Pretty boys and hypocrisy

I’ve never had any patience for pretty boys.

I was reminded of this the other day when I saw a young man in my gym spend a good 15 minutes taking selfies in the mirror on the weight floor. He must have posed a dozen or so different ways, with and without dumbbells. When he wasn’t posing, he was making sure his hair looked good.

The whole “metrosexual” thing a few years back was lost on me, too. The idea of having more products than just soap, shampoo, and deodorant was strange to me. If I was reasonably clean and covered with clothing, that was good. I started shaving my head years ago largely because it eliminated a lot of maintenance. I just didn’t get how a guy could get into all the primping and preening. Even now, as an executive, I’m not really a dressy guy. I own enough dress clothes to keep up the image I need for my job, but no more. When I took this job, I made my first trip into a menswear store in something like 15 years.

That attitude has generally extended into every area of my life. I don’t drive a nice car, and my old beater truck doesn’t generally get washed. Pretty, to me, has never seemed to warrant attention.

After thinking all of this, I realized I’m an absolute hypocrite.

Why? Because of my gym habit. “What’s wrong with being into fitness?” you’re probably thinking. And the answer is nothing, if that’s why you go to the gym. But that’s not why I started going to the gym, and that’s not why I keep going to the gym. I go to the gym almost exclusively for my looks. I follow bodybuilding programs, not general fitness. I’m there for the look of muscle. Hell, even my 13-year-old daughter tells me I have body image issues. And I’ve spent more time and money on it than any pretty boy.

So I’m a hypocrite. I’m more into my looks than I admit. It just expresses itself in a dramatically different way.