Mr. Rectangles

Long-time readers and twitter friends are well-acquainted with my obsession with man-buttocks (for example, see Mr. Beautiful Bottom).  So it was only a matter of time before I passed judgment on the D.C. derriere.

And that time has come.

The D.C. derriere?

Disappointing.

http://www.nataliedee.com

Now, don’t get me wrong.  I’m sure that there are some lovely bums in D.C.  But nobody ever gets to see them.

This is due to the fact that (hetero) suiting in our nation’s capital is, in a word, tragic.

Unlike the well-reared parisians to which I refer in my post on Mr. Sexy Suit, the men in D.C. hide their tushies away in a box.

Literally.

The suits here are cut like boxes, so that the men all walk around seemingly unaware that they are bedecked in rectangles.

After five years in Paris, it appears that I have started to embrace european sensibilities about menswear silhouettes.

http://www.nataliedee.com

Where are my delightfully cuppable globes of buttocks?  Nowhere to be seen.  I am drowning in a sea of ill-fitting trousers, badly cut jackets, voluminous and shapeless button-down tent-shirts, baggy jeans, and squashy looking coats.

Dapper fitted coats, where are you?  Trendy tweeds, slick slacks, and fetching footwear, why have you all forsaken me?

In what universe does “aesthetically conservative” mean “frumpy as all get-out”?  In the District of Columbia, ya’ll.  Right here.

Someone throw me a life-preserver!  Save me!  Save me from rectangular bums!

Mr. Sexy Suit

Right.  Time for some positivity about man-shopping in Paris!  The last time that I wrote something nice about parisian men was probably my post on their derrieres.

This time…

… Let’s talk about suits, baby!

The average american suit is boxy, ill-fitting, and generally drab through and through.

http://www.nataliedee.com

But in Paris?  Hell to the no.

Ladies, if you’re like me, and one of your time-consuming hobbies is admiring a snappy suit on a man, I advise you to take the metro line 1 out to La Défense on weekday mornings.

I used to work out there a few years ago, and I swear to you, the ONLY thing that made rush hour commute bearable was the fact that you could get up close and personal with some of the most impeccable suiting on the planet.

They’re not all sporting Zegna, but they don’t need to.  The suits are well-tailored, are cut to show off all my favorite man-parts, and, in short, are glorious to behold.

Defined man-shoulders.

V-shaped man-torsos.

And, of course, a nicely framed man-butt.

These are not to be confused with boy-shoulders, boy-torsos, and boy-butts.  I have absolutely no love for the skinny-ass coat-hanger sculpture with no meat or muscle on him.  No lady wants something to poke her eye out whilst cuddling.

That being said, the skinny TIE, on the other hand…

I am a fan.

In my humble opinion, a man needs a perfectly-tailored jacket to pull off the skinny tie, and I am happy to report that there is a pleasant proliferation of nicely pulled-off skinny ties on the line 1.

The take-home message here is this:

I like the parisian suit.

However, that does NOT mean that I have to like the parisian IN the suit.

Mr. Beautiful Bottom

If you’re a fairly regular reader of my blog, by now you’ve probably picked up on the fact that I’m not particularly keen on Parisian men.  In fact, you could say that 99.999999999% of my blog material is dedicated to bashing them to bits.

So to change things up a bit, in honor of Mother’s Day, today I will highlight an aspect of Parisian men that I LOVE: their remarkably glorious behinds.

That’s right.  This is my ode to Parisian posteriors!  I’ve recently become a connoisseur of les fesses.  And I’ve discovered that Paris is a great place to scope out dude derrieres.

What makes Paris so great for tushie-gazing, you ask?  Well, unlike the American scene that I left when I fled the country in 2006, the men here consistently wear nicely fitted (and sometimes too tight) trousers.  This is wonderful for a seasoned seat-gazer like myself, since this means that their rear goods are perfectly displayed for my viewing pleasure!

There are many things about Parisian men that I detest, most of which seem to stem from their effeminate habits and mannerisms.  However, I can’t fault the fit of their trousers.  And if being a pansy guy on a pansy diet means that they give good butt, so be it.  They may not be date-able, but that can sometimes work to my advantage.

I can reject them just so that I can ogle their bums as they walk away.

But what constitutes a particularly nice butt?  In my opinion, it must possess the following characteristics:

• proportionality — I’m not a big fan of a disproportionately large bottom on a man (e.g. Bunny Colvin on The Wire).  That’s just my personal preference, as it affects the grace of a man’s gait.  Parisian man-derrieres are consistently proportional to the bodies attached to them, which works just fine for me!

• cuppability — A guy’s posterior needs to be well-rounded and — well — cuppable.  Ideally, I should be tempted to go in for a grab.  Yesterday I actually reached my hand out toward an especially nice specimen before I realized what I was doing.

• perkiness — It could be the Parisian apartment buildings and the absence of lifts, but Parisian man-butts usually sit nice and high on the body — not unlike a well-executed boob job.

• seamless packaging — Parisian men don’t store anything in their back pockets.  I’ve a feeling that a “wallet-line” is a punishable offense here, which explains the pervasive and abhorrent “man purse” phenomenon in Paris.  I may detest the man purse, but I’ll tolerate it for the time being, since it enhances my bum-gazing pleasure.

Unlike their female counterparts in Paris, which are more or less two-dimensional, the male booty here is very much worth pillaging, so to speak.  While I have yet to converse intimately — in the nude — with these well-shaped Parisian nether-cheeks, and while I certainly can’t vouch for the goods in the front, I can at least enjoy the sight of these tight little tushies as they parade past me every day.

Happy Mother’s Day.