![]() What had I done?ĭapper was once a bold ideal, embodied by showbiz greats like the nimble Fred Astaire. My knit tie suddenly felt like it was strangling me. My brow beaded with texture-paste-infused perspiration. “It sounds … like something my mom would say,” pronounced one 20-something, grimacing before he took a bite of a complimentary turkey sandwich. But it wasn’t until I found myself sitting in the corner of a focus group, listening to a dozen young professionals describe their emotional reactions to the word dapper that I understood just how far this term misses the mark. And, boy, do I ever regret that.įor several years I’ve worked in content marketing in the men’s-grooming industry - so no one is more painfully aware of how few and inadequate are the synonyms for handsome. I’ve used dapper to describe literally thousands of men - or, rather, I’ve dropped it into the inboxes of thousands of men, exhorting them to join the ranks of dapper fellows everywhere. But I should confess: I’m implicated, too. Complaining about well-meaning compliments makes me the apex of ungentlemanly. And dapper is basically calling them out making an effort - whether or not it’s deserved. Straight white guys (like me) are generally - and somewhat sadly - socialized to be uncomfortable looking like they’ve tried too hard with their appearances. And it will make your run-of-the-mill button-down-and-scruff guy wonder how bad he must have looked on workdays past to deserve dapper today. Today, dapper seems to apply to any human male wearing a shirt that isn’t a cropped mesh pinny.ĭapper will make even the most pomaded dandy wince, his toes curling in his brogues. Dapper compliments effort, rather than effect: “Aww, look, you tried.” Listen for it and you’ll start to hear it everywhere. How can I put this? I know dapper is meant kindly, but the word carries implications that few men actually want to be associated with. Namely: “Well, aren’t you looking dapper today!” I mean the weight of what’s inevitably coming in the kitchen of my female-dominated office when I go for some coffee. I don’t mean the weight of the solemn, ennobling ritual of donning a tie to celebrate (or send up) an era when workplaces mandated such strictures of masculinity. The real weight of Formal Friday usually hits me in the elevator.
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