The other day I saw this guy sitting at a bar just kind of kicking it and I knew instantly, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that he was single. Know how I knew? He was wearing a medallion. There’s not a woman on earth who would let their man just walk around in a medallion. That goes for thumb rings and most other jewelry as well. It’s just gross. Now, I know what you’re thinking: this is a completely homo-ignorant point of view, as this dude could be gay and maybe he’s in a caring, stable gay relationship with another gay guy who likes medallions. Ever think of that, smartguy?
Well, I will say that I know these two gay dudes who both constantly strive to wear the absolute worst shoes I’ve ever seen. If I see the one playing pool wearing slip on leather clogs, it’s a safe bet that around the corner, his partner is wearing faux-gold encrusted, bejeweled reeboks, so I’m not gonna just use the fallacy of “gay dudes just dress better than straight dudes” to dismiss this possibility regarding our be-medallioned subject, but I wll say that this dude wasn’t gay.
He was kind of longhaired, unshaven and creepy in a tank top and a medallion. He looked like he was probably wearing strappy leather sandals and had a backpack at his feet. If I had to guess, I’d say he was drinking a Stella and I bet he’s got some pretty serious ideas about ‘freedom’ and ‘living’ and if all this still makes him sound gay, well…yeah, it does, but trust me, this dude looked more like the kind of guy that celebrates his 35th birthday by going to Padre Island and picking up three nineteen year old girls and banging them all in a hotel room after getting them drunk on Goldschlager. He wasn’t gay. Gotta trust me.
So we’re back to his medallion, and you know what? After reading the last sentence of the last paragraph, maybe I should get a medallion…I mean, if that’s your life and you like your medallion, fuck. Go for it, I guess. There’s nothing really wrong with banging a whole gaggle of college girls, is there? Well, I guess if they’re truly 18, you’re kind of treading on thin moral ice by giving them alcohol and then boning them (not that it’s really as immoral as it sounds. I mean, girls on spring break in Padre that are talking to a 35 year old man for long enough to end up drinking his goldschlager have already decided to make some bad decisions. They’re presumably down there to get drunk and get laid and really, truly, if you’re not uh, you know, taking pictures of them passed out or anything weird like that, then you, dude with medallion and goldschlager, are no worse than anyone else down there trying to get laid. I mean, the bar is already almost mind-blowingly low, morality wise, and you’ve got the handicap of being old and creepy, so you’ve probably gotta work extra hard at being UN creepy…I dunno, we’re getting into some pretty AP morality here. Let’s move on, shall we?) but essentially, you’re just kind of utilizing your aforementioned ‘freedom’ and ‘livin’ the best you know how, right bro?
So, remember that show where the perverted dungeon master and his dork troll sidekicks got a bunch of losers laid all by casting them in a completely scripted reality TV contest? Uh, what was it called…Oh, “The Pick Up Artist.” The main guy was named “Mystery” and his sidekicks were named uh…matador and Jbone or Jdog or Tbone or something. They espoused the use of medallions as a powerful weapon on the road to pussy domination, and I’ve gotta say as a single guy I wore my share of medallions and I think a lot more women approached me, and often, were there nothing else to talk about, they’d maybe grab my medallion and say “what’s this?” and I’d probably say something awesome like “it’s a sun” or “it’s a pen disguised as a teddy bear” (depending on which medallion I was wearing) and boom! Conversation started…road to vagina, paved, or at least under construction (like, being constructed, not blocked and restricted by lane closures and workers…sigh. Modern municipal bullshit is getting my metaphors all gunky.). Maybe Mystery and Tbone and that pervert with the Stella from the other day were onto something. Maybe medallions really ARE the way to go.
