Jun 22, 2007

Just another vanity case

By Malcolm Fleschner / Humor Columnist

Right off the bat, I would like to make it clear that I am not a vain person. Although, come to think of it, vanity is one sin few men will readily cop to committing. Gluttony, sure. Sloth? OK. Lust? That's a joke, right?

Still, just a few years ago, male vanity was all the rage. Who can forget the so-called "metrosexual" trend that received near wall-to-wall coverage from media outlets as diverse as Time Magazine, The New York Times and Amish Men's Journal? Across America, we were breathlessly told, hordes of straight men had suddenly taken to wearing tailored clothes, agonizing over shoes like a bunch of Sex and the City characters, and ditching our beloved baseball caps in favor of hairstyles requiring the regular application of a mysterious substance referred to as "product."

But much like the cigar smoking trend, the feng shui trend and the oxygen bar trend that came before it, the metrosexual trend somehow managed to sweep the nation without any of us in the general public actually participating. Although I have no proof, I suspect that the source of all these hype-only trends is a giant Chinese "fad farm" in which workers toil in sweatshop conditions to produce ideas that are then distributed to magazines, newspapers and TV news shows for dissemination to the gullible populace.

"OK, editors, here are your marching orders for the latest fads - this month tell everyone they'll be flocking to street corner Tarantula soup stands, installing tropical fish tanks in their car dashboards and engaging in speed dating while skydiving. Now go!"

One reason why people might mistakenly assume I harbor feelings of vanity is because I rarely wear my prescription glasses. Unlike most members of my family, I have moderately good vision, so I only need to wear glasses for activities that require particularly keen eyesight, such as bird watching, driving after dark or enjoying late night cable movies featuring brief nudity.

My mother, by contrast, has awful vision. Yet whenever anyone tries to snap her picture, she always insists on removing her glasses. The problem is that once her glasses come off, her surroundings become one giant blur, including the photographer. This explains why in so many of our family vacation photos, Mom can be seen squinting, staring off in the wrong direction, tumbling headlong into the Grand Canyon, etc.

But my excuse for not wearing glasses isn't vanity - it's laziness. A few months ago I sat on my only remaining pair, breaking off one of the earpieces and bending the other to a 90-degree angle. So now, to use my glasses I have to hold them up to my face with one hand like some foppish 17th century French nobleman. All I need is a long black wig, some pancake makeup and a pair of white tights and I'd be ready for the court of Versailles.

Of course, as my wife points out, this problem could be avoided if I just bought a replacement pair of glasses. But faced with the hassles of getting a new prescription, picking out a pair of frames and waiting while my new glasses are made ("about an hour," my foot) seems like too much trouble when the current ones still work perfectly well. I've simply stopped wearing them in public, which has resulted in far fewer curious looks and incidents of random strangers trying to speak with me in French.

The only area of my life where vanity trumps laziness is over the issue of facial hair. Sure, shaving is a hassle, but the joy of avoiding this one daily chore would not make up for the downsides to growing a beard, such as the persistent itchiness and the fact that my wife would leave me.

Growing out just the mustache remains an option, of course. But again, although I wouldn't have to shave that upper lip "trouble spot," I would have to contend with my friends referring to me as "Magnum P.I." until they grew tired of the joke or the earth crashed into the sun, whichever came first.

In fact, I did once grow a goatee, during the month leading up to my wedding. To her credit, my wife tolerated it. I think she knew that, in a worst case scenario, she could always forcibly shave it off on the morning of the wedding, realizing that in my weakened state following the bachelor party the night before, I'd be powerless against her and a phalanx of bridesmaids.

It never came to that, however. About a week before the wedding, I asked what she thought of my budding facial hair. She looked it over, paused, then said, "It makes you look a lot older."

Now a vain man would have probably shaved off the goatee immediately. Not me. I'm too lazy. I waited until the next day.

E-mail Malcolm Fleschner with your predictions for new non-trends to watch out for at Malcolm@CultureShlock.com.