“If you can lose your head while all about are keeping theirs, you will be a mannequin.” Kipyard Rudling
What better way to get dressed than to have someone else dress you? I’m not sure, but I don’t think my memory is what it used to be. One foggy recollection always gives me the warm fuzzies: I can feel my mother sliding warm, cotton socks over my little feet, pulling them half way up my smooth, hairless shin. A kiss on the forehead, and I was off. Fast forward 50 years. Drag the needle across the record… you know what the sound means.
“You’re wearing that?” It’s not your mother’s voice. Okay, fellas, you’re done. Back to your mancave while I have a word with your gals.
Now, ladies, if you want to avoid having to ask this of your husband, take some pre-emptive measures. Literally. If you don’t know his size (we’re forever changing; it’s the only constant), get out the tape measure, ask, check his closet and, while you’re at it, his drawers. Then, the fun starts. Shopping. Mixing. Matching. Plumage. If he doesn’t already know how, you’ll have to give him a lesson in strutting.
You’ll probably be surprised at just how amenable we, as men, are to “being dressed” – having our wardrobes bought for us, our outfits picked. It takes us back to that innocent time, a time with no consequences for our choice of attire. The reason we like to let you make the apparel decisions is, of course, a little selfish, too.
When the wardrobe choice is yours, it saves us the time and effort it takes to impress you. See, you have already decided your guy will look good in this or that. The men get a sense of accomplishment. The trick is in allowing your man to have absolutely no agency in the process while letting him believe he does. Treat him like a mannequin, and he’ll never want to be a man again, at least where getting dressed is concerned. The headlessness will take a little getting used to…
One caveat, however, deserves your attention: as the dresser, you assume absolute responsibility. This is all well and fine when the compliments on your husband’s appearance roll in like a medley of smooth, autumn waves. But what happens when things get a little salty? Well, I’ve never seen it happen, if the wife has done her due diligence. If, however, the compliments dry up, feathers get ruffled, and your peacock turns on you, hit him with a tried and true statement of fact. Look him in the eye, and tell him, “I’m not your mother.”
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