Sarong. So, so wrong.

Just about the most metrosexual activity I engage in would have to be reading GQ magazine. Sure, it’s 55% ads and the clothes in there are unaffordable but nestled between all that stuff is some of the best writing anyone is doing in America. You can learn a lot.

I was flipping through one the other day, despite my hatred for the cover model Kobe Bryant, and learned a lot. Then... things got weird. Right after telling me the best brown liquors to buy, the quintessential man drink by the way, a mere six pages later a picture of photographer Peter Beard wearing a sarong caught my eye (not like that). It was accompaniment to the following question:

“I’m going to the Caribbean next month, and I want to wear a sarong. Do I walk in a store and ask for one, or do I just grab a picnic blanket and wear that? And most important, do I go commando beneath it?”

I... wh-. No, just no. Not okay. Not ever. A sarong could not be manly even if it were tied around your face while you were robbing a bank. The caption under the Peter Beard picture was: Sarong? When you’re as cool - and tan - as Peter Beard, you can pretty much wear a mini-skirt. Um... no. No you may not. I know we men don’t agree on a whole lot, but I thought we could get together on this issue. Yet, here was a reader confident that GQ would not ridicule his question but instead steer him in the right direction. And he was right.

Glenn O’Brien (no relation) is GQ’s Style Guy and he not only told the man where to find one but (shudder) how to fold it correctly. Is this what modern men have become? Wholly comfortable with the thought of wearing a skirt to the point that we can have conversations about it?  Women are embarrassed if they are wearing the same top as another woman at a party.  How do you think a woman would feel if she looked down the beach and saw the same cover up she brought wrapped around a man’s legs?

What the fuck? Everywhere I look there are “men” devoid of body hair, fake tanned, and sipping on vodka and soda water with just a splash of cranberry juice. Hey Lance, all the splash does is make your drink look pink, it doesn’t really add to the flavor. And if you’re really worried about the calories in beer, just drink water instead. It will garner you more respect than sipping on a Michelob Ultra. I know Lance Armstrong drinks it. Beat testicular cancer and win 7 Tours De France and you can too. Until then, it’s bourbon or Budweiser.

Four days ago it was Steve McQueen’s birthday. If he laid eyes on the exfoliated faces of the 21st century man we could power the city of Boston if we could figure out how to harness the energy of him spinning in his own grave. If we added John Wayne and Paul Newman, we would have a wind farm that would end our dependence on foreign oil once and for all.

In short, it’s time for men to be men again. Here’s a quick refresher: The only reality show you should watch is Cops. You should not own a loofah. None of your clothing should be unisex. Clint Eastwood is your God. Nicholas Sparks is the enemy. Twilight is the time between work and drinking; nothing else. You need to watch The Great Escape, The Hustler, and The Longest Day. There should be more electric guitar than acoustic on your iPod. The bulk of the acoustic should be Bob Dylan, pre-Newport Folk Festival. The elliptical should not be part of your workout. Whatever machine puts you in full view of the elliptical machines should be. You never “go Dutch.” You always hold the door.

I can’t believe I have to say this, but you air dry at the beach. If you feel the need to cover yourself it should be with a bikini clad female companion or a mound of sand shaped like a mermaid with impressive breasts. That’s it.

There are many advantages to acting like a man again. Respect is one. It’s unarguably lower maintenance, both in time and cost. But the biggest advantage may be this:  When you stop acting like the fairer sex, you’ll be surprised how much attention you get from them. And isn’t that how this all started in the first place?