In which Fash Mob is rendered speechless by a Kerry footballer
This weekend, the Sunday Independent plumbed new depths (am I allowed to say that? Or are we supposed to be civil to one another? If we are, I guess that’s a rule they don’t obey – BUT I DIGRESS) when it …
This weekend, the Sunday Independent plumbed new depths (am I allowed to say that? Or are we supposed to be civil to one another? If we are, I guess that’s a rule they don’t obey – BUT I DIGRESS) when it gave quite a significant number of column inches (insert obvious joke here, heh heh) to none other than Kerry footballer Paul Galvin, who was giving – wait for it, wait for it – his fashion manifesto.
In his own words, Paul has gone - again, wait for it – “into the closet”. As he, a few paragraphs later, goes into detail about his lady-killing skills, I would imagine that this is a funny joke. Perhaps something to do with being a footballer who loves fashion but somehow not also being A GAY! Wow, side-splitting stuff. But not as side-splitting as:
“One thing I did learn quickly is that girls like a guy who can dress himself well, who knows what he wants to wear, what he looks good in and what he doesn’t. And, perhaps most importantly, what she looks good in.
“Any man that can go out and buy his woman something she loves and feels great wearing, something on-trend, is on a winner. Expect to be given major kudos, lads. I’m talking hot dinners, hotter massages, nights out with the lads no questions asked, the TV remote — it’s your passport to a whole new world of credits that are fundamentally what any relationship boils down to. Debits and credits. Doghouse debits and funhouse credits. The key is to stay in credit, and I’m speaking from experience when I say that a little effort in the wardrobe department goes a long way.”
Allow me to enlighten you, Paul. I am a woman (just to clear all of that up at the beginning) and I detest a man who “knows what she looks good in”, and I will tell you why. Firstly, because I don’t need to be told what I look good in. Secondly, because no woman looks good in lycra. And thirdly, because what you think I look good in and what I think I look good in are poles apart, and never the twain shall meet.
FURTHERMORE, Paul, I have never given someone a hot massage. Nor, for that matter, a hot dinner, and being the recipient of an item of clothing, of your choosing, is not going to induce me to start now. The phrase “doghouse debits and funhouse credits” makes me nauseous, so I shan’t go into it too much – but would it not be an amazing idea to sort out your facial hair, if you’re looking for those kinds of credits? Surely that’d get you further than some credit card and bad taste flashing ever will?
Let’s take a pause.
Aaaaah, that’s better. Young Paul, having taught the Irish male public how to get right to the core of their lady friends’ hearts, goes on to extoll the virtues of Penneys and A|Wear. I shan’t go into it too much, but the word (words?) “cutting-edge” is used. Ah, here, love.
“For me, there are two dimensions to fashion. First of all, you have the visual aesthetic, how you look in what you wear. I like to think of this as fashion for others, for those who look at you. It’s important and, of course, women in particular love to be complimented on what they’re wearing.
“A little attention to detail on a guy’s part goes a long way. Guys like to be complimented on what they wear also but only by women, I suspect.”
(Here, Paul shows us that, really, all he wants is for people to think he looks hot, and he finds fashion is a good key – to this, and to sexy time, when he tells women that they look hot. Heaven forbid he should compliment something that’s not visual!)
Now we take another little dip into homophobia – “an Irish guy complimenting another Irish guy on what he’s wearing is generally viewed with suspicion and bewilderment on the part of the guy receiving the compliment” – before going back to the 1990s where, as Paul sees it, the Irish streets are full of people wearing “XXL this” and “XXL that”. I’m sorry, is he tripping? I remember the 1990s well, but no longer are Irish men wearing these oversized sartorial wonders. (I especially loved those huge trousers with the white print – and they had a name. What was it? For a prize. Tell me.)
THEN, THEN, THE CLOSING LINE: “We need more Ryan Tubridys, more Danny O’Donoghues, more Jamie Dornans, more Niall Breslins and Mark Kavanaghs (aka Rasher), more Brendan Courtneys to take the game by the scruff of the neck and lead the charge towards bringing more and more Irishmen into the closet.” I understand the theme he’s running with, but . . . shouldn’t we be thinking about getting more of them out?
Anyway, Paul is the torch-bearer for a new generation: a generation of men who like sports! And fashion! And dodgy facial hair! And feel the need to talk about this – badly – in a national newspaper, accompanied by a photograph of themselves WITH THEIR TOPS OFF!