Saturday, August 31, 2013

To the Nines

As we head into the ninth month, I thought there might be nothing more appropriate than addressing dressing to the nines.  There are only a few times in a guy’s life that he will fork out money for a tuxedo (short of actually buying one outright).  If you live in the Hamptons or in Beverly Hills, more than likely you have one in your closet, and you’re no stranger to walking the red carpet.

But for most of us, tuxedos turn out to be more of a bother, although they can make the wearer feel extremely dapper.  I think, firstly, there are few men who actually want to wear a business suit every day (lawyers, stockbrokers, etc. being the exception); and secondly, there’s a lot of “to-do” that goes into getting suited up.  It used to be really easy – black jacket and pants with satin facings, a bow tie, and cuff links and you were done.  Not the case anymore, as my male exchange students have discovered.

What makes it even worse is that there are certain types that can pull of a tux easier than others – James Bond, for example.  Actors and philanthropists, for another.  The remaining 99% of us have the same issues as everyone else … how does it look?  I’m going to an extremely important event and I want to look my best.  I don’t think this is something your average James Bond, Antonio Banderas, or Matt Bomer worries about.

Girls like formal gatherings such as the prom because it entails shopping.  Guys hate formal gatherings such as the prom because it entails shopping.  I once joined Nancy for prom shopping with two girls she was hosting (one from Germany and the other from Indonesia), and I quickly came to the conclusion that nothing I said was right and I was actually causing more havoc than correcting it.  So, I ended up in the “man chairs” with all the other male prom-shopping casualties – boyfriends, fathers, brothers, etc.

It’s true – guys are easier to shop for in general, and although there are a lot of choices involved in tuxedo shopping, it’s still easier than shopping for and with girls.  But my boys don’t look at it that way, probably because the idea behind a “prom” just doesn’t resonate with the majority of them.  They don’t understand that it’s the event that caps a high-school career, and it’s the one thing (other than her wedding) that a girl has been dreaming of from the age of ten or so.  So, yeah: (young) guys don’t get it.

“Why do I have to wear a tie?”  Because, I answer, it’s part of the look of a tuxedo; it’s formal, and formal has traditionally meant black-tie.  “What’s this thing?”  That is called a cummerbund, and it has two functions – one, to cover your belt line since most tuxedos are cut to fit; and two, to catch excess crumbs while you’re eating.  “It looks stupid.”  Yes, it does, but like the bow tie, it’s part of the overall effect.  “Why do a have to choose a color for my tie and the belt thing?”  Because, I explain patiently, you and your date are supposed to match in color, if not in style.  “What are these?”  Those are tails; this specific kind of coat is called a tail coat.  “I want that gray one.”  You can’t wear the gray kind.  That’s a morning suit.  “What’s a morning suit?”  It’s for a wedding.  It’s what the groom normally wears.  And on and on and on.

What’s even worse is when boys actually step outside of their box and accompany their date on a shopping trip to find the perfect clutch or tiara.  You can hear the sighs of frustration billowing through malls everywhere in April and May as they lament six to eight hours lost they could have spent doing anything (and I mean anything) else, even studying.  My Italian student recounted that, when asked by a school friend how she looked in such-and-such gown, he shrugged and said, “Okay, I guess.”  He described her reactions as, “Just okay?” and the rest of the store’s as a collective gasp of disbelief.

So, fellas – here’s the deal.  If you’re gonna suit up in a tuxedo, you need to be fully invested.  Go for broke.  If nothing else, your date for the evening will appreciate your attention to detail.  Think of everything, and I mean, everything.  What underwear are you gonna wear?  (If the American Pie movies are accurate, then you definitely want a pair that will be picture-perfect for that night.)  Find out her colors, and go with her.  Take her to the tuxedo store with you, it will save you so much time and trouble in the process.  Stand your ground about what you want, but be willing to compromise.  (Because, again, you have to remember that no matter what you say or do, you won’t be doing it right.  This piece of advice also fits when it comes to your wedding day and the delivery of your first child.)

And, imbue in your friends that although the “tuxedo dance” is complicated and bothersome, it’s a necessary rite of passage for men everywhere.  There has to be something you can find that will keep you comfortable and that will make her happy, ‘cause you will never hear the end of it if you mess up her prom, her wedding, or her childbirth if you’re not clothed properly.  Most women don’t consider a ball cap and boxer shorts sticking out of the back of your sagging pants as proper attire.  But make it clear, too, that you are giving her x-number of hours of your undivided attention for shopping and dressing, so she better make it count.

