Tag Archives: manliness

Mr. Pansy

I have only one question this Valentine’s Day: Where did all the manliness go??

This rant is about no man-product in particular.  This is a lament about a general absence of manliness here in Paris.  I can’t help myself… I’ve been brainwashed by American hero-worship of manly man-heroes.

In America, we value rugged manliness.  We have cowboys, Daniel Boone, and Paul Bunyan.  We have Rocky, John McClane, and every character that John Wayne ever played.

The French have Louis XIV, the most prominent proponent of the high-heeled shoe for men.  He also wore more feathers than the average Vegas showgirl.

So it comes as no surprise that there seems to be an abnormally high occurrence of pansies on my dating website.  I’ve collected a few of my favorites here for your viewing pleasure.

Let’s check out Mr. Pansy #1:

Judging from this photo, Mr. Pansy #1 enjoys watching America’s Next Top Model and imitating Tyra Banks’ “smizing” techniques in the mirror.  And I don’t even want to know who took this photo for him.

Now look at Mr. Pansy #2:

My only response to this was:

What.

The.

FUCK.

A man who photoshops a provocatively-posed Tinkerbell next to his lips is the kind of man who will only land a date with… well… Tinkerbell, a fictional AND mythical creature.

Mr. Pansy #3 has a special place in my heart.  Mostly because I own both the shirt and necklace that he is wearing.

That shirt does show off his décolletage nicely, doesn’t it?  I know.  That’s exactly why I bought it for myself.  For the record, it also comes in pink.

Now… the pièce de résistance… Mr. Pansy #4:

Note the luminous, green-screen background…

I would also like to point out that I wore that jade necklace when I was sixteen.  So did all my cousins.  My female cousins.

And, most importantly, note the off-the-shoulder pose made famous by women’s lingerie catalogs and, of course, Flashdance.  He seems to think that this pose is some sort of strip-tease tactic that will send the ladies a-swooning into his flabby embrace.

I weep for mankind.  I truly do.

Georgia O’Keeffe obviously didn’t paint flowers as an homage to manliness.  So I find it unsettling how closely these “men” resemble their horticultural namesakes:

It’s so apropos that “pansy” was originally derived from a French word…

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Mr. Pretty Woman

No, he was not a prostitute.  Although, he did look eerily similar to Julia Roberts.

Mr. Pretty Woman earned his name for two simple reasons:

1.  He was kind of pretty.

2.  He was kind of a woman.

Point #1 wasn’t really the problem.  Even though it can be a blow to my self-esteem when my man is prettier than me, I try not to discriminate against men who are have excellent bone structure.

However, point #2 was quite problematic primarily for the following reason:

I am a heterosexual female.  Therefore, I am sexually attracted to MEN.

In short, Mr. Pretty Woman will never see me naked.

First of all, there was a “size problem.”  Let’s just say that even though I am 5’3″ and petite, I made HIM look petite.  When I actually met him, I saw that his upper arms were about the size of my wrist.  He was also wearing what appeared to be a t-shirt that was a women’s size small… which was LOOSE on him.  His legs were about the size of my arm — a fact which was clear to me because his jeans were almost tight enough for me to make out his leg hair.

(I know that it’s superficial, but I could never date someone who looks like an anorexic baby giraffe.  I would risk breaking his neck if I made out with him.)

Mr. Pretty Woman also saw fit to reveal his daily moisturizing routine.  He apparently uses such-and-such face cream in the morning, and special whatsawhosit face cream before he goes to bed.

(Yeah.  That’s sexy.)

Then he told me about how important it was for him to take care of himself, and about how his physique is so appealing to the male homosexual community.  He mentioned this at least several times throughout the date.  He was VERY proud of himself.

(Right.  It’s every girl’s dream to hear that her man-toy loves being a man-magnet.)

And last, but definitely not least, he has a room in his house exclusively for beautifying.

(I am not making this up.)

Well, I suppose that if I ever change my mind and decide that I could be attracted to Julia Roberts, I still have Mr. Pretty Woman’s number.  But until hell freezes over…

…NEXT!

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