If I Were A Boy

I don't think you do understand.

‘Gender Roles’ (oh boy, oh boy, where is he going with this):

- defined universally as the role or behavior considered to be appropriate to a particular gender as determined by prevailing cultural norms i.e. how we're expected to act, speak, dress, groom, and conduct ourselves based upon our assigned sex.

As a man who is aggressively fond of a vibrantly colored pair of Swedish cotton socks, a touch too enthusiastic and fervent on blasting the Girls Aloud Mega-Mix on the morning commute, a fraction too vocal about justifying the exorbitantly priced coconut oat latte with accompanying acai bowl and who stubbornly insists on gracing renowned Victorian five star hotels each and every Christmas bedazzled head to toe in the finest sequins Asos can next day deliver - my ‘masculinity’ often is subject to interrogation. But look, some of us don’t have ankles for digging a grave and growing up in a generation of power rangers vs power puff girls such ‘feminine’ attributes like creative and emotional expression were and still are (less so you’d hope) suppressed in boys and men. However, what the mind suppresses the body expresses – so where was all this metro-sexuality rearing its frilly camp head?

‘It’s time to meet your semi-finalist of the PDC World Darts Championship

‘The Bullet’ Stephen Bunting’

** crowd erupts and sings in unison **

‘I’m Bulletproof nothing to lose, Fire Away, Fire Away.

Ricochet, you take your aim, Fire Away, Fire Away.

You shoot me down, but I won't fall, I am titanium,

You shoot me down, but I won't fall, I am titanium.’

Ahhhh there it is: ten thousand barrel-bellied, jowl swinging, gout wrecked men. A collective that personifies the ‘machoism’ archetype. Arm in arm singing, swaying and leaping in perfect harmony – releasing every morsel of their metrosexual soul, every iota of their inner queen as they embrace and espouse musical theater within the hallowed walls of Alexandra Palace. Walkout singalongs, thunderous chanting and singing throughout all ending in a crescendo of ‘Angels’ by Robbie Williams at the curtain call. Childhood and teenage repression of expression laid bare for all to see.

This discharge and excretion of theatrical & performative glee is not constrained to the festive spirit. These burly pint slugging animals that turn into jolly Father Christmas’ are part and parcel of a year-round pantomime. Under the guise of sporting spectacles throughout every football ground and associated tavern in proximity there is a rapturous choir of obtuse, hostile and belligerent men that are ‘set in their ways’ i.e. lacking expression. These Old Testament repressed, and creatively silenced queens go so far as to pen their own songs with some of the most imaginative and inventive word play that Bob Dylan would be proud of and unlike Dylan, it’s all produced on the back of a betting slip that probably cost their child a chance at university. Denial for some is a river in Africa but for this cohort of ‘lads’ it’s truly their inner Disney lead character.

We’ve ended up with society defining characteristics with a simplistic male or female association however, it’s just a construct of acceptability contrived from socio-cultural beliefs and expectations not biological differences. Transcend the boundaries my kings, let’s not assume anyone’s molecules – for something to be masculine or feminine is a fluid spectrum and no one trait or value is hardcoded or ringfenced.

You don’t need to be a horse to be a jockey.

Be yourself; everyone else is already taken.

Yours in flamboyancy,

Sauvignon Franc xo xo.