Monday, October 15, 2007

The Anti-Metrosexual


More than ten excruciating weeks of anxiety finally came to a blissful conclusion last Thursday morning when I learned that I passed the Colorado bar examination. Prior to my learning the results, my wife, Lindsey, encouraged me to celebrate passing the bar exam by purchasing a new suit for my new career. I detest shopping for clothes, but nevertheless agreed with her idea because my current first string suit has certainly seen better days, and in a profession where pretentiousness and superficiality abound, what better way to make my entrance than by picking up some new threads? So last Friday we threw Annabelle, our recalcitrant seven month-old daughter, into the car and drove to the Men’s Wearhouse, located in the trendy Park Meadows shopping area.

Generally speaking, I strive to spend the least amount of money possible on any given purchase. However, since I intend not to go on another suit shopping expedition for years (for reasons that shall become abundantly clear below), I decided to buy a little higher quality suit than what I might pull off the rack at J.C. Penney. When we arrived at Southeast Denver’s shopping mecca, I realized that I had a perfect opportunity to kill two birds with one stone by buying new dress shoes on this same outing. (I have been wearing a pair of “hand-me-up” – a term coined by my father – dress shoes that my younger brother gave me two and a half years ago.) We quickly accomplished this leg of the trip when I picked up a pair of stylish square toe Kenneth Coles from Macy’s.

We then entered the Men’s Wearhouse. I’ve dealt with this situation before. I knew it would be only a few moments before a smartly dressed “wardrobe consultant” would accost me and begin peppering me with questions about the occasion that prompted me to search for a suit that day. Before I relate what happened next, we should pause briefly to discuss the vocation of “wardrobe consultant.” What is a wardrobe consultant anyway (besides one of the most emasculating job titles I think a man could ever hold)? It’s basically that guy that wasn’t good enough to make any of the varsity sports teams in high school, so he assuaged his insecurity by dressing up in expensive clothes and hanging around girls. He was the guy with lots of girl friends, but never a girlfriend. He was the guy that paid over a hundred dollars for designer jeans that came with pre-made holes in the legs and frayed hems. He was the guy that ironically spent twenty-five minutes in front of the mirror gelling his hair to make it appear as though he hadn’t spent anytime at all on it. My friends, I have just described the background of the quintessential wardrobe consultant, but you know him by another name…metrosexual. Yes, these metrosexuals are annoyingly ubiquitous in shopping centers, especially the men’s clothing stores.

Back to the story – As I predicted, it wasn’t long before an unimposing guy in his early thirties approached me and, using a tone that seemed more fitting for a pick up line asked me if he could help me. I stated my purpose for being there – to buy one or two suits without spending a fortune. Clark, my metrosexual wardrobe consultant presented me with a bevy of choices, ranging from a charcoal pinstripe to a navy three-button to a classic blue pinstripe two-button. I appreciated his assistance in helping me find the appropriate size of suit coat of the various styles, but what I absolutely did NOT appreciate was the way he insisted on helping me put on the jacket and then gently, almost caressingly, running his hand down my back and shoulders to illustrate how the jacket would “fall” on me. It was unbelievable! Just as I asked myself how any reasonable person could possibly believe that this approach would lead to my buying a suit, I reminded myself with whom I was dealing – a metro, a new-age, trendy man who is apparently very comfortable insisting that he help dress other men for a living.

After I had selected the two suits I wanted to buy, Clark enlisted the help of his more conspicuously metrosexual co-worker, wardrobe consultant Jeff (Metro #2). At this point I nearly demanded that they quit referring to themselves as wardrobe consultants and, much like a sanitation technician should call himself a garbage man, begin calling themselves what they -really were – clothes salesmen. Let me paint you a picture of Metro #2, so you can visualize the ridiculous scene that was unfolding in front of me. He was slightly built, wore wire framed glasses, and sported a hideously weaksauce goatee. His facial hair didn’t grow thick enough to have a normal goatee, so he grew out the chin hairs he did have to a repulsive extreme to give the appearance of thickness. It wasn’t fooling anyone. Anyway, Jeff’s role in this whole operation was to help me “accessorize” with my new suits. How can any self-respecting man offer to help another man “accessorize”!?!? Unbelievable. Anyway, in a cracking voice that sounded like a twelve year-old’s on the precipice of puberty, Metro #2 explained to me that he was going to show me some looks that are “staples of any successful attorney’s wardrobe.” (The amount of ingratiating that took place after I told the metros that I was going to be an attorney was nauseating.)

Metro #2 explained to me that I simply had to buy an ecru shirt, retail price $49.99, to go with the navy suit I was buying. In an act of triumphant frugality (and contempt for the metros incessant suggestive selling) I categorically refused to buy not only the ecru shirt, but every other silly shirt, suspenders, cuff links, and ties they attempted to foist on me by insisting that I would be committing fashion suicide by not buying. I confidently strode to the counter, satisfied that I had accomplished the purpose for which I came. As I was checking out, Metro #2, clearly dissatisfied by my choice not to purchase the $500 and up suits leaned forward and queried, “Can I give you my professional opinion on something?” “Professional opinion?” I thought. “Professional of what? Clothes sales?” Ignoring my incredulity, Metro #2 told me that when shopping for suits, I was really going to get what I paid for. He told me that if I only wanted to spend $200 on a suit, it would only last two years, whereas paying $700 for a suit would result in the suit’s lasting seven or more years. Unimpressed by his ability to take two zeros off the price of a suit to arrive at its life expectancy in years, I thanked him for his “professional opinion” and left.

The problem with metrosexuals is that they apparently do not understand that they comprise a very small percentage of the male population. They do not understand that most men take pride in the characteristics that make them men. I love the fact that after I step out of the shower, I dry my hair off with a towel, and I’m done! I love the fact that I can wear my decade-old hunter orange hooded sweatshirt wherever I go and in any climate. No accessorizing. No mirror sessions. No ecru shirts. I am the anti-metrosexual.