Hallowed Halls: My Own GQ & A

Image: GQ.com

There was no question in my mind that I was going to live in New York at some point. Ever since my first visit as a scrawny youth I could feel the city taunting me, like a schoolyard bully picking a fight. I wasn't sure how it was going to happen, but it was destiny and I knew on my death bed I'd feel incomplete and beaten if I wussed out. In late 2005 I had had enough with the small ponds - I wanted the big sea. To be embraced and enveloped by the searing towers, crowded pavements and hurried lives of 'The City'. It wasn't so much a destination as a challenge. The ultimate test to see if a shy boy could become an independent man amidst constant temptation, callousness and entitlement.

I had two goals in mind as I drove my Nissan Frontier north on I-95: either weasel my way into a major advertising agency or the editorial euphoria that was GQ magazine. I was luckier than most who move here as I had already secured a job in the production department at a yacht magazine. I figured from this position I could easily catapult myself into one of my two dream jobs. Years later, with the death of print and a full on economic collapse, these pipe dreams have become as hard to obtain as a Tickle Me Elmo circa 1996.

A week ago today, one of my dreams was partially fulfilled. I was invited to the GQ offices to give my opinions and insights on men's grooming. A chance to pull back the curtain and see the might Oz. I frequently participate in online surveys and my New York location had made me an ideal candidate for an in-person interview. For the days leading up to my visit all I could think about was how I was going to wow them with my knowledge and insight to the point that they would offer me a job on the spot. That didn't happen, but it was an unmatched experience and a rare opportunity for which I am grateful.

I arrived at 4 Times Square at 5:15, dopp kit in hand and ready to wax prosaic on all matters grooming and style. They had been in contact via e-mail to fill me in on the process and what to expect. The half hour interview would be taped and consist of questions pertaining to men's grooming and how things have changed versus prior generations.

After checking in with security, I entered an elevator bound for the 9th floor. My fellow rider looked to be delivering a rack of high-end mercandise to one of the countless women's magazines that Conde Nast produces. He pressed his floor number with hurried intent. I glanced up to see that he was headed to none other than Vogue. This was already much different than the publishing offices I work in everyday.

I escaped on the 9th Floor, magnetically turning to my right as I exited. And there it was - the glass wall protecting the giant G and Q signage that adorns the editorial office's entrance. I felt the need to genuflect out of respect, but refrained feeling the evil eye of big brother's security reels keeping a watchful eye. This was my Mecca - the Louvre to an art student, St. Peter's to a Catholic, or the Chocolate Factory to Charlie Buckets… "Come with me, and you'll be, in a world of pure imagination…"

While staring at the cover blow ups on the wall and the leggy blondes that floated out from the Vanity Fair offices at the other end of the hall, a gentleman appeared from behind the glass doors and inquired if I might be R/C. The most gracious host needed my signature on a releases form and escorted me back to the conference room where the interview would commence. I was introduced to the Marketing Director and two technicians that would be filming the process. Before I could digest the surroundings I was mic'ed up and seated under the blazing hot lights of the make-shift studio. Would one of these fellows be manning the stuffed elephant to distract me from the peering camera? The first bead of sweat began to form on my brow.

The contents of my dopp kit were lain out next to me in a vanity-style buffet as I explained the significance of each product and how I came by them. I informed them that grooming was a passive activity in my repertoire, where speed and cost played the lead roles. The questions then turned to ones of generational gaps, brand loyalties, marketing communications and perceptions in the marketplace. I offered insights as to what I believed to be the current trends in grooming and the differences and similarities that men face now versus 50 years ago.

"Do you think that men care more about their appearance today than in prior generations?", the interviewer asked. I hesitated for a moment, my first inclination to say yes.

We tend to believe that we live better today mostly because of technology. That belief coupled with brand specialization and advanced targeting methods suggests that the clear answer would be in the affirmative. Our false assumption being that increased options mean we care more. But then I thought about Mad Men and recent photos that I had seen of my grandparents. The men in both cases were impeccably groomed - clean shaven, hair combed and pomaded. These are isolated cases to define a generation, but the point is that there was no such thing as the 'bed head' look, sloppy chic, or purposeful 3 day stubble back then. Grooming often had associations with class assignment and profession but seemed to be rarely neglected. My great-grandfather working on the docks would have looked different from an office jockey, however he still would have taken pride in his appearance. In those 5 seconds before I opened my mouth I realized that men today may actually care less about their grooming than before. In some cases, that's the exact intent, in others (like select subway riders) it's just laziness and lack of awareness.

I used the term metrosexual a few times throughout the interview, mostly in a derogatory context. It's this movement that caused me to respond the way I did. I argue that men of prior generations actually looked better, with fewer products at their disposal across all classes. My grandfather sported a 'wiffle' (read: buzz) cut since his army days, used the same shaving cream, same aftershave/cologne and same deodorant his entire life. There was no concept of designer brands. The products were a utility, an afterthought... something bought for them, most likely, by their wife and yet they still managed to look clean cut and proper. I blame the 60's hippies for starting the decline in hygienic care and the young, urban money of the late 90's and aughts that brought it back to an unhealthy extreme.

I think we are seeing a resurgence in my grandfather's methods of moderate grooming behavior, especially in the midst of the urban woodsman movement. Metrosexual flair is uncalled for and a waste of resources. Designer colognes and $30 creams aren't going to enhance your look, just give you a false sense of hope while raping your bank account. The main ingredient in such products is no more than mental trickery. It's not about the label or the marketing so much as the functionality of the product. There is little a $XX product can do that a $X can't. But that's just me - and I'm no Narcissus.

A few questions later, the session wrapped up and I was handed a small parting gift and maybe the best compliment of my life. The men inside the ivory tower complimented me on my attire, stating that I was dressed more GQ than their current cover! They all agreed that the slim cut blazer, pink gingham shirt, dark denim, chambray tie, pocket square, tie bar and purple socks would be spot on in the eyes of the editors. In all honesty they could have kept the gift and just paid me in compliments.

This would have never happened had I not taken that initial risk and moved to New York. The chance to be heard by the leading men's publication and complimentary validation straight from the source is a dream come true. I can die a happy man.

Look for a subsequent post featuring a few of the products I discussed at the interview.  And visit GQ.com often for expert advice on how to look sharp and live smart.