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I came across this article, and just had to post it:
The Testosexual Manifesto
By Nate Green
Today's avid, intelligent weight-training enthusiast is a rare breed. Even more rare is a young iron-head intellectual -- a species that is relatively non-existent and thrives in certain subcultures only if you prepare a grass-and-stick habitat and punch holes in the top of the can.
Pop culture presented my generation with an alternative type of "ideal" male a while back, and the aftershocks are still being felt today. Metrosexuality took us by the balls, placed a rubber band around them, and exclaimed triumphantly, "We now have your manhood! Take this wine list and moisturizing lotion so we can market you as a sensitive 'new-breed' of male and pound the ignorant band-wagon-jumping consumer a little harder!"
Metrosexuality made it cool to pay $125 dollars for a pair of jeans, and $4.50 for a double, white chocolate, mocha latte. Metrosexuality caused my gym to be overrun with guys in their late-teens and early-twenties doing nothing but crunches and biceps curls. Metrosexuality convinced me that I should shave my stomach and nipple hair. Not too rugged, if you ask me.
Essentially, Metrosexuality told a generation of young, once-virile men that we should try real hard to forget about that thing hanging between our legs and transform ourselves into femmy, sensitive eunuchs.
With all that in mind, allow me to introduce a new, more sophisticated and raw breed of young male; a weird type of animal that buys lotion with a different purpose in mind. Here's a young man who could give a shit less what people think of him, as long as he's being true to himself. Ladies and gentlemen, without further ado, I present you with the Testosexual!
Please, hold your applause.
The Testosexual prides himself on his ambition. He aspires to learn as much as possible and never turns a deaf ear to the advice of his colleagues. Testosexual is confident in his ability and trains not only his body, but his mind as well. Sharp as a tack, and sturdy as a two-by-four, the Testosexual is a well-rounded manifestation of dedication, morals, ideals, training, conditioning, discipline and virility.
In the fitness world, Testosexual does not fall victim to mainstream marketing ploys. He uses average muscle rags as toilet paper and gets his reading material from much more knowledgeable sources. He doesn't blow outrageous amounts of money on sugar-filled supplements and diuretic "fat-burners." He's way too intelligent to fall for stupid bar graphs that show the correlation between a "miracle muscle gain elixir" and a placebo.
Testosexual trains with vigor and always has a plan of attack in the gym. He strays away from his ignorant counterparts who convene by the bench press and compare pecs. He doesn't listen to brain-dead personal trainers, or give any heed to gym-rat philosophy. Testosexual trains effectively. He's in, he hits it hard, and he's out. He even manages to score the number of the hot chick who's popping out of her spandex behind the front counter.
Testosexual takes his education seriously. He's attentive in his studies and always asks pertinent questions to help keep the collective classroom intelligence up to a high level. He reads books other than those classroom-assigned novels, and relishes in the fact that he's enhancing his vocabulary and expanding his knowledge while his cohorts sit gawk-eyed in front of Seinfeld re-runs.
On Friday night, Testosexual would rather spend his time engaging in stimulating conversation over a microbrew than guzzling kegs of Natural Light at a frat party and waking up the next morning with the female equivalent of Ronnie Coleman. When he does indulge, though, Testosexual leaves the piss-beer for the sissies, and savors something with a bit of flavor.
Testosexual sets goals and works like hell to reach them. He is persistent with all of his endeavors and always looks forward to a challenge. He's never trampled over or walked on because Testosexual operates like Samuel L. Jackson from Pulp Fiction: cool and calm, with overtones of bad-ass-ness.
Testosexual sports an open-minded point-of-view and is passionate about his ideals. He knows to choose his battles wisely, but is never afraid to fight for his morals. He is humble in victory and doesn't point fingers when defeated. Testosexual realizes that time is an extremely important asset, and won't have anyone waste his. He surrounds himself with people from similar lifestyles, and fights tooth and nail for his compatriots for they complement his way of life and would do the same for him.
Sexually, Testosexual has learned to play the field and keep options open. In the off chance that he finds himself in a decent relationship, he doesn't succumb to the "gully-hole" only to be grouped with the other whipped choirboys. He only enters relationships that complement his way of life and with females who show an intelligence level comparable to his own. He may wade into the shallow end of the female population every now and then, but knows that when he emerges, it's time to move on; he can never completely communicate with something that has the intelligence of a dry sponge—no matter how tight her backside is.
Most importantly, Testosexual doesn't live down to the stereotypical perception of idiocy and apathy that much of America has adopted for him, and takes pride in proving the bastards wrong. He learns, he applies, and he conquers.
Metrosexuality has all but taken its last breath. It's time for the Testosexual to shed the clean-shaven, hairless skin of superficiality, drop the hypersensitive, crying-on-his-girlfriend's-shoulder, chai-tea drinking, mud-masking, sweet-talking, Sex in the City-watching, pretty boy act and allow his testicles to re-descend.
Personally, I can't wait for my nipple hair to grow back.
