the slipping state of macho

Damn. I simply could not have found a better link.

In the last few weeks of Other Freds, I was travelling on good ol’ public transit to better accomodate my work schedule, my dog’s schedule and my SigOther’s schedule. As a result, I was reminded what a gold mine of oddness the average every-day morning commute can be.

Within the first few days back on the train, I noted a change in the male commuter. They were still all sizes and shapes. Their dress was still ranging from downtown boutique to auto-shop chic. Facial hair, piercings, tattoos and shoes were all over the map. What seemed to unite these seemingly disparate creatures was: The Purse.

Yes, the purse. Not a courier bag. Not a laptop bag. Not a fanny pack or even a “murse“. These men of all ilks were unabashedly carrying what can only be described as purses. Fake logos and all. [The link above currently shows a couple’s legs with a tote next to the, presumably, more masculine pair.]

Now, not that there’s anything wrong with that. Far from it! I’m glad that some guys have finally realised the simple and pure ease of putting all one’s stuff into a bag designed for such a purpose instead of endlessly cramming items into various and sundry pockets and causing, not only pocket repair woes but, lower back woes from sitting on their chronically lumpy asses.

I was, in the past few weeks, simply struck by the vast array of commuter-men carrying purses, some of whom, one would think, may have appeared more frequently with a beer cooler full of Wild Cat [pbth]. I guess that just goes to show the worth of what one may think.

Well, congrats, men, for organising your stuff. I’m proud of you.

Now, a few of you just need help co-ordinating.

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