On the flip side, you’ll rest easier knowing your partner is happy, that you’ll be comfortable, and like all of your friends, you’ll be dressed to the nines for the night of your life.






Friday, August 30, 2013

Do These Make My Junk Look Big?

Although jeans have been around since 1873, it was James Dean who popularized them in Rebel Without a Cause.  Originally designed as a “workman’s trouser,” (not necessarily) blue jeans have become the “go-to” casual garment.  Like underwear, they come in a variety of styles – skinny, tapered, slim, straight, boot cut, narrow bottom, low waist, anti-fit, pre-shrunk , acid wash and flared.  And, like underwear, the first thing a potential customer will check out is how well they fit in the front (“Do these make my junk look big?”) and the rear (“Do these make my butt look narrow and muscular?”)

When I worked in retail many years ago, I remember quite clearly a sugar daddy and his twink coming into my store for a shopping spree.  While he was running around in various states of undress, I casually remarked, “The best way to break in a pair of jeans is to sleep in them,” which is true.  Sugar Daddy replied, “He doesn’t wear anything when he sleeps.”  I wasn’t sure if that was a simple statement of fact or a command, but I let it pass.

I also got a taste of the shopping aficionado when I visited the Soviet Union (when it technically still was the Soviet Union).  Since foreign goods were difficult to come by in the best of times, not to mention extremely expensive, it wasn’t unusual for people to size you up as you were walking down the street.  It was all extremely cloak-and-dagger: guy falls into step with you, minding his own business; he casually glances around to make sure no one is following him and that there are no police; and then he quietly asks, “You are American?”  An affirmative answer brings the follow-up: “You sell jeans?”

(This was before I became an underwear whore.  I probably could have made a fortune by replying, “You trade underwear?”  Our exchange students have caught on to the fever as well – since everything that teenagers like – clothes, music, and electronics – are cheaper in the United States, they take orders from their friends back home and can charge what they like for shipping and costs.  Good way to make money and get experience in import/export!)

My ultimate pair of jeans would be low-waisted slim fits with a button fly, and I really, really like the darker blue hues that eventually fade out.  They’re awesome.  Nothing better than seeing a hot guy at the bar in a pair of tight jeans and boots, because I know under those tight jeans there’s probably an even tighter pair of underwear (if any at all) just waiting to see the light of morning – or at least, the dimness of a bedroom that isn’t theirs.







Thursday, August 29, 2013

Spandex Expands

Thanks to the textile gods for creating spandex, the wonder material.  Have you noticed that Spandex is an anagram of expands?  (Gotta love that.  So creative.  Hope that marketing executive got a nice, big bonus.)

Since its creation in 1959, Spandex has become the go-to fabric for just about anything and everything, particularly if you’re sports-minded.  You can find this wonder textile in exercise apparel, swimwear, dance belts, leggings, underwear (of course!), wetsuits, wrestling singlets and other uniform pieces and even socks.

While there always exceptions to every rule, I love it when a guy wears Spandex.  It shows he’s not body-conscious and wants to be comfortable, and even advertises a little bit about what’s being sported between his legs.  Love that part especially; after all, a fabric that accentuates, features and expands can’t be a bad thing, can it?





Wednesday, August 28, 2013

Tom of Finland

Ever heard of Tom of Finland (Touko Laaksonen)?  If not, you’re probably familiar with his very distinctive drawing style, notable for its androerotic and fetish art and influence on late twentieth century gay culture.  Laaksonen (1920-1991), a Finnish artist, has been called the "most influential creator of gay pornographic images" by cultural historian Joseph W. Slade.  Over the course of four decades he produced some 3500 illustrations, mostly featuring men with exaggerated primary and secondary sex traits with tight or partially removed clothing.

Laaksonen's artwork compared to later works is considered more romantic and softer with "gentle-featured shapes and forms".  The men featured were middle-class compared to the lower-class sailors, bikers, lumberjacks, construction workers, etc. of his later work.  Another key difference is the lack of dramatic compositions, self-assertive poses, muscular bodies and "detached exotic settings" that his later work embodied.  Laaksonen emphasized and privileged "homoerotic potentiality [...] relocating it in a gay context", a strategy repeated throughout his career.

