Can We Have a Manhug Moratorium? Or at Least, Can You Back Away From Me?

There are 40 rules all Schrute boys must learn by age 5. Rule #17- There are 3 things you never turn your back on- bears, men you have wronged, and a dominant male turkey during mating season.

--Dwight K. Schrute, The Office

So here's where I lose my female readers, though unfairly. I ask only that you at least read the whole post before you start sticking pins in your Chris Reeder voodoo doll.

You know, its been a tough 30 years or so for masculinity in America. Once upon a time, hard, tough guys reigned supreme. Frank, Dean and Sammy could stay out all night on the Strip drinking martinis and partying with about 12 different women (each sporting beehives and excessive eye shadow, of course). Frank could have Willie Moretti pay a little visit to Tommy Dorsey to get out of his contract. The Kennedy boys could each have a go at Marilyn (then have the CIA whack her when she got too crazy). Men worked hard, then came home to dinner and to read the paper or watch TV while the kids kept quiet. Conversations with your wife involved planning upcoming events with other neighborhood couples (where the women would occupy one room and the men the other) and deciding major life issues. Men bowled, smoked cigars, drank scotch, ate white eggs, not egg whites (prepared by “the wife”) and routinely got together with the fellas to watch the ball game. Vacations were spent working around the house or loading up the kids in the station wagon and driving nine hours to the nearest national park or theme park. A couple would just as readily drop off the kids at Grandma’s to get away for the weekend. And our country was great. The economy prospered. Uppity third world backwater governments were either bombed into submission or found themselves on the wrong end of an E. Howard Hunt-organized coup. We made the 1956 Thunderbird, the 747, transistor, and the Saturn V rocket. Elvis invented rock and roll. True, most guys keeled over dead of heart attacks and strokes by their late 50s, but at least they were interesting. Think Ralph Kramden but in a suit. And while things unquestionably sucked for a lot of people, for most guys, life often resembled a Beach Boys song.

But then the 1960s happened, and later the 1970s. This gave us such atrocities as Jimmy Carter and his sweater-wearing fireside chats, songs about feelings, the man purse, fringe, Fleetwood Mac, turquoise bracelets, EST, disco, gold chains, couples massages, Fonzie, K cars, and polyester. The world of Frank and Elvis and JFK and nights at the Copa and the Stork Club slowly gave way to something much softer and fuzzier. Like a pink sno-ball.

Now, rogue governments like Iran openly build nuclear weapons and oppress their citizens while the West fusses with debates over hollow sanctions (which the French will wind up violating anyway). The US can’t as much as cross a toll bridge in another country without getting a United Nations resolution (though its odd that Russia can send tanks into Georgia without anyone uttering a peep in protest). Men go to counseling and “communicate.” Wives’ night at the Copa have given way to Couples Dates replete with pictionary, brie, and just the right cabernet to cap off days spent at Home Depot and Bed, Bath and Beyond, and ferrying the kids to various athletic leagues and lessons. Dads coach soccer in non-scorekeeping leagues that give each kid a participation ribbon. They work on homework shoulder to shoulder with each kid, patiently explain to the little ones why they should follow rules, and strictly enforce time outs. The kids are the most important part of the family, and aren’t allowed to just play and run around outside. Only organized, supervised recreation under close Dad supervision may occur. Political correctness police have neutered the English language (“fishers”? really?). Men meticulously groom themselves at salons and go to hair stylists, stay abreast of the latest fashions (as prompted by their wives), and walk each night or morning. They must know the progress of some amateur talent show on TV to connect with others. Men must eat salmon for its omega 3’s, wear sunscreen, moisturize, and do cardio. At work, “teams” and “project ownership” rule the day, with cooperation, goal setting, and support setting the basis on which all work happens.

I basically have come to terms with most of this. Really. I can go along with the new world order. I can keep my weight under control, wear socks that match my shirt, and listen to other people describe their relationship woes without committing hari kari.

Now let’s be clear, not all of this change is bad, and not all of the old ways were good. Masculinity is not and should not be synonymous with abuse or inequality. You don’t have to be Ike Turner or Bobby Riggs to be masculine. Its better now that men can have a partner to talk with than to, and that women don’t have to find a man and stick with him who will support her. I prefer to talk to women than men; they’re generally more interesting and capable of conversation, not to mention that they’re prettier and generally burp less than men. Pre-1980s, that would have been largely impossible. Likewise, on balance its probably better that dads are more involved with their kids. Though let’s face it, most dads are either like Clark Griswold or the Great Santini. Either way, that’s not necessarily who you want around your kids. So make no mistake, much of this change has been welcome and useful. I’m just asking, do we all have to be a bunch of wusses?

