What maketh the man?
IS IT style, gallantry … or the ability to put up a shelf? Three Scotsman writers take guidance on the thorny subject of modern masculinity from three new books.
THE KNIGHT IN SHINING ARMOUR
'Chivalry is not dead, just dying'
'HONEY, I'm going to learn all about chivalry this week," I told my girlfriend, putting my feet up on the couch after dinner. She looked up from the pile of dirty dishes in the kitchen sink, wiped her runny nose, said how pleased she was, and resumed scrubbing.
Now, there are many things I offer my partner - love, affection, an annual subscription to Sky Sports - but chivalry is not high on the list. She might argue that it doesn't feature at all. This is not my fault. The mores of modern society put greater emphasis on equality of the sexes than ancient codes of protection. But the age of chivalry is not dead, just dying, and is kept on life-support by a catalogue of self-help books for men that lay out the rules of the knightly practice. Last week I decided to do some research, picking up a copy of The Man's Book by Thomas Fink. With trepidation, I leafed to chapter three, "Women".
Chivalry, Fink explains, comes from the French chevalier - literally, "horseman". This did little to ease my fears - I was imagining the four horsemen of the apocalypse: plague, death, war, and some dandy on a white steed. Chivalry's main tenet is the concept of "precedence", that is, women come first: in introductions ("Marge, this is Homer"); at dinner; through doorways; and during sex. The only exception is when leaving the back of a black cab.
The basic role of men, according to the chivalric code, is as the provider of food, symbolised by the man's job of carving meat at the dinner table. Today, provision usually takes the form of paying for dinner and drinks. Fink writes: "Whatever the arguments might be for going Dutch, a woman who insists on splitting the bill is either romantically uninterested or tedious."
During courtship, the code calls for men to enact a sustained offensive manoeuvre, with the woman's role that of the defender: "If a woman does not want a man to come in [after a date], then gentle and clear suggestions should be put into the conversation." In other words, unless she says no, go ransack the place, boys!
Statements like this make it clear that chivalry is not really designed to support or protect women, only to win their affection. The book offers more details - at what point you are entitled to challenge a rival to a duel, how to break off engagements, and so on - but nothing you could call useful.
Chivalry, it occurs to me, is all gloss and surface, the last vestige of an age of knightly pageantry and show. There's nothing virile or manly to the display - it's like a tiny peacock preening his massive feathers. So my girlfriend is not going to get a knight in shining armour. What I can offer her instead is a large, hairy, affable primate who will adore her. This, amazingly, seems acceptable to her. But it's still no excuse for not doing the dishes.
EBEN HARRELL
• The Man's Book by Thomas Fink (Weidenfeld & Nicolson, £9.99)
The Handyman
'With a sense of dread, I accompanied my better half to buy the IKEA flat-packed shelving unit'
I HAD always thought that buying my first tool kit would be a rite of passage - my final journey from boy to man. Right up there with my first shave, my first pint and my Confirmation, but with screwdrivers and a spanner. What I didn't expect was that I'd be 32 before I did it.
Maybe I shouldn't have been too surprised. My dad didn't get his until his 50th birthday, and even then it was an ironic gift in recognition of the fact that he's hopeless at DIY.
According to Man Skills - A Training Manual for Men, however, I am not alone. The book is written by Nick Harper, who also hit 32 before deciding he really should learn the basics of being a bloke.
He argues that "a vital communication link between most fathers and sons has short-circuited", leaving this generation of men somewhat lacking in such essential skills as wiring a plug, bleeding a radiator and, er, starting a fire with two sticks. As I've already mentioned, that "link" never really existed in our house, but I think Harper may have a point. It's an unarguable fact that, to increasing numbers of us, carrying out home improvements, for example, extends to getting a satellite dish installed.
For my part, I have tried DIY. But I've failed miserably and had resolved never to try again. Until my fiancée moved in with me. It's safe to say women have much higher standards of homecare than men, and within days of her arrival I'd bought a hammer and a picture-hanging kit for all those lovely photographs she had brought with her.
Said "kit" was, in reality, a few hooks, some wire and a tiny spirit level, but that didn't diminish my sense of achievement once I'd used it to hang those pictures.
Any sense of pride I had was short-lived, however, and just the other week I managed to leave us without cold running water in the bathroom, and with a lavatory that wouldn't flush, after attempting to disconnect the washing machine.