Actually, now that I think about it, so many of the things I used to dangle off my body in order to define myself have been thoroughly pooh-poohed by my wife and her friends, wacky haircuts, jewelry, goofy clothes that I like that she doesn’t, shit of that nature…you know what I’m talking about, right dudes? You have a buddy (or maybe it was you) that used to be real eccentric with his rings and his goofy bullshit and then he (you) got a girlfriend and she and all her friends, after a while, mind you, started laughing at his haircut and his rings and his medallion and his chain around his neck and his big fuzzy hat and his weird boots and all that and eventually turned him into this regular, dignified guy that no longer stands out in a crowd and therefore is presumably much more high status and high quality. They perhaps point to films starring Brad Pitt/Jake Gyllenhaal/whoever and point out that he’s not wearing any jewelry and everyone wants to fuck him, so see! SEE!!!! The REAL studs don’t waste time with that shit. You’re really just dressing yourself like a clown. Get some dignity!
BUT, there’s maybe a dark side to this that I’m just beginning to pick up on as I type this. When these women met your buddy, they were attracted to his dreads and his oversized juggalo hockey jersey (not really these two totally reprehensible things, just trying to squeeze in a little levity, bro. Let’s say: beaded necklace and goofy hat) and it was only after they sunk their teeth into him that they decided that these things had to go. I’d liken this to dudes who meet chicks when they’re dressed all hot and then decide that they can’t wear miniskirts anymore, because now they’re off the market. Is the medallion and the thumb ring ACTUALLY the sensual equivalent of the miniskirt? Have the women been lying to me?
WELLLL, I don’t think it’s that simple. I think there are other forces at play here. Perhaps there is the notion, somewhere in there that these are items that can be used as “mating plumage” (for lack of a better phrase…I don’t like it any more than you) and thereby sabotage the relationship at hand by drawing in competing hoes, but I think the big thing here is more internal in the catty female community.
Women dress sexy, first and foremost for other women. Don’t believe me? Consider this: if a woman in sweatpants wanted to fuck you, would the fact that she was in sweatpants slow you down, even for a moment? No. That’s the thing: women don’t NEED to dress sexy for dudes. It’s nice, and it sends quite a message, but I’ve heard time and time again that women dress specifically for other women. The same can be said for how they dress (or influence) their man.
By dressing me in a dapper casual outfit with a dignified haircut and a tie, my wife is showing me off to her friends (enemies?, coworkers?) as the closest approximation of the aforementioned ‘leading man’ that we talked about above. I’ve already been vouched for ie I’ve got a woman and friends, so there’s no need to present some gaudy display. Much like the way that all sorts of people want to fuck Brad Pitt’s simply elegant character in whatever dumb movie he’s in because he’s BRAD PITT and brings a certain cache to the role, I’m doing my best version by being (at least in dress) quiet and understated, yet sophisticated. I’m not creepy (see as example: my relationship with actual human woman. I’m not a perv. See: no rings. I’m obviously understated and awesome at something because I’m not trouncing around like some loudmouth trying to attract attention, and I’ve already landed a woman and some sweet duds. This is evidence [kind of, perhaps] that though I don’t flaunt it, I got it) This makes people take notice, is the theory. But here’s the part that is maybe getting lost in all this:
The ladies out there, they may want to fuck the sophisticated Brad Pitt character, and they DEFINITELY want to take him to cocktail parties and on family vacations and have him pick them up from girls night and shit like that. They want “him” because he’s a cultural symbol (by “he” I’m referring to the dapper, handsome, understated dude that some women hope to turn men into) but you know who they really, really truly want to fuck and get their panties ripped off by?
Captain Jack Sparrow, with his wacky three cornered hat and his rings and his boots and his necklaces and his gold teef and his scarves and plumage and all that shit. Sure, they don’t want to bring him around, but trust me, he makes their knees buckly more than any dipshit in a matching vest and slacks ever could.
So, dudes, Sean Nader, I’m talking to you here! Maybe, after some deliberation, I was wrong. Put those rings and medallions back on and get out there and live. And ladies! Wear more miniskirts and shirts that mash your tits together. It’s the least you can do for equality.
See you all at Nomeansno tonight!