Or put another way, for the love of God, can we stop with the man hugs?

I’m not exactly sure how this epidemic broke out, but I do know that’s how women, Frenchmen, and Beat poets greet one another. I mean, the Frenchies hug one another under the shade trees they planted in Paris so the Wehrmacht could march in the shade. Just because you saw your wife hug her guests at that baby shower she threw her sister last week or at her Southern Living party, it doesn’t mean you have to do that with the boys too.

You’ll never see Englishmen hugging. Nor should anyone see American men hugging. Did Thomas Jefferson give everyone a big hug after they signed the Declaration of Independence? Did Teddy Roosevelt hug his guys as they camped in Yellowstone? Did Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin share a tender moment just before Neil climbed out on the LEM? No. A hearty handshake did fine in each of those instances.

Put it this way, did you ever see Kirk hugging guys? No, you never saw Kirk getting all huggy with Spock or McCoy or any of the other fellas. Instead, Kirk would get the ship out of harm’s way and save all its crew (except those unfortunate guys in red shirts that wound up on landing party duty) by blowing up other guys (or aliens of various size and densities), humiliating them and steal their girlfriends, schooling them on democracy and equality (then taking their women, usually the best one), or kicking some Klingon ass. Now Yeoman Rand may have gotten a few hugs. She was pretty hot.

There’s really only five circumstances in which one man may hug another man.

1. Soldiers who’ve just been in or are on their way to combat. Remember that scene near the end of Gettysburg where Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain hugs his brother Thomas after Pickett’s Charge? That’s fine.

2. Family partings. If you’re going away for awhile (not a couple of days but for a long time), you may hug another family member. Like when Michael Corleone hugged his brothers just before leaving to assassinate Sollozzo over the veal at Louis’ Restaurant in the Bronx, you can hug other male family members just before you have to go hide from the other Five Families in Sicily.

3. Big wins or tough losses in athletics. When you win the national championship or the Super Bowl, you can hug your teammates. Be sure to drink plenty of champagne though to blot out the memories. But it has to be a big win. A Wednesday win over the Cubs in mid-July, or a week 3 win over the Rams at home, simply won’t do. That’s why Magic’s attaching himself to Kareem’s neck after winning the first game of the season was so stupid. Likewise, when you’ve suffered a tragic loss, you can also hug your teammates. One of the most touching moments in any sporting event ever was the second night in a row when young Arizona reliever Byung Yung Kim, who did not speak English, had just given up his second blown save home run in as many nights in the World Series, and was standing on the mound looking as shell-shocked and despondent as anyone I’ve ever seen. First baseman Mark Grace (of the famous “slumpbuster” take) without hesitation headed to the mound and gave Kim a big bear hug. That prompted other Diamondback players to head over to Kim in support. Though it was a man hug, there was something about its public nature that helped blunt the sheer awfulness of the moment for that young man.

4. You can hug another man if you’re saving his life. Like in the pool, or dragging him out of a burning building, or putting him into your car to take him to the emergency room.

5. Mob guys or gang members can hug one another. Jimmy Conway in Good Fellas was about the toughest guy ever, but even he hugged Tommy DeVito and Henry Hill. In Godfather II, remember how all the mobsters hugged each other on the hotel roof while celebrating Hyman Roth’s birthday?

If its not one of those five, then there’s no situation when a hug is called for. There’s absolutely no other reasons why men should turn their friendships into the View or West Side Story auditions. Put simply, don’t come up on me, stay out of my personal space and keep your hands where I can see them. No means no. Leave that sort of thing to Tom Cruise. What’s next? You’re going to ride on the back of some guy’s motorcycle? Go to brunch with some guy? Go on Oprah and jump up and down on her couch screaming about your wife? I hope not.

Oh, and while we’re at it, let’s dispense with the high five. If you’re not running the point in the Association, or batting in the two hole for a pennant contender, you have no business high fiving. You are a balding, overweight software developer who probably lives in your stepmother’s basement, not a star athlete. Walk to the pharmacy, stock up on Rogaine, kiss a girl, and watch a movie other than Star Wars. But don’t slap hands with your fellow software developers/Dungeons and Dragons players after achieving one of your pathetic life milestones (like finding a quarter left behind in a vending machine change return slot). Same goes for you, fat, cialis-taking, hair coloring law firm managing partner guy on the golf course. No one cares if you break 80, so keep your hands in someone else’s pockets where they belong, and not emulating MJ out on the court.

So are there any questions?