Come let's pray for the weekend

It's Saturday, and moreover it's Valentine's Day. Which, as usual, means absolutely nothing to me. What is Valentine's Day, but an overly commercial day, encouraging us to spend ridiculous amounts of money that we don't have on things that we don't need. And no, I'm not bitter. Or I may be bitter, but Valentine's Day definitely has nothing to do with it. The fact that Sweden is supposed to be full of hot people, but is in fact not, has however made me slightly bitter. Wherever I go, I do see hot women, but what good are they? Where are all the hot men, that's what I want to know!



Walking around the streets of Stockholm, I've made a few, easy to spot, observations. People in Södermalm dress far too alternatively. Men in baggy skinny jeans will never be sexy. Skinny men should not wear skinny jeans. MEN should not wear skinny jeans, regardless of their shape. Men should also not tuck their skinny jeans into thick woolen socks. Men should not wear nerdy looking, black, thick-framed glasses, they should not have strangely shaped facial hair, and generally they really shouldn't try so damn hard to look alternative.



In Östermalm, on the contrary, people try their best not to look alternative. Here it's the I swim in money kind of look that is the rule of the day. The backslick has perhaps seen its glory days slip away, only to be replaced by some sort of semi-backslick where the hair is still covered in detestable amounts of wax, but sort of loosely combed back and left slightly curly in the back. It looks absolutely revolting.



Whatever happend to effortless? Whatever happened to jeans and t-shirt, to sun-bleeched, tousled hair, wax-free and all? Not that looks are everything, but the way you dress does, at least to a certain extent, mirror your personality. If your vanity is obvious, it's not very attractive. A complete and obvious lack of vanity clearly isn't the greatest turnon either. Normal. Normal is all I want.

Normal in general seems to be hard to find, be it men, shoes or clothes. Everything always comes with that extra twist, with a detail I didn't ask for. Nothing is ever plain, practical and easy-going.

All I want is the perfect version of me, but in a male package. Or in a shoebox. Until then, I guess I have to be the next-to-perfect version of myself. At least that's a version I can live with, my own little twists, I'm already well aware of.