To pink or not to pink: Man's relationship with a troublesome colour

Last week I wore my pink scarf. I was in a pub, meeting friends. It was not a particularly cold evening but I had decided to premiere my accessory and no amount of warmth in the night air was going to steer me off course. 

My scarf opened up a number of questions about sartorial choices; in particular, questions about the relationship between man and pink.

For many men, wearing a pink garment or accessory can be an audacious choice. For others it is a regular accoutrement. One man told me he wears pink boxer shorts. This is not adventurous, unless the man in question sleeps with many, many people.

In financial and banking circles a pink shirt is an essential thrice weekly affair. It is debonair, confident and associated with wealth and aspiration. For a farmer, perhaps it is a less obvious choice. Pink wellies are still the domain of the festival-going female.

I sit between these two stereotypes. I am not an investment banker in Moorgate. Neither do I know how to milk a cow. I am not wealthy and harbour few aspirations. Therefore why would I decide to wear pink?

My sister gave me the scarf for Christmas. She sees me as a metrosexual. But I’m not. I don’t moisturise.

Ella de Guzman, proprietor of Siopa Ella, a high-end swap boutique in Dublin, says, “I love seeing a man wearing a pale pink shirt but he needs to wear it with confidence. Bubblegum pink polo shirts are also great - especially if you're also sporting a tan”.

This advice deepens my unease. I have neither confidence nor a tan.

Nick Sullivan, fashion editor of Esquire magazine, has said the way we perceive pink now is contrary to opinion in the first half of the twentieth century. “It was traditional for boys to be dressed in pink (a derivative of red, thought to be the most decisive, masculine colour),” he writes. Meanwhile, blue was the consistent choice for girls because in Christian tradition it symbolized virginity.

The Virgin Mary is the most potent example of this. Apparently she hated pink. Few people know this but Mary was obsessed with the way she looked. She never left the stable without full makeup.

Beyond this, there was an aesthetic reason too. In 1918, the Ladies Home Journal wrote, “There has been a great diversity of opinion on the subject, but the generally accepted rule is pink for the boy and blue for the girl. The reason is that pink being a more decided and stronger colour is more suitable for the boy, while blue, which is more delicate and dainty, is prettier for the girl".

As the conversation about my pink scarf unfolded in the pub, I came to a realisation. The group was not actually worried about my choice of pink. Rather, they were troubled by the marriage of my pink scarf with the colour of my hair. I say hair. In reality, it is really more of a suggestion of hair at this stage. A whisper, say. Some people would describe it as “ginger” (that hateful word). However, I have been assured by an expert de coleur that it is in fact “sunset explosion”.

Does this mean pink and I must part ways?

Of course there are many, many different shades of this colour. Pink is a crude term which envelops an abundance, an entire spring meadow, of hues. The different shades say different things.

Fuchsia, for example, is a shade of pink which one rarely sees on a man. It is a noisy colour which punishes the retina. To wear this colour is to throw acid in peoples’ eyes. Exceedingly unpleasant.

Salmon is one of the most popular shades of pink for men. It is the shade which sits on the proverbial fence. Is it pink or is it something else? Men take refuge in this ambiguity. It is also the entry-level shade for pink virgins. It allows them to dip their toe in the sea without going all the way.

Ruby is to be avoided by men who blush easily. You will look like a lollipop.

One man I spoke with said that he owned one pink pair of trousers, two pink t-shirts and three pink shirts. That’s alot of pink. Many of the people who talked to me agreed that men should only wear one pink item at a time. A pink tie is good. A pink tie and a pink shirt may overwhelm. A pink tie, a pink shirt and pink trousers will make you look like a milkshake. Children will want to drink you.

However, de Guzman says that occasionally a pink cocktail can work. “I don’t think there should be rules in fashion but if a man is wearing a pink shirt, a pink tie would also look amazing accessorized with it”.

Where do I go from here? My research has led me to believe that pink, just like a sunflower, requires a specific set of conditions in which to bloom. Alas, I am not convinced that I am fertile ground for such a cultivation.

ENDS

The bachelor thing

“Relationship status” is a regular feature of our lexicon, thanks to Facebook. Single, married and divorced are among the options. Bachelor and spinster are not. “Single” tells us very little about a person’s status, whereas “bachelor” fills in a great many empty spaces in its three little syllables.

The term has been in its current usage for many centuries. Shakespeare uses it in Julius Caesar (1599). Cinna the Poet asks, “What is my name? Whither am I going? Where do I dwell? Am I a married man or a bachelor?” The Oxford English Dictionary defines a bachelor as a man who has never been married. This means an eighteen year old could be a bachelor. But doesn’t the term engender a certain maturity?

