On Defenses, However Arbitrary

No matter how ridiculous or extreme the situation, men will defend each others choices to the grave. Hence, when confronted with one another’s infidelities, inadequacies and general asinine behavior, they lend their “bros” a slap on the back, a staunch if unjustified defense, and most importantly a drink. Even when they don’t know each other at all, their defenses are ever at the ready.

This is falsely attributed to the strong sense of loyalty men have toward one another.

The real reason, however, is that wasting time drafting a dissenting argument detracts time from more enjoyable pursuits, like getting their shoes shined, or skimming the Economist for intelligent sounding headlines to use in conversation with other guys who skimmed the WSJ for important sounding headlines (“intellectual” masturbation at its best). On a shallow level, men are entirely justified in doing this – I mean, if I could reclaim all the time I have wasted thinking through my girl friends relationship issues, I could pull a gap year in Kenya out of my ass.

Henceforth, it should come as no surprise that I’ve received some rather impassioned responses to the umbrella story. My voicemail box has been flooded. “My umbrella is fucking Hermes,” man # 1 noted, “you think I wouldn’t get that shit back too?” The irony of this guy having an Hermes’ umbrella, whilst refusing to replace (or at the least, wash) the Fraternity T-shirt he’s been wearing since 2001 is not lost on me.

“Read your blog on the way up from Stamford today,” another voice hummed. “Hilarious. But seriously, what do you expect? If you left a shoe at a guy’s place, wouldn’t you want to get it back too?” At what point on the walk of shame, I wondered, would I realize I was shoeless? When I stopped by the deli to get a bottle of water because the guy obviously didn’t have clean cups and I was effing parched? I mean, inquiring minds want to know.

The most interesting response I received however came in the form of an email from a friend whom we'll call Thomas Crown.

“If I may indulge your psyche and mine. I own an umbrella. Yes I do. In fact, I bought the bastard at Barney's. The thought of losing it would bring true despair.

For me, like most men, it harkens back to better days; when men were men, they wore trousers not dungarees,your tailor was both your friend and confidant. Style was not brash but evidenced a handsome ferocity of who you were and wanted to be. Who carried an Umbrella? None other than Steed from the Avengers! Both a shield and a sword - used just as often as protection from the greys of London's rain as a tool for fighting evil. He carried no other weapon,he was a gentleman out for a stroll, that oft rose to the challenge of his surroundings. Plus, he looked damn cool opening the door with its rounded handle.

A gentleman should be graceful when soaked in the rain, throw up his collar, and enjoy the weather with a smile onhis face, no sense frowning at the inevitable. But, he should be equally be prepared for a brooding storm. A man should know how to make a one match fire, but always carry a Dunhill to light up a woman's indulgences. So why does a man want his umbrella back? Why, it would be as if James Bond left his tried and true Walther PPK at some lady's bed-side."


I immediately felt guilty for my public lambasting. Clearly their efforts to retrieve their umbrellas were symbolic of their yearning for better days: when men knew which side of the curb to walk on (curbside you ingrates) and laid their coats over puddles to ensure we’d never stain our Miu Miu’s again. Why did I always assume the worst? I let his fantasy world of side parted hair and cigarette cases wash over me. He’d taken the time to not only compose a valid argument but to paint the picture of the gentleman I’d always wished existed. I was not only proven wrong, I was sold.

That is, until he faltered and set me the following IM.

ThomasCrown: Did you get my email
Girl: Charming
Thomas Crown: I forgot the most important reason
ThomasCrown: Say some girl is walking along
ThomasCrown: You can use the handle to grab her
ThomasCrown: And its classy

I couldn't believe what I was reading, and noted that I'd be more apt to scream bloody murder than think being probed by an umbrella constituted a come on. Needless to say, the illusion was shattered, but we’d finally arrived at the truth.

The appeal of the umbrella wasn’t that it kept a man dry, or stylishly accented his outerwear with that distinguished orange hue. It wasn’t a weapon of choice for which he was willing to put his reputation on the line. It sure as hell didn’t make him Cary Grant.

It was about assaulting women on the street with a handle that whispered Baby, It’s Business Time.

This post is dedicated to JF.