when you slap me, it makes me happy

Did you ever tell Daddy that? I bet you did. And while that was going on, where was Ed McMahon? Nuzzling up to Johnny’s teat he was. Talk about absentee parenting…

I ask the reader (not just manus manus pinguis): consider another figure of male role-model-ship, won’t you? Consider the man in the Hathaway shirt.




That’s right, the Hathaway Man. He’s one helluva fella, and one look gives you the impression that he could most certainly sire a large litter if he so desires. Now, I hear your collective “A-ha!” rising like an Indonesian Boxing Day wave. “Laying pipe alone doesn’t make a great male role model!” you cry. Agreed, agreed… But I ask you to hold judgment for the moment. Allow me to introduce you to the Hathaway man…

I’d like you to close your eyes. But I need you to read this, so just pretend to close your eyes. Now think about strength. Try to picture integrity. What do you see? You see the goddamn Hathaway man, that’s what! You see a mustachioed gentlemen in a starched white shirt. With his fist on one hip, he commands action. With another man’s hand on his other hip he demonstrates comfort in his sexuality.

He is a Man of Leisure, and like all great Men of Leisure, he enjoys the finer things in life: conducting the New York Philharmonic at Carnegie Hall, playing the oboe, copying a Goya at the Metropolitan Museum, driving a tractor, fencing, sailing, buying a Renoir, and so forth. Who else but such a man possesses the credentials to be the face of 170 years of shirt-making expertise? That’s right. No one.

And lest you think him unapproachable and intense, think again: He is a balanced man, as all role models should be. Consider his diminutive tie. It is the perfect counterweight to the hyper-masculinity of his eye patch.

The next time daddy’s in the garage drinking, look for integrity. Look for impeccably pressed linen that frames a cycloptic stare. Look for the Hathaway man.