AN INTIMATE LOOK AT THE SEARCH FOR IDENTITY, AND THE INSPIRATION FOR OUR SIGNATURE BRAND.
You know that moment on a first date when it becomes clear, that no matter how hot the other person is, they just don't get you? For me it happened sometime around the end of the last millenium.
I was sitting in the Bukowski Tavern, knocking back a few and sharing an order of White Trash Bean Dip with one of Boston's finest. This, my friends, was the stuff that first-date legends were made of.
And then it happened! Pop, the air went out of the room.
The truth is I've repressed a lot of what happened at that dark day. But it had something to do with the word metrosexual. Ok, ok, ok, you want to know the truth? I remember everything, every detail is branded on my psyche! It wasn't the word metrosexual, the truth is I had no clue what a metrosexual was! It was that she was describing me as a metrosexual, and any label with the word "metro" in it scared the hell out of me!
A what? No, I don't think so...I'm from the Granite State! I live by a lake for Godsake...a metro what? No hunny you got the wrong guy, I said as I felt my yarbles tighten. My nickname is Rock, I played nose-guard in college and I shot my first bear at 15. Metrosexual, why that's the silliest thing I've ever heard.
Well, that was that, and as Tennessee William's said, it was time to "skip the light fantastic out of town".
It's funny though, as soon as you start to question your identity it becomes a compulsion. It's always there, whispering in your ear. It started on the ride home as my mind twisted and turned the idea over and over. Metrosexual, me-tro-sex-ual. Metrosexual my ass! Wait, I do write poetry...Ya but! And I own a cat...lot's of men own cats!
That night was the first of many long, sleepless nights. Nights filled with anxiety as I questioned my Metrosexuality.
The years began to pass by, "but all the while I was alone, the past was close behind. I seen a lot of women but she never escaped my mind" . (If I have to cite that lyric, you are reading the wrong blog my friend). I really struggled during those years, as I bounced from one empty relationship to another, searching for that one thing, that symbol of my manhood.
I tried everything! I won fantasy football titles, but the trophy just didn't look cool beside my bed. I got my hands dirty gardening, but planting peas didn't up my masculinity meter. I even tried to grow a beard. It was the obvious answer. Beards are tough, beards scream country boy! It was a can't miss proposition.
Only I missed! See there's this funny thing about beards; they itch! Bad! It drove me crazy. And on the rare occasions I could power through the itchy stage, my beard would get rough and dry, and my wife wouldn't come near me. Sleeping alone on the couch certainly didn't make me feel too studly.
And then it happened. I discovered beard oil! With it's masculine scents that drove women crazy, and its itch- busting, moisturizing qualities that captivated my wife. Suddenly my face wasn't tangled up in a complex web of emotions, it was free to come out in all its bearded splendor.
Finally I felt comfortable in my own #Lumbersexual skin. That's right I had found a label that fit, I was a Lumbersexual! I was a flannel wearing, bearded, poetry teacher. I was a wood-stacking, hair combing, fly-fishing man!
Finally a label that captured the complex mix of scents that was my identity. A label that evoked liberating, layers of woods, orchards, and fresh air. A label just like the one on the side of our signature blend of Whisker Oil.
I'm older now. More comfortable in my skin. But take it from me if you're an up-and-coming young hipster. Next time someone tries to label you. Don't sweat it.
Order another round and own the night.