Though Cary was a pleasant surprise in a room full of familiar faces and stuffy industry types and his hair seemed to be a fresh interpretation for man coifs worldwide, he’s not the first to be seen sporting man braids. As a matter of fact, the night before rapper, Riff Raff, clad in denim had a head full of braids and is probably asking today, “Dafuq?” Even before Riff Raff, there was David Beckham, Axl Rose, and let us never forget Kevin Federline.
I, myself, spent a sunny Saturday afternoon in Amagansett this summer lackadaisically braiding cornrows into one of my man bun wearing guy friend’s head. We thought it was kind of funny and for him, the look actually worked. I even taught him the importance of patting his head when it started to itch as to avoid creating frizz. So, back to Cary’s internet sensational hairstyle and potentially the next wave of hipster hairdos (Slate created a pretty genius rendering). It may have something to do with the fact that he’s terribly good looking, but the only part of his hairstyle that truly bothered me was his (unintentionally) crooked part which The Cut got a close up of. You see though, I’m quite dextrous and great with a comb, so Cary, call me next time you’re you’re looking for some Poetic Justice.
This summer, men took accessorizing one step further by donning what we now know as the “man bun.” And while I do have a healthy portion of male readers (God bless you analytics), I will not take the blame (or credit- depending on your stance) for the trend just because I’ve made more than one brilliant top knot tutorial (you can learn “how to” here and here). For the past decade or so, men hadn’t had much wiggle room when it came to socially acceptable hairdos. There’s been the classic buzz cut, the Bieber bob, and that whole spiky gelled situation that ruined shams worldwide. And let’s just be thankful we all survived the “faux hawk.”
While the ponytail is nothing new (hello, Karl Lagerfeld), men decided that wasn’t good enough and began piling their locks on their heads way atop or grazing the napes of their necks, real estate formerly reserved for sweet nuzzles from their beloveds. I’m not sure who can specifically be appointed as the official firestarter of this follicle free for all, but I think Colin Farrell was one of the male topknot pioneers. To be fair, average citizens started sporting it well before it became mainstream. I had an ex-boyfriend several years ago who began experimenting with the trend. Granted, he also thought waking up and drinking the leftover beer on his nightstand from the night before was par for the course. In any case, this hair-rowing (see what I did there?) hairstyle has taken over from east to west coast, north to south. There are several blogs dedicated solely to the praise of ballerina buns fit for Baryshnikov (exhibit A and exhibit B) and The Awl even created a brilliant collection of the male topknot in its natural habitat.
Much like the beard bubble was predicted to pop (and has yet to do so as late adopters are STILL jumping on the bearded bandwagon), the man bun would appear to have a shelf life itself. Interestingly enough, it seems that the topknot and beard are not mutually exclusive and often worn in tandem. All this hair has me asking a lot of questions though. Many men claim to be the superior sex, but I’m beginning to sense a trend. It started with our eyeliner and skinny jeans then men began eying our tank tops and now they’re angling for our hair ties? And if you’re in a couple this also leads to a lot of financial hurdles. Can we afford to double up on deep conditioners? Do we need to own one flatiron or two? Won’t our shower drain clog twice as fast?
So with the imminent onslaught of snow, will these top knot wearing gents be forced to concede their coifs once they realize a bun looks more like a goiter under a beanie? Or will ear muffs have a renaissance for men? As I typed this, a shiver went down my spine as I realized that the knitted headband or even a turban may not be off limits to a man who has mastered the art of bobbi pins. I’d be lying if I didn’t get a little hot and bothered collecting visual aids for this post, but I really want to know your thoughts.
Along with Birkenstocks, Tevas, and scrunchies, another 90’s accessory making its way back to the buffet for seconds is the choker. Unlike failures in footwear, this was actually one trend I participated in the first go round. However, the ones I was wearing looked a little different than the iterations most recently seen on celebrities, runways, and department stores. No, no, mine weren’t the now sophisticated types made from shiny metals with beautiful embellishments. Mine were a bit more basic, probably crafted out of hemp with the crown jewel being a- wait for it… Fimo bead.
But these neckwringers, aren’t really to be credited specifically to the 90’s. It just so happens that was the first time I (and most of you) were alive to wear them. As a matter of fact, chokers were big all the way back in 1940 and in the 1860’s, prostitutes actually wore black ribbons around their necks to let the gents know they were open for business. Now, wearing a choker will probably only insinuate that you’re under the age of forty and know all the lyrics to Ace of Bass’s “I Saw the Sign.”
In the digital age, dating has taken a turn for the worse. Things that seem as though they should make meeting a mate more manageable have just become downright scary. Social media has made everyone so much more accessible and while it can be used for good like tracking down that “missed connection” from the L train, it seems as if men are overly stimulated by the bathing beauties and their bikini pics only inflating their egos to the point wherein they think they stand a chance with the 23 year old model from Johannesburg who spends her days squatting, not eating the food in her pictures, and taking selfies, therefore blowing off the perfectly lovely local ladies actually available to them. Along with turning Facebook and Instagram into quasi dating sites, there has since been the inception of Tinder, which will require a dedicated tiger clad post in and of itself at a later date. All of these brilliant advances in technology just so happen to be within finger’s reach for us thanks to our so called smartphones. No need to flip open that archaic laptop, ew. You are just a swipe away from millions of other people in the midst of ignoring their “real life” company to bask in the glow of their screens.