So it was with a sense of dread that I accompanied my better half to IKEA to buy the flat-packed shelving unit I was told "we really need" for the kitchen. It was during that visit that I bought the aforementioned tool kit, which consists of a hammer (I've got two now!), a spanner, a pair of pliers, a bendy thing I can't identify and a screwdriver with 11 detachable heads. I didn't even know there were that many different types of screw, but you live and learn.
The instructions, such as they were, were four pages long and consisted of several drawings of a ridiculously cheerful cartoon character assembling the shelves in no time at all. How I grew to hate him. Two hours later I was still struggling to comprehend what he was doing and, no matter which way up I held the instructions, they made no sense at all.
Isabelle, who had wisely retreated into the bedroom to watch the EastEnders omnibus, would occasionally peep round the door, shake her head, and leave again.
But, slowly, it all began to fall into place. Employing two of my screwdriver heads, I managed to attach the various bits of wood to one another until, finally, the job was done. OK, it had taken me four times as long as it probably should have and I'm pretty sure I had put a couple of the screws where they weren't meant to be, but it was done. And two weeks on, the shelves are still standing.
I have resolved, however, to quit while I'm ahead. No more will I strike a hammer blow in anger, and nine of my screwdriver heads will remain unemployed. Unless anyone is in the market for a bendy thing, that is.
KEVIN SCHOFIELD
Man Skills - A Training Manual for Men, by Nick Harper (Michael O'Mara Books, £9.99)
The Dandy
'Cufflinks I consider to be an affectation'
TO DRESS oneself is the achievement of a child, yet for some of us, sartorial elegance has barely stumbled beyond the nursery door. When it comes to a sense of style, I'm ashamed to admit that I do not swagger, I crawl. I'm sure there are other male readers who face the ignominy of parading out of the Marks & Spencer's changing room to be met by the disapproving face of the beloved wife, who then immediately ushers them back in to try again.
With this in mind, I cast doubt aside and read a new guide by Dylan Jones, the editor of GQ magazine. In Mr Jones' Rules for the Modern Man, "Style and Fashion" was the section on which I focused. Jones has set himself the task of becoming a Martha Stewart for men, urging us on with such sage advice as "don't get a hairstyle with a name" - which, of course, rules out the mullet, the Mohawk and the quiff; and the rather clever "don't wear a tie with a soft-collared shirt". His rules on maintaining a reputable wardrobe are worth repeating: one evening a year, set aside time to bin any item not worn for the past year. It's particularly good advice for us hoarders, who believe the day will dawn when knitted tanktops return to the catwalks of Milan. [Note from editor: see your local Prada stockist, Stephen - it's already happened.]
Jones believes that "dressing well is essentially about good taste and common sense" - and for £14.99, Jones offers you exactly that. The next time I enter a clothes store it will be with the knowledge that brown shoes should only be worn with a blue or grey suit (but what about brown suits?) and that a tie should never be lighter than the shirt on which it sits. However, even I was aware that when tying a tie the fat bit should always be longer than the thin bit. Intriguingly, black polish can be used equally well on brown shoes.
There were moments of disagreement between Jones and myself. The first concerned cufflinks, which I have long considered an affectation. He, by contrast, advises men to purchase those that can be easily put on. Then there was his instruction to pick up a "good chunky sports watch", particularly galling on account of his report that he was offered a Tag Heuer for free: "I chose a classic black-face Monaco." For many years I considered a watch unnecessary. I was surrounded by people who wore watches, and by not wearing one I bestowed upon them a special purpose in life: telling me the time. Then my wife bought me a Hugo Boss watch with an inscription and a fine leather strap. Today, it's the one item I fear losing. This was topped by his advice that "your watch strap should match your jewellery". Men, I believe, shouldn't wear jewellery beyond a wedding band. And yet the most surprising fact is that a 2005 poll of American women revealed that the sexiest thing a man can wear is "rugged jeans and a plain white T-shirt".
It would be wrong to report that after reading Jones's guide I did not feel better equipped to face the January sales. That is the one month of the year when I am cajoled into a clothes store, armed with vouchers and money received for my birthday. For some men, standing resplendent in new raiments is an enjoyable experience. I, for some twisted reason, feel only embarrassment, discomfort and a desire to end the fiasco as quickly as possible. I do not deny the pleasure of looking smart, only the trial of achieving it.
However, for guidance on how to dress, I still favour David Niven, who always looked immaculate and reportedly said that you can always can judge a man's sanity by the height of his trousers from the ground. Well, you certainly can in the Marks & Spencer's changing room.
STEPHEN MCGINTY
| 
