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The Honolulu Advertiser
Posted on: Monday, October 13, 2003

ABOUT MEN

When your body tells you that you aren't getting younger

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By Michael Tsai
Advertiser Staff Writer

This morning, as I was getting ready for work, I discovered a hair growing in the middle of my right ear lobe.

It wasn't particularly long or thick or otherwise shocking in appearance, but there it was, sticking right out of my ear like the "stop here" arm at a parking garage.

Shocking. I tweezed it.

I realize this is more than a reader would ever, ever, ever want to know about some jerk in the newspaper. It's certainly not the sort of image you want banging around your brain as you try to enjoy your morning coffee. So I apologize for my poor manners.

But I'm fascinated by the stupid thing.

A hair! A thin black cilial protrusion flapping in the wind that rushes through my head. I was horrified. I was thrilled.

As a gender, we men are not much to look at.

To be sure, there are a few genetically gifted males out there who don't do violence to the eyes, but it's my obviously biased opinion that the average woman has a lot more going for herself aesthetically than the average male.

This is a good thing.

It's no news flash that men aren't subjected to the same sort of out-of-proportion expectations as women. We aren't judged on our beauty — not by women and not by each other. We aren't pressured to relentless combat the natural, inevitable aging of our bodies.

This is my pretentious way of saying that it's no big deal for guys if we wake up one day and find something unseemly growing out of our ear.

I'd argue, if fact, that we should appreciate the freedom we have to revel in our own private entropy.

Older friends used to warn me that once I hit my 30s, my body would start to change dramatically. "Go down the toilet," was the exact expression, if I recall.

They were right. For five years, I've watched my hairline (skunk streak included) recede like the Sahara toward the back of my neck. I have a strange, flea-sized growth on one of my eyelids. I believe my nose is getting wider.

And even though I run a couple-three marathons a year, the figure on my bathroom scale is getting closer and closer to that unhealthy systolic number on my blood-pressure reading.

At one point, I was concerned that I was developing a second chin, but my fiancee kindly assured me that it was simply my neck growing a brow — a big flabby, stubbly brow.

Not that I mind at all.

My dearest has the Shrek blinders on, and I've long accepted the fact that my head — that random sprouter of strange hairs — is a reliable source of personal amusement if not much of a contribution to our visual environment.

Men are curious creatures to begin with. We're scab-pickers and blister-poppers and hey-don't-scratch-that scratchers.

And what can be more engrossing that the gradual metamorphosis of your own body?

Inching my way toward 40, I'm an unblinking witness to the slow conformity of my individual body to the greater Tsai family mold.

In another 10 years, there will be more hair on my toes than on my head and I'll be fitting myself for a man-bra.

Of course, I'm not suggesting that serious age-related illness and infirmity are anything to make light of, but a little crow's feet around the eyes and a smattering of tasteful freckles here and about? Neato!

A little mole with a hairy tassel? Jeeves, the magnifying glass!

Reach Michael Tsai at mtsai@honoluluadvertiser.com or 535-2461.