Friday, October 23, 2009

I’m forming a Mock Squad. Who’s with me?

I think it’s due time that we collectively, as a civil society, revisit the concept of shame and to whom shame-inducing humililation should be directed. I have come to this conclusion after having been dragged yet again to a U2 concert by my wife. No, I’m not suggesting U2 should be ashamed of their latest indulgent, hackneyed album, which is unlikely to spawn a single memorable hit despite glowing reviews by the fawning music critic corps. I’m referring instead to U2’s rapidly graying female fan base, many of whom are now in their mid-30’s to late 40’s, the prime bonbon-eating house-frau demographic.

Ladies, if I may speak frankly, I understand your natural temptation to tart it up for a special occasion, but a night out to see Saint Bono and his potato-eating minstrel show does not give you carte blanche to embrace your inner groupie whore and transform yourself into an offensive eyesore for the rest of us, particularly straight men. For the most part, we’re not winking at you; we’re whincing at the sight of you. We care not to gaze upon your saggy, braless racks swinging pendulously in your low, low tank tops. Those little butterfly and dolphin tattoos placed strategically somewhere on your now ample torsos have long stopped being cute and suggestive. Now they’re just creepy and sad. The low rider jeans you’ve donned were created with a specific body type in mind, and are not intended for mommies who still retain a good portion of their pregnancy weight. (Here’s a good rule of thumb: if it looks like bread dough is rising from your gut and hips, take them off.) Coping with aging is hard, but no amount of badly applied makeup and curiously unnatural hair dye will hide the fact that you’re not 22 anymore. Just accept it and present yourself accordingly.

Guys, you’re not entirely immune from some well deserved ridicule, either. Though you’re thankfully less prone to revealing flesh than your desperate housewifes, much of what you wear to cover that flesh on a night out has taken on a distinctly douchebag-ish tone. Can you please just stop with the superfluous Ed Hardy T’s, the shirts with the inexplicable eagle crests emblazened on them, the tight partially faded designer jeans, and the hipster Fedoras? (Here’s a good rule of thumb: if it looks like something Jon Gosselin has been photographed wearing, take it off.) Men look their best by keeping it simple. When they embrace ill-conceived style fads like a Eurotrash metrosexual, they are ripe for well deserved mockery.

In the old days, shame kept people in line and saved the rest of us from being distracted by the buffoonery of those trying way too desperately to relive their youth. Ah, what a lovely time it was. It’s up to us to end this lunacy and bring shame back with a vengeance. I’m forming a Mock Squad. Who’s with me?