It’s important to look after yourself: hand cream for when you are clammy or distressed; face wash for grubby ‘head packed inside that man’s armpit’ tube affairs; tweezers to curb the bridge between the brows; trimmers for permanent cultivated unshaven stubble looks and those wondering chest hairs that sometimes have the habit of coming through your lovely linen shirt; and a separate shower body razor that makes putting on sun cream so carefree, not to mention the aerodynamism when running down the right wing in true Cristiano glamour.
For a twenty-something year old, this vanity toolkit does not seem contradictory to being a real man, and yet a black-eye worthy anathema to those born before the 1970s.
The 21st century modern man caresses the lapel of a jacket in Reiss to gauge its quality; he thinks hard whether the yellow t-shirt he is about to buy matches the palette of his weekend outfits; he purposefully slips his keys, wallet and phone into adjoining manbag pockets to ensure ease of use; he seasons the rice with two flakes of saffron to soften the presentation of his tagine-cooked cordon bleu; he spontaneously buys hand soap refills and undoes the nozzle ready for use; he can even be seen sheepishly lurching over toilet seat, a rubber glove primed for action. This is the Metrosapien, a curiousity.
Although there are brands that cater to this breed, arguably not enough do. As gender and social barriers are broken, strict demographic definitions are becoming fluid attitudinal pen portraits. Maybe one day a nappy brand will market specifically to men; waxing strips will be found in condom vending machines; and hairdryers, hair towels and cotton wool buds will adorn male rugby changing rooms.