Post World War II saw the rise of the biker culture as rejecting "the organization and normalization of life after the war, with its conformist, settled lifestyle."  Biker subculture was both marginal and oppositional and provided postwar gay men with a stylized masculinity that included rebelliousness and danger which were absent from dominant gay stereotypes.  Laaksonen was influenced by images of bikers as well as artwork of George Quaintance and Etienne, among others, that he cited as his precursors; they were "disseminated to gay readership through homoerotic physique magazines" starting in 1950.  Laaksonen's drawings of bikers and leathermen capitalized on the leather and denim outfits which differentiated those men from mainstream culture and suggested they were untamed, physical, and self-empowered.  This is contrasted with the mainstream, medical and psychological sad and sensitive young gay man who is passive.  Laaksonen's drawings of this time "can be seen as consolidating an array of factors, styles and discourses already existing in the 1950s gay subcultures," this may have led to them being widely distributed and popularized in gay culture.

He is best known for works that focused on homomasculine archetypes such as lumberjacks, motorcycle policemen, sailors, bikers, and leathermen.  His most prominent comic series are the "Kake" comics, which included these archetypal characters in abundance.  Laaksonen's work had predominantly been segmented to private collectors and collections seen only by consumers who sought out the underground gay pornography industry.  With the decriminalization of male nudity gay pornography became more mainstream in gay cultures. Laaksonen's drawings also came to the attention of mainstream gay communities, and by 1973, he was both publishing erotic comic books and making inroads to the mainstream art world with exhibitions.

Tom of Finland shot many of the photographs he used as reference for his drawings; he considered them only as a tool.  Contemporary art students have seen them as complete works of art that stand on their own.  In 1995, Tom of Finland Clothing Company introduced a fashion line based on his works, which covers a wide array of looks besides the typified cutoff-jeans-and-jacket style of his drawings. The fashion line balances the original homoeroticism of the drawings with mainstream fashion culture, and their runway shows occur in many of the venues during the same times as other fashion companies.

During his lifetime and beyond, Laaksonen's work has drawn both admiration and disdain from different quarters of the artistic community.  Art critics have mixed views about Laaksonen's work.  His detailed drawing technique has led to him being described as a 'master with a pencil', while in contrast a reviewer for Dutch newspaper Het Parool described his work as 'illustrative but without expressivity'.  There is considerable argument over whether his depiction of 'supermen' (male characters with huge sexual organs and muscles) is facile and distasteful, or whether there is a deeper complexity in the work which plays with and subverts those stereotypes.  For example, some critics have noted examples of apparent tenderness between traditionally tough, masculine characters, or playful smiles in sado-masochistic scenes.

In either case, there remains a large constituency who admire the work on a purely utilitarian basis, as described by Rob Meijer, owner of a leathershop and art gallery in Amsterdam, "These works are not conversation pieces, they're masturbation pieces."  In 2006, The Museum of Modern Art in New York City accepted five drawings as part of a donation from a private foundation, and one of the foundation’s trustees commented, “As an artist he was superb, as an influence, he was transcendent.”





Tuesday, August 27, 2013

(Ass)-Cracking a Smile

All guys should have a nice smile.  There’s no better turn-on than a nice authentic smile, saying that you’re glad to see someone.  I actually walked up to a stripper once and told him he had the most beautiful smile I had ever seen (and he did).  Of course, it didn’t hurt that he was Latino, had nice eyes and a great physique, too; but the thing I remember about him the most (his name was Jesse), was that smile.

Unfortunately, too many guys crack a smile with the wrong orifice.  Yes, I’m talking about their a**-crack (or, as professionals would call it, the “gluteal furrow”).  There’s an important difference between seeing a guy in the buff and getting an appreciation for his glutes than seeing him working outside with his pants sagging.  And even though a little sweat doesn’t bother me, a**-crack smiles do.

It just seems so lazy and unnecessary.  You can work outside in shorts that fit as easily as you can in sagging jeans.  One would think a landscaper would be more comfortable in a pair of cut-offs that fit at the waist, not the hips.  (I know we’ve had this discussion before, but like many things, it’s cyclical and it always comes back.)  If I want to see a man’s gluteal furrow, then damn it, I expect it to be after dinner and dancing, not while he’s piling mulch in the park or filling potholes.  (And it isn’t interesting that these are the self-same men who are constantly wolf-whistling at women and making themselves out to be the best thing since sliced bread?)