The Testosexual Manifesto
By Nate Green
Today's avid, intelligent weight-training enthusiast is a rare breed. Even more rare is a young iron-head intellectual -- a species that is relatively non-existent and thrives in certain subcultures only if you prepare a grass-and-stick habitat and punch holes in the top of the can.
Pop culture presented my generation with an alternative type of "ideal" male a while back, and the aftershocks are still being felt today. Metrosexuality took us by the balls, placed a rubber band around them, and exclaimed triumphantly, "We now have your manhood! Take this wine list and moisturizing lotion so we can market you as a sensitive 'new-breed' of male and pound the ignorant band-wagon-jumping consumer a little harder!"
Metrosexuality made it cool to pay $125 dollars for a pair of jeans, and $4.50 for a double, white chocolate, mocha latte. Metrosexuality caused my gym to be overrun with guys in their late-teens and early-twenties doing nothing but crunches and biceps curls. Metrosexuality convinced me that I should shave my stomach and nipple hair. Not too rugged, if you ask me.
Essentially, Metrosexuality told a generation of young, once-virile men that we should try real hard to forget about that thing hanging between our legs and transform ourselves into femmy, sensitive eunuchs.
With all that in mind, allow me to introduce a new, more sophisticated and raw breed of young male; a weird type of animal that buys lotion with a different purpose in mind. Here's a young man who could give a shit less what people think of him, as long as he's being true to himself. Ladies and gentlemen, without further ado, I present you with the Testosexual!
Please, hold your applause.
The Testosexual prides himself on his ambition. He aspires to learn as much as possible and never turns a deaf ear to the advice of his colleagues. Testosexual is confident in his ability and trains not only his body, but his mind as well. Sharp as a tack, and sturdy as a two-by-four, the Testosexual is a well-rounded manifestation of dedication, morals, ideals, training, conditioning, discipline and virility.
In the fitness world, Testosexual does not fall victim to mainstream marketing ploys. He uses average muscle rags as toilet paper and gets his reading material from much more knowledgeable sources. He doesn't blow outrageous amounts of money on sugar-filled supplements and diuretic "fat-burners." He's way too intelligent to fall for stupid bar graphs that show the correlation between a "miracle muscle gain elixir" and a placebo.
Testosexual trains with vigor and always has a plan of attack in the gym. He strays away from his ignorant counterparts who convene by the bench press and compare pecs. He doesn't listen to brain-dead personal trainers, or give any heed to gym-rat philosophy. Testosexual trains effectively. He's in, he hits it hard, and he's out. He even manages to score the number of the hot chick who's popping out of her spandex behind the front counter.
Testosexual takes his education seriously. He's attentive in his studies and always asks pertinent questions to help keep the collective classroom intelligence up to a high level. He reads books other than those classroom-assigned novels, and relishes in the fact that he's enhancing his vocabulary and expanding his knowledge while his cohorts sit gawk-eyed in front of Seinfeld re-runs.
On Friday night, Testosexual would rather spend his time engaging in stimulating conversation over a microbrew than guzzling kegs of Natural Light at a frat party and waking up the next morning with the female equivalent of Ronnie Coleman. When he does indulge, though, Testosexual leaves the piss-beer for the sissies, and savors something with a bit of flavor.
Testosexual sets goals and works like hell to reach them. He is persistent with all of his endeavors and always looks forward to a challenge. He's never trampled over or walked on because Testosexual operates like Samuel L. Jackson from Pulp Fiction: cool and calm, with overtones of bad-ass-ness.
Testosexual sports an open-minded point-of-view and is passionate about his ideals. He knows to choose his battles wisely, but is never afraid to fight for his morals. He is humble in victory and doesn't point fingers when defeated. Testosexual realizes that time is an extremely important asset, and won't have anyone waste his. He surrounds himself with people from similar lifestyles, and fights tooth and nail for his compatriots for they complement his way of life and would do the same for him.
Sexually, Testosexual has learned to play the field and keep options open. In the off chance that he finds himself in a decent relationship, he doesn't succumb to the "gully-hole" only to be grouped with the other whipped choirboys. He only enters relationships that complement his way of life and with females who show an intelligence level comparable to his own. He may wade into the shallow end of the female population every now and then, but knows that when he emerges, it's time to move on; he can never completely communicate with something that has the intelligence of a dry sponge—no matter how tight her backside is.
Most importantly, Testosexual doesn't live down to the stereotypical perception of idiocy and apathy that much of America has adopted for him, and takes pride in proving the bastards wrong. He learns, he applies, and he conquers.
Metrosexuality has all but taken its last breath. It's time for the Testosexual to shed the clean-shaven, hairless skin of superficiality, drop the hypersensitive, crying-on-his-girlfriend's-shoulder, chai-tea drinking, mud-masking, sweet-talking, Sex in the City-watching, pretty boy act and allow his testicles to re-descend.
Personally, I can't wait for my nipple hair to grow back.
