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What is a Man? Learning from the Super Bowl Commercials
It been a gender-bending few years for the Superbowl. A recent Harris poll found that while 75% of men polled planned to watch the big event the last couple of years, so did upwards of 65% of women.
Between this tightening gender gap, the third consecutive year of a punishing recession the likes of which have not been seen since the Great D-word, and Troy Polamalu and Clay Matthews's hair (as the long-haired mother of an aggressive toddler, I have to ask, "Doesn't that hurt, you guys?!") it seemed like a good time to take a biased and highly unscientific look at the state of masculinity in the USA. Here's what I learned about men from the 2011 Super Bowl commercials.
You possess the power of Thor and Captain America. You feel taller. You are sensitive, but never castrated: you find your girlfriend's rack unreal. You taunt your girlfriends pug, and then you pay the price. You're not as scary as you look: after all, you like singing "Hold Me Closer Tiny Dancer" with a Bud in you. Your wife won't let you eat any of the things you want, and if you look at another woman, she's going to throw a Pepsi Max at your head. The things you put up with!
You are an aging, irreverent, and irrelevant rocker. You don't know who Justin Bieber is. For some reason, you are wanted in Brazil. You are constantly hanging out of helicopters, driving cars fast, and brandishing weapons. Sexy older women in short shorts and tank tops freak you out.
You also make fun of yourself a lot. You are an independent-film-type crooner who likes highbrow Stella Artois, a dude who fantasizes about a school teacher who drives a bitchin' Camaro, and a lover of Doritos. You can bring the dead back to life.
You are a doofus in a cubicle but when you hit accidentally hit "reply all," you become a powerful avenger for the average Joe Drone, driving around with your wheels squealing, snatching laptops from your higher-ups with the passion of a man terrified of humiliation and unemployment.
When given the opportunity, you like to cram it in the boot. Your co-workers are a bunch of stupid chimps. You are obsessed with sex and can't think about anything else on a first date. Except maybe Pepsi Max.
You make me laugh.
Your Motorola tablet makes you sensitive and special, a bright spot in a drab world full of drones. Thanks for those flowers.
You are so technology obsessed and insecure that you need a car that will read facebook posts about your recent date aloud to you. When you're hungry you whine like Richard Lewis. But give you a Snickers, and you're a manly lumberjack again.
You feel like a kid in a candy store, a mermaid at a swim meet, a wrestler in a chair factory, and an acrobat in a mattress warehouse.
You are the powerless little boy dressed up as Darth Vader and the father who wants him to feel good about himself.
You are Detroit, bedraggled and tired and out of work. But you are also the hardest steel made from the hottest fire. You are a stylish import. You are Eminem. And it was so wrong of Kim Kardashian to dump you for a pair of sneakers. Thank you for the best first date ever.