Texting has overtaken the phone call and do not even ask me when the last time I received a hand written anything other than birthday cards from my best friends and family was. Seriously, don’t ask me because I do remember. (Pro-tip: bonus points earned for voice on voice contact, but if you take the time to put pen to paper and mail it, I’m yours). That said, a lot is left to be desired in modern day romance as much of what we are trying to express over text is totally lost in translation. There is no expression, no context, and no way of being sure that your message was received- both literally and figuratively. There is, however, one type of text message that needs no analyzation. Its context and subtext is quite clear.
As we lay in one of my best friend’s cozy bed watching “That Awkward Moment” (insert irony here) last Saturday night, I asked her if she had heard from a particular suitor and I guess his ears– but more likely loins– were burning because as if on cue, her phone lit up and there he was. Instead of your run of the mill midnight “u out?” bro text message, this was something far more frightening. It was the dreaded “dick pic.”
I should have video recorded the reaction. Not only did she not want to open the photo from the preview, she handed it to us to do the dirty work. There was a lot of nervous laughter, a little bit of uncomfortable squealing, followed by a game of hot potato with her iPhone. And should I ever have the pleasure of meeting this guy, I’ll have a hard time keeping it together seeing as I’ve already met his penis. The odd part in all of this (as if there is anything more odd than receiving a photo of a basic stranger’s genitals) is that she has not been on a date with him, has not even kissed him, and hadn’t even responded to any of his messages for the past two weeks. Post deleting his message and blocking his phone number, we managed to sleep through the night sans phallic nightmares.
When I awoke Sunday to a frantic phone call from the same friend, I postponed my run along the Westside Highway to hear her out. As it turns out, after having headed home and slipping into a sweet slumber, another Prince Charming snapped a shot of his cyclops and sent it her way. Again, someone who she had not been responding to all evening. Two dick pics in less than twelve hours? That’s got to be some kind of record, no?
And maybe my friends and I are alone in this and you all can chock us up as prudes (though that would be fairly inaccurate), but I’m really wondering if AND WHO?! are the ladies out there requesting pictures of male packages leading modern day men to believe that all of us are interested in a salami slider sent straight to our cell phones. I imagine that somewhere along the line, these guys were given the green light by some broad because they seem to think this is the ticket to ride. It’s as if they had the thought process of, “Oh, she’s not responding to my messages? I’ll just send her cock shot. That’ll get the rooster crowing!”
Here’s the thing: Women just aren’t aroused by pictures of your penises. It’s science and I can speak from personal experience. I had an ex who loved to send me penis portraits that I had never commissioned. And some would say that so long as you’re actually sleeping with the sender, a photograph of his nether regions doesn’t seem all that offensive. However, he enjoyed sending photos of his ship without wind in its sails. Not sexy. Plus, I’ve already been acquainted with your personal kayak, so don’t fill up your camera roll with your scrotum selfies. Save space for pictures of your niece or your lunch. Basically, you’re more likely to get my panties in a bunch by sending a picture of a puppy or perhaps your face. Although, I did recently receive an unsolicited and shirtless “right before bedtime selfie” that was very Jersey Shore. We are no longer dating.
So, to the fellas out there, please stop sending us pictures of the land down below because we don’t want our passports stamped and to the ladies… are you down with the D or is this the modern day equivalent of flashing?
In case you don’t follow anyone on Instagram and haven’t yet seen the sparkly get up that bad gal, RiRi wore to accept the CFDA award for “Fashion Icon of the Year” last night, here she blows. At first look I was thoroughly impressed with the beautiful old Hollywood glamour she opted for, but her shiny… and see through custom Adam Selman dress was met with mixed reviews. Some applauded her while others were appalled. Rihanna is no newbie to controversy and raising a few well groomed eyebrows. I mean, this isn’t her first appearance on WhyDid either… she was here, here, and here for starters. And while I am not always a fan of her muppetesque hair and her choices in men (ha! who am I to talk?), I do love that she seems to have absolutely no problem doing, saying, and wearing whatever she damn well pleases, which are probably all factors as to why she was even presented with the award. Her hair, makeup, and accessories were perfection and if anyone is going to go nearly nude to an awards show, thank heavens it was someone with her body as opposed to say, Steve Carell’s. The more I think about it, Rihanna is one smart cookie. She went ahead and took out all the possibility of an accidental nip slip and just came in with all guns blazing. And honestly, if you do follow her on Instagram, you’ve already all but seen her naked, so why are we all so shcocked? But enough about me… Rihanna’s look: too much or never enough?