In an advertisement I read that a 62-year-old cheerful, eager to walk, attractive, caring, youthful and culturally interested Brabant lady offers herself for a relationship with a man who – among many other requirements – must have a well-groomed appearance.
Although I felt no immediate urge to present myself to her, a disturbing question nevertheless occurred to me: Do I have a well-groomed appearance? In case that?
Not really, I’d say. Not the other way around, I don’t think, I don’t look like a bum. Anyway, it reminded me that almost all the women I’ve ever dated have aspired to polish my appearance. That always went down well with me.
no prototype
I knew perfectly well that I was not the prototype of a beautiful man and that in order to remain attractive to a woman, I would have to pull out all the stops. My unspoken thanks that I could count on their help was therefore great. For example, my first lover was able to get me to eliminate my beard without difficulty and it quickly became clear to me that my brown corduroy pants really couldn’t go on anymore.
When this relationship came to an end after six years and a new one emerged, it turned out that I certainly couldn’t rest on my laurels when it came to my appearance. Somewhat discouraging: there appeared to be a lot of other areas for improvement. The haircut had to be a little longer (“to the ears and to the collar, please, hairdresser”) and the shoes more elegant.
Another love affair, the fifth, made it clear to me that I shouldn’t wash my forehead with soap anymore, because then I would get even more wrinkles than I already had.
The haircut had to be a little longer and the shoes more elegant
And so on. I was happy to give it all because the stakes were extremely important. And certainly if a lady I was in love with couldn’t quite reciprocate my passion, I hoped that once the beautification operation was completed, she would fall madly in love with me after all.
beauty armor
A bit annoying was that the successive lovers in the field of male beauty turned out to have different tastes. For example, afterwards I was urgently requested to restore my beard. Nevertheless, I have always had great confidence in the advice given. Perhaps I hoped to build up a kind of cumulative, more or less all-round beauty through successive relationships. A kind of protective beauty armor.
Has that expectation come true? I myself am not dissatisfied with my current appearance, but has there been a clear improvement in the course of my life? Has the ugly duck become a swan? Was the ugly duck really that ugly?
I would almost say no, but who am I, as a man, to pass judgment on that? Only a woman can answer that question. Or, more objectively: an extensive jury consisting solely of women.