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The 'Daddy' of the Metrosexual, the Retrosexual, & spawner of the Spornosexual

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Andreassean’s Bare Ass Footie Strip(Tease)

Cristiano Ronaldo is definitely no longer the only spornosexual in the football village.

Aleksander Melgalvis Andreassean, 28, ‘shredded’ defender for Norwegian soccer team Lillestrom, seems to be after the Portuguese striker’s exhibitionist crown.

Earlier this week he achieved global fame by giving a whole new meaning to the phrase ‘football strip’ when he got starkers onstage, treating his teammates and fans to an impromptu – yet impressively professional – Magic Mike style sexytime dance. Using the silver Norwegian FA Cup as a somewhat uncomfortable flesh-lite for his ‘climax’.

As you can see, they seemed to love it.

Note how before ‘owning’ the trophy, AndreASSean repeatedly offers the (mostly male?) audience his naked, smooth, well-rounded, trophy-winning butt – apparently riding their roaring approval. Male versatility and an eagerness to please is the hallmark of spornosexuality.

Not everyone however was appreciative of his generosity.

“Winning the cup is a big thing and obviously it should be celebrated, but it is very possible to do so in a manner that shows the cup a bit more respect” said Norwegian FA communications director Yngve Haavik.

By which I suppose he meant that Melgalvis should have bought the trophy dinner before-hand and texted it the next day.

Niceties aside, I find it difficult to disagree with the approving verdict of Melgalvis’ buddies:

 

‘INSIDE THE SORDID PORN SCANDAL THAT’S ROCKING THE ARMY’

That was the salacious front-page block-capitals headline the (now defunct) heavily-fragranced men’s magazine Details gave my exclusive ‘undercover’ story for them in May 2006.

I was reporting on the globally-covered scandal involving US soldiers from the elite 81st Airborne being courts-martialed for appearing in gay porn – from inside, so to speak, a US Army paratrooper at Fort Bragg.

The story is not available online, but now lucky Mark Simpson Patrons can now read the UNCENSORED – and uncircumcised – version of my SCANDALOUS and SORDID and decidedly un-fragranced adventures with NAKED PARATROOPERS at Fort Bragg here.

Just one of the many exciting exclusive benefits of being a Mark Simpson Patron – for as little as $1 a month.

My Details editor insisted on taking out ‘the gory bits’ to save his readers’ sensibilities – so you’ll be glad to know I’ve put them back in, and out, and in again. The piece has also got bigger – and now runs to 5000 words of sordidness.

A long, but hopefully not too hard a read.

Thor Ragnarok is Cosmically Camp

The latest outing for the totally ripped Aussie God of Thunder and his big swinging hammer was was quite the campest film I can recall seeing. At least that is since Guardians Of The Galaxy (not the second one, which was just shit).

Basically Taika Waititi’s Thor: Ragnarok is a cinematic version of this norty lollipop: ‘With real fruit taste’.

Thor, love him and his guns to bits, is essentially a very dull, earnest, ponderous character – especially with that ‘Norwegian’ accent Hemsworth gives him which sounds like the Swedish chef from The Muppets trying to do Arnie.

And this despite the big hammer, lightning and the sporno bod  – displayed in the nowadays obligatory topless, sexily-lit-from-below-scene.

Short of getting naked and oiled up for the whole movie — which would make the action scenes a little slippy — he desperately needs camp relief. Tom Hiddleston, playing his ‘Trickster’ brother Loki (with an RSC accent), has provided it in previous iterations, but perhaps because of the camp competition in the form of Guardians of the Galaxy, here he’s got serious backup in the form of Cate Blanchett & Jeff Goldblum (he dubs Thor ‘Sparkles’) – and the GG style art direction provide that in glittery, dayglo spades.

In fact, it’s difficult to decide who is the campest out of this bunch of campers – though perhaps Blanchett wins because of those horns and the fact that as she reminds us,  repeatedly: ‘I’M THE GODDESS OF DEATH!’.

“Does my hat slay ya?”

But probably the campest scene in a supercamp movie is when Thor and his brother Loki visit Earth (image at top), apparently disguised as a bickering gay couple on their way to The Eagle to use separate back rooms.

There is also another twisted bromance – between Thor and Hulk. At one point they are basically living together in a jock penthouse (owned, like their asses, by the hyper-camp Goldblum character). They bond, but are rather competitive, in a bro-ish way.

“Size isn’t everything, dude. Sorry, I lied. It is.”

This competitiveness obviously has a sexual dimension. After solo soaking in the hot tub, Hulk moves to step out and the  God of Thunder who is full-clothed, is apparently terrified at the prospect of seeing Hulk’s penis and protests ‘No! No!’ But to no avail. He then complains ‘that’s in my brain now’. Though it seems it was there all along.

Perhaps Sparkles – sorry, Thor – is especially preoccupied because a) Hulk’s tool is probably bigger than his hammer and b) His hammer has already been crushed to painful smithereens in the hand of a cackling Cate Blanchett/Goddess of Death.

Thor’s reaction to seeing Hulk’s monster meat is played for nervous laughs, and gets them, but perhaps depends on a very American disavowal. Of course, everyone wants to see Hulk’s mutant, green, CGI penis.

We don’t, alas. But I guess there’s always the next instalment.

A Disturbing Documentary on the State of Heterosexuality Today

And here’s another one:

In Defence of Male Tartiness (Again)

Mark Simpson on how metrosexuality is now part of masculinity’s ‘gayish DNA’

The lights have gone off at Instagram and YouTube. Men’s Health has folded. The male grooming market valued at $50B globally until just last week has imploded. Those reports about how men are now spending more time and money clothes shopping than women can be binned. Tumbleweed is blowing around the 272 new gyms that opened in the UK last year. Tinder is totally toast.

