I’m going to make a confession here: I don’t really groom. Don’t get me wrong, I shower, I brush my teeth, I shave – well, at least a couple of times a week – but I don’t “manscape.”
Here’s another confession: I didn’t even know the word “manscape” existed until very recently. The word, apparently, was coined in 2003 on the TV show Queer Eye for the Straight Guy. Since then, its usage has soared, and, apparently, so has the behaviour it describes.
As may seem self-evident to some, manscaping is “the removal or trimming of hair on a man’s body for cosmetic effect.” But for those of us of a certain generation, that concept isn’t self-evident. When I grew up, no man would admit to spending time removing or trimming hair unless he was referring to that on his chin or on the top of his head. The barber took care of the occasional renegades in the ears or nostrils; otherwise, the hair remained where it was. It was a badge of honour, a testament to one’s virility and masculinity.
Until a few years ago, I had never heard any man discussing a laser or waxing treatment. Of course, there were oddballs, the road cyclists and the swimmers. But these sleek examples were really the exceptions that proved the rule. If you saw a man with shaved legs, you could safely ask, “Did you watch any of the Tour last week?” A shaved torso: “What’s your split on a 200 m free?” Now, nothing’s safe. No longer can body hair-based assumptions be made.
Ironically, while there is this upsurge in “manscaping,” there seems to be a reaction growing (pun intended) with a renewed commitment by men to the beard. And not simply the little goatees or 5 o’clock shadow beards of the ’90s; many young men these days are growing (or trying) the long Confederate soldier/Arkansas hillbilly beards. The new hipster look, it seems, involves a big beard, a plaid shirt and the ubiquitous Buddy Holly black-rimmed glasses. It’s a look that says, “I am manly, but I’m an intellectual too.”
The look may also be a kind of metaphoric thumbing the nose at the “too precious” quality of the manscapers. It’s like saying, “We’re not going to obsess on our looks. We are what we are.” But an interesting thing about this new look is that it is very carefully coiffed. Although it suggests a certain cavalier attitude about grooming, it’s actually as deliberate as the cleanly shaven metrosexual.
I often wonder why and when the shift occurred. When did men and boys start to spend so much time “looking after themselves,” as my mother might put it? When did it become the norm for men to have any “product” apart from deodorant on their side of the bathroom?
Much of it is about belonging and identity. I get that. In my era, it was safety pins and Doc Martins, before that, bell-bottoms and polyester shirts. But as I stand here, shaking, straight-edge razor in hand, I just wish I could be a little more confident.
