Am I Metro?

Decleor. No man in his right mind should know anything about this name. Essential oils? Eye contour crème? Special shampoos and conditioners? Real men don’t know of such things. Okie, I mean a man’s man doesn’t do this. Yet there is a category for such a man who walks that fine line between being considered a homosexual (because the stereotype is they take extremely good care of their looks) and a heterosexual (these men feel mirrors are for posing in front of in the morning and brushing their teeth). These men are called metrosexuals. I seem to have been bestowed the title of being one.

Mind you, I am balding and shave my head, but I do spend a little time in front of my reflection. I don’t pour over ever pore on my upper torso. The greys I could take or leave… except in the chest. That ain’t cute. I don’t stare at my shaved head and think about getting a wax or pluck eyebrows. No eyelash curling (this ish is natural… gotta luv me). Nope.

It’s those eye wrinkles, the puffy eyes and oily skin to dry skin thing. That’s what I look at. Now make-up is not an option. I do work at trying to make this things go away or at least lessen until I get to my 40’s or 50’s. It stems from a mild case of acne in my teens in which it was pounded into me I needed to take care of my face. Girls won’t talk to you if you pimples all over your face is what my father used to tell me. He didn’t mention the other little things like being too thin or wearing better clothes, but that’s another issue.

Then, my move to Fort Worth after high school had a subtle, but lasting effect. My grandfather was a sharp dresser in his time. Not pimp sharp, but business sharp. Creases and the whole nine. He tried to instill some of the values of looking decent, but my time in Austin had given me a slacker look with the balding in full effect at the time and wrinkled clothes to match.

One failed relationship a move back to Austin, another failed relationship later, and I began to take notice of things. I worked around people who were twice to more than twice my age. Some of the ones who were less than that (late 30’s) have wrinkles around their eyes. I later learned it was from their smoking, but it helped them look years older than they truly were. I didn’t want that. So how to fix that problem. Don’t smoke of course.

Then came the lines under the eyes of non-smokers. How does that work? I wasn’t about to run out and grab Oil of Olay. That just seemed wrong. In quiet talks with various women, I began learning of products. It’s not vanity, I just don’t like wrinkles on me yet. Grey adds character, I think. I was going to add glasses and re thought that one. I was just dying to get peach when I was a pre-teen. Now I have this coarse assed beard that starts re-growth shortly after a good shave. So the glasses thing… I’ll hold off on that one.

The manicures and pedicures are coming. As soon as my car is paid off, you’d better believe I’ll hit the school once a month. Yeah, the school, they hook it up for much cheaper than a salon. Besides, I don’t need perfection. I just want to wear sandals without being ashamed of my toes. My nails I won’t even discuss. Facials? Never had one. I toss on a few scrubs or make up removing soaps to get rid of the dead skin. Oils to moisturize and help get rid of the ashy look. Trim the goatee, nose hairs and try to get more sleep to get rid of the little bags. That’s it.

Am I really metro?