In Victorian parlance, a bachelor was sometimes used as a euphemism for a gay man. Indeed, the London Times often described a homosexual as a “confirmed bachelor” in their obituaries of gay men, prior to legalisation.

Writing in the Atlantic Monthly in June 1898, Leon H. Vincent writes, “Almost any man can become a fairly respectable husband; but to be a successful bachelor implies unusual gifts”. This suggests that there are criteria involved in achieving such a title. It also tells us that the term was certainly not restricted to being a euphemism for a homosexual in that period. Indeed, it had a more prosaic definition altogether.

A bachelor has no dependants. Therefore he is likely to have more disposable income to spend on life’s treats. In John W. Luce’s 1906 book, A Bachelor’s Cupboard, he says that the bachelor wishes to become “bon vivant, epicure, connoisseur de vins and up on all the little things that combine to make him an authority on the things of single men of the world”. The bachelor has the gift of time. While the married man is tending to family life, the bachelor tends to his own.

Luce continues: “Who can be a more perfect host than a bachelor? He can be equally gracious and devoted to all women because of the absence of that feminine proprietorship which always tends to make the married man withhold his most graceful compliments, his most tender glances and his most winning smile”.

Often, the mid-nineteenth century view of the bachelor was of a free-wheeling and unfettered singleton. In The Paradise of Bachelors and the Tatarus of Maids, Herman Melville writes, “you could plainly see that these easy-hearted men had no wives or children to give an anxious thought. Almost all of them were travellers too; for bachelors alone can travel freely, and without any twinges of their consciences...”

On the other hand, literature and film often sets its sights on a bachelor who needs to find a resolution in his life through romance. How many stories have we read or seen where the bachelor abandons his credentials as a singleton and ends up in the warm embrace of love? In the 2002 Nick Hornby film adaptation of About a Boy, Hugh Grant appears to be a typical bachelor. “I am an island,” he shrieks. “I’m bloody Ibiza!” Of course the audience wouldn’t be happy unless he disregarded this principle and fell in love. Which he does. This formula is repeated in almost every popular film about single men.

What does this say about our uneasy relationship with bachelors? It is extremely difficult for a producer or studio to greenlight a film in which the bachelor doesn’t find love at the end. But perhaps some men truly never want to get married or be in a relationship. Those are the true bachelors, surely?

Historically, this uneasiness is prevalent too. Vincent continues, “It is possible to respect a bachelor, but it is impossible to be at ease with him. Not without reason does the world speak of a married man as ‘settled’”.

Does one decide to be a bachelor or do we impose the title? It would be unusual to hear someone describe themselves in this way. It is too frank. Equally, it seems rather invasive to confer it on somebody else. It assumes a very particular set of circumstances. This is the lone ranger, the master of his own destiny, the great untouchable. The old dog who cannot learn new tricks. “It’s too late for him. He is set in his ways,” I have heard older people describe even older bachelors.

There is something graver to consider too. Helen Dowd, writing in the Guardian in 2006, says, “single men labouring under the misapprehension that their lifestyles are one long string of fun and frivolity are in for something of a shock, as research shows that a generation of "toxic bachelors" are destined for an early grave”. According to the research of Professor Robert Kaplan, bachelors between the ages of 19 and 44 are 58% more likely to die before reaching 50 than men who are married or in a relationship. Does marriage put a necessary restraint on the vices of life?

The bachelor has always existed. Sometimes for different reasons. It is unlikely that it will ever appear as a box to tick on a form, but, if it did, would you feel comfortable marking it? 

ENDS

Irish weather: A guide for tourists

The beginning of 2013 heralds the year of The Gathering in Ireland. Thousands of tourists and members of the Irish diaspora are expected to arrive on our rainy island in the north Atlantic. But when you gather here, dear tourist, there are some things you should be aware of. If you are a non-Irish visitor in Ireland it is very important that you prepare yourself for our most popular topic of conversation: the weather. It is the mercurial nature of the Irish weather that means it is a topic which keeps on giving. If you are from continental Europe you may be used to discussing things such as art and fine food. If you are from America you may be used to discussing how happy you are. There is little room for such indulgences in the Irish conversation. While the weather is our most popular topic of conversation, the weather in itself is not popular and should only be discussed in jaundiced tones. Betrayal of merriment will be met with suspicion.

We spend great swathes of time speaking about something over which we have virtually no control. But this is our right. It is important for us to do this. The IMF controls our finances but nobody can control our weather. We comment at length on something which our interlocutor is already aware of. The weather is shared. It is not a secret to be disclosed. No matter. To point out the obvious is also our right.