No … definitely not for me, the whole a**-crack thing.  Put into its proper context (getting up in the morning only wearing a briefs that may have slid a little too far, for example), it’s fine, but when it’s outside with a puffy pair of boxers and a dirt trail leading into your pants, uh-uh.  Do us a favor, guys – whether you’re a guy’s guy and a lady’s guy – clean it up.  Have some idea of where you are and what you’re doing.  It’s not attractive, and who knows?  You may actually get an acknowledgement to your whistles and stares.  You would from me, at least.  Readers, see if you can guess which of these are “A** Crack Yes” and “A** Crack No.”

Happy smiling!




 

Monday, August 26, 2013

Canis

I’m a big believer that every boy should have a dog.  It’s our first step toward true friendship, you see, and a guy can learn a lot from a best friend with four legs.

Dogs only want to please.  They’re just happy that you’ve come home after a long day.  Doesn’t matter what kind of day you’ve had at all, they’re happy to see you.  The tail wagging, the barking, the spinning in circles … it’s all part and parcel of the dog experience.

I was, for many years, a “cat person.”  My logic was simple: I wanted companionship but not all the time.  I wanted to have another living thing in the house, but one that was reasonably mature and could take of itself.  I wanted a pet that was quiet and low-maintenance.  All of these are the exact antithesis of a dog, so I went with cats.  All you have to do is feed them occasionally (so they’re not wont to eat your face off in the middle of the night), do an every-other-day scooping of the cat box, and you’re set.  Cat comes to you when it wants affection or food; otherwise, he just wants to be left the f*** alone and nap.

It wasn’t until I met Tom that I seriously considered dog ownership again.  Growing up in the deep South as I did, everybody has dogs – but they’re outside, smelly, howl-at-the-moon, tried-and-true mutt bloodhounds.  And they travel in packs.  It’s the rural curse, I guess.  If you can’t feed your kids or get your truck running, adopt every puppy you can find!  And we did (although my siblings and I were reasonably well-fed and we didn’t own a truck).  At any given time in our house on the bay, we had four dogs; and it was loud, messy, smelly and not really at all family friendly.

I missed it, though.  I miss the companionship a dog needs, the desire just to please and to be acknowledged with a belly scratch or a pat on the head.  And although Tom and I had cats (we still have three, and I honestly cannot wait for them to die at this point), the idea of adding to our brood with a dog just didn’t seem sensible.

Until our house was broken into.  While we were home.  After returning from a week’s vacation in Toronto.

Can you believe it?  Lights blazing, 10.00 p.m., I’m upstairs half-asleep while Tom is in the basement watching some TV trying to get wound down.  I hear a strange noise that I assume is the cats, so I ignore it.  Then I realize that the cats are with me on the bed, so I get up, go downstairs, and hear this scratching noise coming from our curtained bay window in front of the house.  Flip the curtain back.

There’s a guy crouched on my porch who’s already managed to bust through the outer pane.  My screech of “What the f***?!?” is coupled with him turning tail.  So what do I do?  I open the front door and start yelling down the street after him, every epithet I could think of (and I’ll admit, a lot of them were vulgar and aren’t repeatable).  I grabbed a walking stick from the umbrella stand and started after him, ran a few houses down, still yelling, and then realized I’m next to stark naked, at night, in Pontiac, wearing a gauze caftan.  Neighbors are opening their doors regarding the noise, asking for details.  Tom comes upstairs concerned; after hearing all the noise, his concern was that I had fallen and hurt myself.

I was like an animal for three hours.  I was pacing back and forth, calling the police, shaking uncontrollably (after all, what I had been thinking, chasing a burglar who could have had a knife or a gun down the street), and telling Tom things like, “We’re getting an alarm.  We’re getting a dog.  We’re getting a gun.”

Three calls to the Pontiac police department later (and this is when I learned that Pontiac, a city of almost seventy thousand people, has six officers on duty on a Saturday night), Tom and I manage to give a statement about what happened to a young rookie who didn’t know how to write cursive, much less drive a car.  (There was an unintended good side effect of the whole affair.  As the cop was leaving, a neighbor from across the street emerged from his house shirtless with his lady friend of the evening.  This particular neighbor was from Greece, spoke highly-inflected English, and was popular up-and-down the street for mowing his lawn without a shirt on.  Ah, Lorenzo … whatever happened to you?)