Most apocalyptically of all, young men are putting their shirts back on and Love Island has been cancelled.

Or so you might be forgiven for thinking if you read Martin Daubney’s piece last week in Telegraph Men about the findings of a study into masculinity he helped organise. ‘We can say confidently’, he said, confidently, ‘that British men in 2017 are increasingly abandoning narcissism, the perfect body and promiscuity’.

Apparently, instead of being selfie-admiring, ‘vain’, ‘shallow’, ‘dopey metrosexuals’, today’s men are now looking for ‘greater depth and meaning’ and emphasising ‘traditional’ and ‘moral values’, including marriage.

In other words, men have – finally! – stopped being so bloody gay.

Male vanity’s death sentence was supposedly delivered in Harry’s Masculinity Report, sponsored by and named after an American male grooming company that is, well, muscling in on the lucrative UK male vanity market. But Harry’s you see is a straight-acting all-American grooming company. On their website they boast that they make ‘a high-quality shave that’s made by real guys for real guys’. Sweet!

Of course, as a big ol’ homo and the ‘daddy’ of the metrosexual and his ‘shredded’, under-dressed younger ‘bro’, the spornosexual, I’m a tad over-invested in male prettiness – even if I don’t always invest enough in my own. But I really don’t see much evidence for the demise of male self-reflexivity and image-consciousness. Except perhaps in the popularity of man-buns. (No one could wear one of those and own a mirror.)

I suspect what we have here is more a case of wishful/murderous thinking. The report seems to me to have found the ‘traditional’ values and morality it was looking for.

Were the guys surveyed ‘real guys’, like the guys at Harry? Well it seems they were simply the first 2000 men aged between 18-85 living in the British Isles who completed a lengthy online questionnaire. It was promoted in male-related online forums and ‘to ensure broad UK reach across all demographics, the survey was also promoted by Martin Daubney.’

Martin, a high-profile, right-of-centre, white, male, heterosexual, married journalist, indefatigable campaigner around men’s issues and ‘porn addiction’ – and infuriatingly likeable chap – has 17K followers on Twitter. It would be unfair to call this Daubney’s Masculinity Report, but we should at least wonder how much Martin is inadvertently admiring his own reflection in it.

It’s difficult to tell though – the ‘men’ in this study are rather opaque. Monolithic, even. There’s an age and marital status breakdown, which seems fairly representative, but no information about their ethnicity, their sexuality, political affiliation or their class/occupation. Though the fact that nearly half of them were from London and the South East (there is a regional breakdown) might be a bit of a clue as to the latter.

There are 35 ‘core values’ options listed in the questionnaire. The first four are: ‘Dependable, ‘Reliable’, ‘Loyal’, ‘Committed’, and the 7th is ‘Honest’.

The top five rated by respondents were, in order: ‘Honest’, ‘Reliable’, ‘Dependable’, ‘Loyal’, ‘Committed’.

‘Helpful’ isn’t in the list, but I suppose that’s implicit in the answers.

‘Fit’ and ‘athletic’, the only two options in the list of ‘core values’ that aren’t moral values appear at 21 and 22 and were rated by respondents at 31 and 35. Though perhaps the ratings for them should have been added together, as I’m not sure what the difference is between ‘fit’ and ‘athletic’. Both arouse me.

It’s great that men want to be, as they say in their online dating profiles, ‘100% gen’. Or seen as that. But I’m not sure how that shows they’ve abandoned the gym and their own reflection.

As for the evidence of men ‘abandoning promiscuity’ – the questionnaire doesn’t have anything to say, or ask, about ‘promiscuity’, or for that matter, monogamy. Unless of course you think that valuing honesty, reliability, dependability, loyalty and commitment is necessarily incompatible with having sex with more than one person.  Or rather, sex with more people than you – probably the most accurate definition of ‘promiscuous’.

The trad-dad moralising thrust of all this becomes evident in the ‘main lessons from this survey’ section we are told the factors found to be associated with men’s ‘mental positivity’ are ‘good job satisfaction’, ‘stable relationship’, ‘living up to their roles as men’, ‘more connected to a sense of spirituality’ and ‘engage in sports’ – that’s manly team sports, I’m guessing, not posing around the gym like a tart.

I’m sure this is all well-intentioned. But it does sound a shade School Speech Day, c.1956. Especially the ‘living up to their roles as men’ bit.

I can understand why report’s authors want to ‘detoxify’ the ‘brand’ of masculinity (this ‘core values’ shtick is mostly used in a corporate context) and offer some ‘good news’ about men that goes against the bad news grain. And think it’s great that the oft-neglected issue of men’s mental health is being addressed and men’s intimate preoccupations are being probed.

But re-stigmatising the hard won right of men of whatever sexuality to be pretty and ‘gay’ isn’t going to help. I mean, really? No gym. No porn. No Tinder. No preening. This is supposed to reduce male suicide?

Male narcissism has added enormously to the gaiety of the nation. It should be celebrated as a Great British tradition, from Byron to Bowie to Beckham to Bromans. Puritanical Yankee grooming go home. What’s more the acceptance of it has made homophobia less acceptable. Non-gay men today, particularly younger men for whom metrosexuality is just ‘normal’, are much less hard on The Gays than their fathers were because they are less hard on themselves.

Being soft on yourself is surely the key to being soft on others.

Most men are not going to dedicate themselves to becoming a Men’s Health cover model, thank the baby Jesu. Apart from anything else, if they did I’d never be able to get on the squat rack at 5pm. But metrosexuality, love it or loathe it, is part of masculinity’s gayish DNA now. It’s far too late to straighten it out.

And even if you could, you’d just cause a global economic catastrophe, like the terrifying End of Days one envisioned at the beginning of this article.

 

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