Speaking about the weather is in our DNA. Our parents and grandparents do it. We are the inheritors of a strange and very Irish idiosyncrasy. Of course our British neighbours too are famously fond of weather-talk. However, while we share in our topic, we diverge in our method; our vocabulary is unique. It is the words we use that betray the most about us. And in the weather we seem to find an outlet for a peculiar Irish poetry.

A typical and polite conversation with a fellow Irishman will consist of the following:

“Damp”

“It is”

“She’s to get worse”

“She is”

“It’s fierce”

“Blustery too”

“Ah stop”

“I’m not wrong”

“You’re not”

This is a conversation, with inevitable variables, that you will need to be prepared to repeat several times a day. If you like our country and decide to remain here (The Remaining, as opposed to The Gathering), taking up a job as a taxi driver perhaps, this is a conversation you will need to repeat endlessly, perhaps fifteen times an hour during a busy spell. You may find it exhausting to begin with, but you must persevere, dear tourist. The depths of the Irish soul can be glimpsed in a diatribe about the saturation of our slopes, our moistened mountains, the iciness of our little islands, the fierceness of our fogs, the unbearable swirls of our storms and the infinite whirls of our winds.

Our immediate referral to the state of the weather is a way for us to connect with each other without becoming personal. In your country, tourist, you may ask each other about your feelings. One is advised against that here. If you find yourself in a traffic accident and need to call the emergency services, a brief prelude about the weather is advised if one wants the treatment one desires. If you begin the conversation too hastily with “Two of my passengers are seriously injured”, for example, you should expect a response such as, “Is it damp where you are?”  We build an easy rapport through an unthreatening discourse on something which is unlikely to invite any argument.

What is essential, tourist, is to never betray any sense of good fortune about the weather. We may have been Americanised in many ways, from the use of microwaves to airplanes, but allowing oneself to become happy with a sunny day is unforgiveable. Many an American tourist has been caught commenting favourably on the weather. If you do this, the Irish native will find himself at a loss when confronted with your contentment and probably move away from you. In the winter we like to complain of the cold and in the summer we give out about the heat (if it comes).

A common pitfall of the tourist is to describe the weather directly. This is an affront to the local characteristic of being indirect about everything. I would recommend the use of negatives in order to achieve this. “It’s not warm” is a popular way of describing a cold day. Conversely, “It’s not cold” is often used during the summer months. However, to say “It is cold” betrays an honesty and frankness which may concern the Irishman and will probably create a distance between you.

In Ireland we like to use female personification in order to describe things. From washing machines to cars, there is a tradition of this. “She’s bitter” is a common way of describing a cold day. This may be difficult for you to get used to. If you use this you may be anxious that people will interpret it as a slight on your wife if she is standing next to you. But worry not. We will trust that it is not your spouse who is bitter of character but the state of the weather. We have no interest in your wife, only the weather.

It is common for tourists to make the mistake of initiating interesting conversations about art and the theatre. If you say “I simply love Japanese theatre” to an Irish person, the response will inevitably be “It’s very blustery out”. At this point it is best to either engage with their line of conversation or else make a polite excuse and wander off.

There are two ways to impress your Irish hosts during your stay on the island. Firstly, we love to forecast the weather. I am not talking about relaying the television’s predictions. Rather, give your own analysis of what is in store for us. A popular phrase would be “It’s due to get worse at the weekend”. Please note the absence of any meteorological terms in this sentence. The ability to discuss the weather without using any words directly related to the weather is the highest form of eloquence in this country. If you can marry this technique with the female personification – for example, “She’s due to be fierce come Sunday” – you will be heralded as a native before long. The Normans were not described as “more Irish than the Irish themselves” because of their engagement with Irish traditions such as our native sports or our religious heritage but rather for their swift adoption of phrases to describe the weather. Their example should be an inspiration to you, tourist.

The second and most effulgent method of impressing the native islander is to use words to describe the state of the day which are not traditionally used for that purpose. The most popular example is the word “close”. In the standard British lexicon it relates to proximity. In the Irish vernacular it means “humid”. For example, the phrase “It’s very close” should be used when you are feeling uncomfortably warm. Use of this word can cause confusion. When I lived in London I took an attractive young lady for a drink in a pub. When we sat down she positioned herself next to me. To begin our conversation, of course I described the weather on that warm evening by saying “very close”. She apologised and moved to the other side of the table.

I hope you enjoy your stay in our country, tourist. But be warned, don’t enjoy it too much. The Irish like to keep general enjoyment levels quite low so as to maintain enough material to dislike. We will welcome you with open arms.

ENDS