I was reading an article on E!, or maybe it was MSN’s entertainment site, about the new age of the retrosexual or as it is more commonly known, Brad Pitt vs Vince Vaughn. It seems that the era of the man/woman is over and the dawn of the man’s man has come again. Metrosexuals, as you may remember, are those men who are not gay but look it. They are freshly scrubbed with aromatic soaps and shampoos. They use moisturizer, masculinely scented of course. They are secure enough in their maleness to have their nails manicured and their hair cut in salons. Coifed and cotured they strike out every morning, their non-fat lattes in hand, to do manly battle in workplaces all across America. Retrosexuals, on the other hand, revel in their unkemptness. With untucked dress shirts and collars open to the first wisps of fur that would undoubtedly cover their backs as well if they didn’t wax them (they are retro, not Neanderthal). They are the guys, and that slight paunch is not just a sign of their prosperity but an advertisement of their inner security. They could work out, but they don’t need to ladies because they are that good. And our preferences one way or the other, speak volumes about us as women. Do you like your man with a little girl in him, or do you take him flanneled and stubbly? Me? Give me the guy who takes up as little closet and vanity space as possible. Smelling good is one thing, and fighting me for mirror time is another. I like a man whose attempts at dressing up run towards the clean pair of jeans and the unscuffed running shoes, and when he does put on a suit, he still needs me to straighten his collar and tie. Trailing my fingers along a bearded jawline and imagining just how thick that chest hair might be is where great sex begins. At some point in every woman’s life she devolops a taste for men, grown-up and sexually threatening. That’s why readers of teen magazines eventually trade them in for Cosmo, and teen idols are abandoned for the Russell Crowes of the world. Men are supposed to be a little rough around the edges, and their kisses should occasionally leave you feeling scoured and looking wind-burnt.