The Masculinity Spectrum: from flamingly homo to pulsatingly macho, and all stops in between

In the '90s, if you're a man, you must like sports. Otherwise, you're gay. If you prefer a nice red wine to a Rolling Rock, again, labeled homosexual. In fact, these days you can't even suck a little dick without being considered "less than a guy's guy." People, people, people! What have we become?

Now, I have nothing against those of the same-sex-lovin' persuasion. This would be a perfect time to insert the beloved Seinfeld phrase about being gay: that "there's nothing wrong with that." But I hate Seinfeld, so you're not going to hear it from me. In fact, I suffer much less from homophobia than I do from notfunny-phobia, which flares up when I'm exposed to those who think "a show about nothing" is a show in which intricately plotted "comedy" segments intertwine in one big coincidental climax. Hardly nothing, in my book. Hardly the point, either.

I'm comfortable with people thinking I'm gay. Well, I'm not, but it impresses the ladies if I say that. And my extremely effeminate manner is already pushing the ladies away enough, so I need all the help I can get!

What I do have a problem with, friends, is a stealthily increasing shift in the media and social consciousness towards the "masculine angle"--which is really a 180 degree angle, because it's so very straight. The masculine angle, once reserved solely for hawking sport utility vehicles and booze, is now seeping its way into all areas of advertising.

Masculine Avenue has done away with all the feel-good type products that we all--men, women, and effeminate men--have enjoyed over the years, targeting first anything with even the subtlest of non-macho attributes. For instance, has anyone seen Fruity Pebbles on the grocery store shelves recently? I didn't think so. Or, for that matter, how about Juicy Sweet Gay Drops in the candy aisle? And it's been years since any American has been able to purchase a Flaming Man Chainsaw For Girlies. That market has dried up, or so they would have us believe.

Now we must prove our masculinity with every product we buy. I was not sucked into purchasing Gillette's new Glow-In-The-Dark Shaving Cream, like many other men my age. I saw that label "Not For Pussies," and I said to myself, "Well, I guess I'm a pussy then." And I skipped right over to the section with good old reliable Schick Cream Fantasy. I'm sure Masculine Avenue would say the latter product "was strong enough for a woman but made for a man that acts like a woman," or some such verbose jibe. Jibe away, I say.

When I order a Strawberry Fruit Smoothie, people giggle. And when I shake my head and "tsk" at their ignorance, they just giggle more. Apparently "tsk-ing" isn't within the realm of all things Van Damme either.

Well, you know what, society? Go suck a lemon! I've been doing some research on the topic of manliness over the last several months, and I've found that quite a few things we collectively label as "macho" are indeed not all that they seem.

EXHIBIT A: Rough and tumble actors, like Nick Nolte or Mickey Rourke, have been known to get their hair done! That's right: not cut. They have stylists, not barbers. Overflowing with machismo, huh? I think not.

EXHIBIT B: Other famous performers over the years--your Charles Nelson Reillys, your Jm. J. Bullocks, your Paul Lyndes, even your Bruce Vilanches--are rumored to have never frequented a strip club or a hockey game. Looks like Center Square isn't quite as he-manly as we're led to believe.

EXHIBIT C: Speaking of He-Man, he and Skeletor and Ram-Man seemed never very interested in She-Ra, Teela, or the Sorceress. What's that all about? The day he held aloft his mighty sword? Yeah, I'll bet.

EXHIBIT D: "Real Men" have, according to very reliable sources, at one time or another, at least once in their lives, taken part in the consumption of quiches. Blows a hole in that theory.

EXHIBIT E: The song "Macho Man" was recorded by The Village People, who, while holding down jobs both musical and manly, had a number of homosexual followers.

EXHIBIT F: After cross-referencing the vast Kennedy family tree, as well as prancing my way through Austrian genealogical archives, I have found that Hans and Frans are indeed not cousins of Mr. Arnold Schwarzenegger. In fact, my sources say they are just comical characters. Who're the girlie-men now, fat boys?

EXHIBIT G: Sports are all homoerotic. I mean, let's be honest, they are. Tight, toned young male asses in form-fitting trousers that leave nothing to the imagination, juggling balls, and dancing spry little jigs in their sweaty same-sex locker rooms? Come on!

EXHIBIT H: Hunting, fighting, drinking, smoking, and getting laid are indeed all mannish pursuits, and it is clear that no heterosexual woman could ever derive pleasure from any of them. But if I find any that do, I will insert their names into the blank space that follows, and that will be my EXHIBIT H. _______________, _______________, & _______________

What does this all prove? That we gay-seeming men are just as much men as the non-gay-seeming-men? Well, that's easy to say. But is it true? Many studies still need to be done to determine the validity of this statement. Moreover, I myself am indisposed for any such scientific explorations during weekdays--my stories!--and of course, for that weekly televised Monday night party (McBeal time).

I can say this. The ever-growing masculinization of our culture will only lead to a Tim Allen-like society, where power tools and monkey sounds are something "we can all relate to." Me? I'm gonna be stockpiling my Berrylicious Petite Cigars, until the macho Nazi movement has passed, and a heterosexual can continue to smoke with irritatingly gay-like pride.