As it happened, my nagging got the better of Tom, and two weeks later we attended the Meet Your Best Friend at the Zoo event at The Detroit Zoo.  It’s a semi-annual event where animal shelters from all over the state bring their adoptable dogs and cats to the Zoo for a walk-through exposition, and they usually adopt out 700-800 pets per event.  It’s very popular and very motivating … and Tom and I found our current black Labrador.

Anybody who knows anything about dogs in general knows that Labradors absolutely suck when it comes to being guard dogs.  They’re alarm-barkers, sure, but if somebody actually breaks into the house, a Lab is more likely to lead them to the silver as long as they detour to the goodie jar on the way.  However, I was thinking more about size than temperament, and I was vindicated in this department – he’s 80 pounds and he does have an urgent bark.  So, if someone tries to come in through my front window again (although we no longer live in Pontiac), he’ll be face to face with 80 pounds of loud, drooling Labrador.  I know that the dog won’t rip Mr. Thief’s leg off, but does Mr. Thief know that?  Don’t think so.

The other really good point to dogs is that they’re patient and understand you’re the Alpha Male in your house.  Dogs and men have a lot in common – they’re constantly self-pleasuring (admit it), they come to food at the sound of a pin dropping, and they don’t care what they look like (running around the house dressed in nothing but a pair of undershorts, wearing the Cone of Shame to stop biting at sutures).  And seriously, if most men could do half the things dogs can when it comes to contortionism … well, let’s just say we wouldn’t necessarily need companionship.

Tom and I have taken great pains to socialize our dog in as many situations as possible, and with as many people.  He gets chained in the front yard so he can guard his portion of sidewalk, he races with the neighbor dogs along the fence, he goes to the park and the football games with regularity (and there’s a lady Labrador who also visits the games, but as I tell him every time his ears perk, “She’s out of your league,”), and he gets to sleep in bed with Tom and I, although there is always some active negotiation about where: he likes my pillow and my side of the bed, and will growl when we try to make him move.

We even have various scarves (I know, how gay), a tank top that says, “I have two daddies,” for Pride visits, and I have even put him in a pair of boxer shorts (inverted, of course, so his tail had somewhere to go).  It’ll be a sad day when he’s no longer with us, and it’s a shame that dogs of his breed and caliber can’t live longer and age so quickly – three years of puppyhood, a year or two of adolescence, and then they slow down due to knees and hips and the like.  But he’s a good dog, popular with passers-by and people on the street who have dogs of their own.

And you’ve got to hand it to dogs … don’t you wish we could say “Hi,” to a new friend with a crotch sniff?

 

 


Sunday, August 25, 2013

Underwear Profile #13: The Men of "True Blood"

There’s no better place to find the picture-perfect fantasy than in the supernatural.  We have Jensen Ackles and Jaren Padelecki (yum!) of Supernatural; there’s Taylor Lautner of the Breaking Dawn saga; and back in the day, there was David Duchovny (who, unfortunately, is not aging well) buried deep in his X-Files.  My interests have broadened with the advent of cable – I think I’ve mentioned that previously – and although I’m not a die-hard-gotta-watch-veteran, I appreciate the casting in True Blood.

It’s kind of interesting thought that all corners of the faerie realm have centered in Bon Temps, Louisiana.  If you’ve ever been to New Orleans, you can understand the draw.  There’s a misty undercurrent of something in the city that doesn’t necessarily have to do with the debauchery that takes place every evening on Bourbon Street.  (Believe me, I’ve encountered it first-hand, and Bourbon Street won.)  It kind of reminds me of Belgium – valleys of mist, Gothic bridges and old farmhouses, cast iron gates, antiquity – there’s just a feel that goes along with being in places like that.  True Blood has tapped into that, and it deserves kudos for that alone.

But then there are the guys and all of the bare-chested, sexual undercurrents that make True Blood the fun that it is.  Chief among the cast worth watching are Ryan Kwanten, Joseph Manganiello, and Stephen Moyer.

Kwanten is Jason Stackhouse, the brother of main character Sookie Stackhouse.  Jason is portrayed as a selfish bed-hopper whose favorite person is himself.  Like Sookie, Jason is descended from the fey people (faeries), which is the link to his attractiveness to other women.  In the books by Charlaine Harris, Jason is also a werepanther.  Kwanten is an Aussie who obtained a degree in commerce from The University of Sydney.  (Body and brains – turn on!)

