions, a blurred line: a mixed iTunes. And a mixed iTunes gives a mixed list of songs from which to select when a person presses shuffle on an ipod.

So, when riding the tube home the other day, the strains of a song I knew not but rather enjoyed. I swiped my thumb and there it was. Death Cab for Cutie.

Right.

Not only was this a band I had discarded without listening to due to the fact their name reeked so much of American emo that you almost bleed black eye liner upon listening to it before writing poetry about how no-one gets you, but it was also, probably, pretty much certainly, given to Jade by her ex boyfriend.

And more bands have popped up since with the same back story.

They were songs given by a lover to a lover, and then the love ended. Then they were handed to a new lover. They are love batons. Not in a sleazy sense. Not literally.

They are songs that were shared by them, that came to symbolise moments in their relationship, that triggered memories, that were in jokes and sly grins, that were presents and gigs and birthdays, that, let’s not be afraid to be crude, they probably shagged to (but in a far inferior physical expression of passion than her current arrangement, obviously).

And you think it’s weird, don’t you? Odd that I am willingly opening up the past.

But I like the songs, mostly, and they’re only songs, right? It’s not that I am sadistically making myself listen to them in an effort to come to terms with a past that has traumatised me, I’m not that pre-mediated. Or traumatised, for that matter.

You can’t erase history anyway, you can’t cheat it.

I just like to think I have attained a level of maturity, of comfortableness, where it doesn’t matter what those songs once stood for, perhaps still stand for. It happened. The meaning is not mine to worry about. It’s Jade’s, and her ex’s.

For the most part, for me, they are just songs I like listening to.

Except Dashboard Confessional. They are just shit. Vomit in a sugar bowl. And any man listening to that must have a small cock.

A-hem.

Jon 1, ex 0.

On first glance, healthy eating is anything but bogan, but – massive amounts of sugar aside – Boost Juice ticks all of the boxes for the 21st century bogan prototype. In today’s society, even the bogan is able to tacitly acknowledge the benefits of nutrients in food, though generally they lack the self-discipline, organisational skills, and attention span to incorporate these nutrients into pantries generally stocked with high energy, low vitamin packaged items.

Purchasing a cup of brightly branded juice is a perfect way for the bogan to smash this lingering sense of nutrition guilt, while feeling a sense of connection to the elite. With primal product names such as “tropical storm”, “all berry bang”, and “blueberry blast”, the appeal is as visceral as it is societal, and the bogan’s wallet is quickly $6 lighter. The best thing of all about this tokenistic nod to responsible living, is that it is generally consumed in public, and available in the food court of the local plaza. The desire to be seen as modern can be met by being seen with a Boost juice in hand, earning recognition from other aspirational bogans with money to burn on fluorescent fast food. Boost juice is just a new manifestation of the same behaviour pattern that led the bogan to acquire piles of flimsy infomercial exercise equipment during the 1990s – the desire for the quick fix.

Bursting with natural fruit sugar, the bogan does not sense the capacity for further tooth rotting that is inherently present in juice, and that brushing is still required. The more aspirational bogan, still either clinging to the notion of the ‘metrosexual’, or merely a slavish follower of beauty trends, will of course maintain excellent dental hygiene, if only as a means to apply more tooth whitener.

Boost Juice was initially found most often in parts of town densely populated by hipsters and office workers, but within years, the bogan had viewed the trend from his passing Commodore. This generated adequate demand for Boost to colonise every outer-suburban plaza that was on offer, and the transition to franchise nirvana had been made. And boy, do bogans love franchises (see future entry).

Today, a friend of mine used the phrase “grass-eaters” in an email, and I really couldn’t fathom what she was talking about!  I queried the phrase, and she sent me a link to a very interesting article.  According to Slate, Japan is currently panicking about “the rise of ‘grass-eating men’, who shun sex, don’t spend money, and like taking walks“. These so called “grass-eating men”, in complete contrast to the “metrosexual” Japanese man (who likes to straighten his hair and wear expensive pink shirts) get pleasure from living a more natural life, and probably even use an eco-bag (pronounced in Japan as “echo-bag”) when he buys his organic vegetables.

So where does the phrase “grass-eating men” come from?  Well, apparently it comes from the Japanese “soushoku danshi”.  See here for another interesting article on this subject, which explains the Japanese term.  “Soushoku” means “herbivorous” or “grass-eating” and “danshi” means “young man”. The term was coined by Maki Fukasawa, a Japanese editor and columnist for NB Online, in 2006.

So, why is this such a bad thing?  A guy who likes to cook, take long walks, stay home and relax, be kind, sweet and sensitive… sounds good, right?  However, the other side of these so called “grass-eaters” is that apparently they have no interest in finding a girlfriend, although they could if they wanted to.  They’re quite happy to stay home alone and persue their hobbies, and have no interest in relationships or sex.  According to some surveys quoted in the Slate article, in one survey 61% of unmarried Japanese men in their 30s identified themselves as “grass-eaters”, and in another 75% of single Japanese men in their 20s-30s thought they were herbivores, too.  Hmm.  I guess this doesn’t bode well for the future of the Japanese race!

What do you think? Do you know guys like this? Does it matter?  Are single girls in Japan going to have to do all the work now if they want to get a date?

Share your thoughts below, please!