The Metrosexual is the Clark Kent of the gay world, able to walk on the straight side then run into a telephone booth and come out with a feather boa. They want to be gay so badly that they’re willing to put on the full costume and shake their tailfeather. But if you’re a gay guy, don’t you even LOOK at them. Because they’ll make you a knuckle sandwich with extra man-meat.
It’s ironic, however, that while the Metrosexual embraces gay fashion and stylings, they are perhaps the most “homophobic” people on earth. Notice the quotation marks I put around that word. It’s common knowledge that many such metrosexuals will outwardly hate, but on the inside, be as gay as Clay Aiken. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.
If there’s a 2-for-1 deal on waxing, they’ll get their chest and their taint waxed. If there’s a sale at Barney’s, they’ll be waiting outside the door with a $5000 credit limit. And if there’s a new trendy club, they’ll be there with greased hair and a collared shirt.
The Metrosexual lives a fabulous life, with a peppering of douchiness mixed in. So how do you tell a metro from a gay person? It’s a tough distinction, and one I don’t really care about making.
What’s particularly interesting is that while the Metrosexual philosophy is aimed at pleasing women, they are often the butt of the joke on both sides of the fence. Straight men dislike Metros, Gay men dislike Metros, and most women scoff at Metros. So that pretty much means that only Metrosexuals like other Metrosexuals. Again, man on man.
You can largely find Metrosexuals concentrated in New York City and areas of Long Island/New Jersey. They love clubbing, rap music where the vocals are robotized, and being inside another man (not in a gay way). Hobbies include: Frosting their tips, buying stripped shirts, Madonna (especially her new stuff), scarves, and reading GQ, both online and in print.
Also Known As: Metro, Gay For Play, The Bare-Chested Stripped-Shirt Guy, The Confused Clubber, Ball Street, The Fabulous Homophobe