Manganiello is an alumnus of the Carnegie Mellon School of Drama, and also attended The University of Pittsburgh.  He moved to Los Angeles after his graduation, and three days after auditioning, he was awarded the role of Flash Thompson in the first Spider Man movie.  He currently plays werewolf Alcide Herveaux, one member of the “love square” involving Sookie, Stephen Moyer’s “Bill Compton,” and Alexander Skarsgård’s “Eric Northman.”  Manganiello lost out on the part of Superman (to Henry Cavill) in Man of Steel due to scheduling conflicts with True Blood, and appeared with Channing Tatum in Magic Mike as “Big Dick Richie.”  (The name says it all.)

Moyer is 170-year-old vampire Bill Compton, a native of Bon Temps who fought for the South during the Civil War.  Bill was a farmer and family man in his previous life before being turned; he eventually falls in love with waitress Sookie.  Moyer is British by birth and married Anna Paquin (Sookie) in 2010.  The two had a set of fraternal twins in 2012, which added to Moyer’s existing children from previous relationships.  He graduated from the London Academy of Music and Dramatic Art.  He’s worked extensively in theater (he played Romeo with the Oxford Stage Company on tour), and was a cast member of Quills.  (So … he likes period pieces and isn’t afraid to wear a leotard and a codpiece.  Hhrrmm.)

Regardless of your supernatural leanings – fur, fangs, wings – there’s lots to see when it comes to supernatural strongmen in underwear, swimsuits, or bare-chested (does that count for a werewolf?).  Take a look, you won’t be disappointed; you might even want to travel to dark places like New Orleans or Belgium to take a walk on the wild side and indulge your inner fantasy-creature fantasy.  (Just be sure to pack some extra condoms, AB-negative, and super-rare steaks.)

 


  




Saturday, August 24, 2013

Pogonotrophy

What a fancy word.  It means “the growing of facial hair.”

With the growing popularity of tattoos and piercings, men are also starting to let their facial hair go.  Beards are coming back, and in a true variety of styles.  (Actually body hair is coming back, and in a variety of styles, which we’ve already covered – chest hair, manscaping, etc.  Beards don’t have anything to do with underwear, it’s true – but checking out a great-looking guy’s face, including his facial hair, is really a turn-on which leads to checking out his underwear waistband.  One thing leads to another.  Always has, always will.)

Culturally associated with wisdom and virility (there’s the underwear connection, again), men have many styles of beards to choose from, including moustaches, goatees, and sideburns.  Whiskers and stubble also contribute to the facial hair fad and FAQ.  And you have to remember, too, that beards can convey a lot more than a man’s masculinity, but his inner thoughts.  (Is he a poet or a psychotic?  A dreamer or a sociopath?)

My favorite styles?

I like full beards, but not “chin curtains” (facial hair which literally hangs from the jawline and chin) or “chinstrap beards” (think Abraham Lincoln).  I like French cut goatees or “circle beards” (these wrap around the mouth and include a moustache, narrow lines along the sides of the mouth and a soul patch, the whole thing being thinly and neatly trimmed).  Depending on a guy’s ethnicity, I also like a face of stubble – there are just some guys that look so hot with a five-o’clock shadow.  Older styles, such as the Fu Manchu, the handlebar, and plain mutton chops (with the single exception of Hugh Jackman as Wolverine) are a complete turn-off, as is a scruffy, plain goatee (hair dangling from a guy’s chin).

My father, raising a family in the sixties, didn’t appreciate facial hair; anyone who had facial hair was a hippie.  But I find it interesting that he was such a fan of Civil War history.  If you’ve ever seen some of those old daguerreotypes, those were the types of moustaches and beards that went all out and were as much a part of the uniform as the guns and swords.  And, of course, there are religions that encourage the growing of beards … Sikhism and the Amish come to mind.

I definitely think of virility when it comes to a guy and his body hair.  Although I manscape, it doesn’t mean that other men have to (or should).  One should know exactly what he’s getting – the full package, as it were.  Once this has been established, you can tweak (or tweeze) as necessary to get the look on him that works for you.  Case in point: Tom has had a moustache and some form of beard in all the time I’ve known him, but he alternates between circle beard and full beard.  I prefer him fully bearded, and now, he’s even growing a longer goatee.  I keep hoping he’ll put a bead in it to give me even more to play with!

What do you think?  Five-o’clock shadow or total midnight?  (Two words: David Beckham.)