For approximately 80 years, the notion of what a man should be like has been heavily influenced by the idea of ‘cool’.
The cool man doesn’t try too hard, you don’t see them floundering about in a panic – but they succeed anyway. They are physically confident, they can scale a mountain or saunter down a deserted street in the middle of the night; if they have to kill someone they will do it neatly with minimal fuss; they don’t worry, they are self-contained and sure of themselves; their trousers are always a perfect fit; they express themselves briefly – but their words are always to the point; they’re not meek in the face of authority; but they don’t crave power themselves: they are independent.
The essential characteristic of the cool man is an aura of invulnerability, well handled: without any showing off or bragging.
When the house is on fire, the cool man doesn’t scream or call the fire brigade; ‘temperature’s rising, baby’, he quips to his current girlfriend as she emerges from the shower. Then he casually puts out the blaze himself. When the waiter spills a cocktail over him, the cool man doesn’t get flustered; he removes his jacket and looks even better in his shirt. When his boss is being difficult, the cool man smiles ironically: he can walk away from the job at any moment.
This is what, as a man, one is supposed to be like. For decades some of the most astute and creative minds have devoted themselves to making this notion of masculinity attractive – it’s been portrayed as enviable, seductive to women, and well-dressed. And the image has worked: it’s what you need to be a real man.
And – perhaps daily – this model of manhood tortures us with the gap between its ideals – and our reality.