How male grooming went mainstream
IT’S ABOUT maintenance. Or ‘mantanence’. It’s nothing to do with vanity. It’s about holding off the ravages of time and trying to project the right image. Male grooming is about making the most of yourself.
What do you do when a slate blows off your roof? You replace it. What do you do when you start losing your hair? You buy Regaine or shave it off. Mantenance.
When your garden is drying up, you water it. When your skin starts looking like a desert river bed, you moisturise. Mantenance.
When a special occasion is coming up, you get a barber shave. Mantenance.
When the hair in your ears and nose has reached knee-length, you backcomb it over your head to disguise your bald patch.
Okay, that last bit’s not true, although I’ve tried it. The other examples are the basics of male grooming or mooming (new word). They are the small ‘treatments’ we should not be slagged over. They are the acceptable face of mooming. They are a sign that we’re not letting ourselves ‘go’.
The Oscars are upon us and magazines, like this, are full of profiles of the best-looking men in Hollywood. The word ‘metrosexual’ will be used with gay abandon as George and Matthew prepare to walk down the red carpet.
In ’70s/’80s Dun Laoghaire a metrosexual male was a dodgy chap who hung around underground train stations. Male grooming back then consisted of a trip to the barbers and a bath on a Saturday morning. If you were going to a school dance you ironed a shirt, slapped on some Hai Karate and away you went.
Now, stars like Clooney and movie composer/rapper/clothes designer Pharrell Williams have made it acceptable to moisturise and not feel like a prancing pansy because we use deodorant and shave more than twice a week.
Even Hollywood’s tough guys are Mooming. Gerard Butler, the Scottish actor who chopped a murderer up in Ordinary Citizen and donned a leather jockstrap for 300, promotes face cream as a sideline. “Ah use at whan ahm feeling tired.”
On the flip side, Ronaldo, Andre 2000 and Adrian Brody have appeared in an ad for razor blades stroking their girly-smooth chins.
Then there’s Becks. He’s made some men think it’s acceptable to wear white knickers. (It’s not.)
Cricketer Shane Warne was once an heroic boozer who had a McDonald’s burger named after him. He is now metrosexual who tweets about beauty products.
Hugh Laurie, star of House, is an ‘ambassador’ for L’Oreal. He justifies this by saying that “using cosmetics can be a very masculine decision after all”.
Oscar hopeful Matthew McConaughey made a huge metrosexual blunder with his sickly ad for Dolce and Gabbana perfume. He took off his shirt to show a perfectly waxed chest and looked surprised to see cameras in his boudoir. Matt is not a good ad for male grooming. He’s too vain-looking.
Then there are the rumours about his hair transplant. Getting one is not against The Rules. If you can afford it, go for it. However, rule No 1 in Mooming is: always admit when you’ve had work done. Matt puts the regrowth of his hair down to a product called Regenix.
Hair care is the most important part of any man’s grooming regime. Herman Koster agrees. He’s the man credited with bringing the tonsorial art back into fashion when he opened Dublin’s Knights on The Green back in 1989.
“Before Knights, barbershops were subterranean affairs, where men went to be shorn in respectful silence. There was no ‘would you like a cup of coffee?’ You were given a copy of the Racing Post and sat quietly waiting your turn.
“Knights offered comfy chairs and hot towel shaves. Irishmen loved the concept. Now they come in and tell us what blade they want used and are aware of all the products available to them. They are becoming so metrosexual that they are buying products to match the tiles in the bathroom.”
What are his top grooming tips? “Look after your hair. A really good cut can make your face fashionable. And shave properly. Stretch and pinch your skin and avoid old-fashioned aftershave. Use balm. Kiss loads of women too, as the friction is like a good facial massage. And remember: fashion fades, but style remains.”
Male obsession with haircare has reached epidemic proportions in Britain, apparently. A survey by Dixons claimed one in eight men is unable to travel abroad without a set of hair straighteners. Worse still, if allowed to travel with just one electronic device, four times as many men than women would take an iron.
The rise of the male hair straightener is mirrored by the rise in manscaping. Having your body hair ‘styled’ is the least manly treatment you can have done. Can you imagine Sean Connery getting a back, crack and sack? Try not to.
A recent survey by Braun claims over 70% of men admit to trimming their body hair to look like Daniel Craig, Beckham or Hugh Jackman. The study also found that 66% see body and facial hair as a new ‘sartorial accessory’.
While I draw the line at manscaping, I had a treatment recently that some might see as excessive. I had laser treatment to remove spider veins from my face. Look, it’s not vanity. Vanity suggests that a person loves their looks so much they will go to any lengths to enhance them. Over the years, I have abused cigs and booze. The results of my lifestyle were, literally, as plain as the nose on my face. My hooter had more spiders than a Cavan man’s web-festooned wallet. There was one under my eye that looked a tattoed tear.
That’s grand if you earn your living as a mime artist, but not great if you’re a jobbing hack.
The veins were getting bigger and my wife was getting pissed off with me stealing her concealer. I used horsechestnut extract; tried cauterising them with hot needles and even applied haemorrhoid cream. I had heard that supermodels use it to get rid of wrinkles. Or was that to whiten their teeth? My wife said my face would look even more like an arse if I continued to use it, so I stopped.
Eventually, tired of hearing me go on about my veins, she booked me in to Renew Clinic in Hatch Street, Dublin. It’s owned by two registered nurses, Jeanette Dunne and Sinead Gallagher.
“The laser superheats the vein, which collapses, dies and is recycled into the skin. There’s a bright flash and a sting like having an elastic band twanged on your face,” said Sinead.
It was like an elastic band all right. The kind you tie around your ankles when bungee jumping. It was SORE.
I gripped the trolley and tried to pretend I hadn’t felt anything. A middle-aged man may be able to get away with going to a beauticians, but if he starts to shriek or weep, then he deserves everything he gets.
“You’d make a good Bond villain,” I told Sinead as she wielded her laser and zapped my face. Now there’s an idea: a Bond villain who’s a beautician. She’d probably say things like: “Goodbye Mr Bond, prepare to dye... your hair.” Or something like that.
Eventually, the pain subsided and I was given cold compresses to help with the stinging. After two more sessions the veins had gone completely.
Renew say more men are availing of their services. “Guys are less self-conscious about booking a treatment now,” said Sinead. “Although, a lot of the time it’s their wives or girlfriends that ring up. Personal grooming and looking good are still high on Irishmen’s agendas, despite the downturn.”
I got some odd looks from my friends when I told them I had the laser work done, but in the main, nobody really cared. And I felt better about my face. So good result.
The question remains, however: is mooming just vanity by another word? Manity. Or is it good that men are finally looking after their appearance?
If you’re a middle-aged bloke having difficulty balancing your perception of ‘real’ manhood with your skincare practices, then do what I do. Invent words like ‘mantenance’ and ‘mooming’. A post-modern ironic twist always helps when you’re deluding yourself.
As a youngster, I ripped the urine out of a friend for using Chapstick on the way to school. He gave me a masterclass in self-delusion.
“It’s for girls,” I said.
“No it’s not,” he countered, pointing to the label, “it’s for chaps.” Touché.
When I told him about my trip to the laser clinic, he, surprisingly, said nothing. He just hummed a tune I thought I recognised.
Times and attitudes are changing, I thought. Then the penny dropped. The tune was an old Carly Simon number.
“You’re… so… vein…” Manity, my backside.
* www.renewclinic.ie
* www.knights-barbers.com
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