By DIANA APPLEYARD
Read more: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-2010891/Curse-man-makeover-Forget-Liz-Hurley-change-man-s-style-long.html#ixzz1R7a3W7NV
Last updated at 12:51 AM on 4th July 2011
Why do we women do this to our men? Once I had stopped laughing hysterically at the sight of tubby Aussie charmer Shane Warne dressed up like a British butler on the way to Elton John’s White Tie & Tiara ball, I began to feel uncomfortable twinges of recognition.
Yes, Shane does appear to have all the facial movement of a Thunderbirds puppet and, in his immaculate tuxedo with his slicked-back hair and shiny moisturised face, he looks as if he’s in Upstairs Downstairs — but, some years ago, hadn’t I done the very same thing to my poor husband?
Shell-shocked: Liz Hurley and her primped beau, blokey cricketer Shane Warne
Shane has become the latest — and, it has to be said, a fairly extreme example — of male makeover syndrome. It goes something like this. You fall in love with a man. You love their roguish charm.
You fall for their cheesy chat-up lines and laugh indulgently at their blokeish ways. You don’t faint when you first catch sight of their flat, with plates piled high in the sink and mould growing in the coffee cups. You are even charmed by their lack of dress sense.
Does it matter that they favour shiny jackets with long-collared shirts? That their jeans are too tight and too short? That they think white socks worn with black shoes is a good look?
True love — first love — is blinkered. But then, within weeks, these blinkers begin to come off. The rosy glow fades. You tell them even Michael Jackson could not get away with the white sock/black shoe combo.
Roguish charm: The real Shane Warne
You think: ‘If he wears that polo-neck jumper one more time I am going to rip it from his back.’ And when it comes to slip-on shoes, your swing-o-meter rapidly shoots from sweet to repulsive.
It is at this point that you decide to take him shopping. Despite his helpless bleating, you create an new wardrobe for the unsuspecting man, who is about to be ruthlessly stripped of his identity.
He has no say in the matter. You are creating the idealised image of how you and he, the perfect couple, should look.
Shane has the shell-shocked look of a man who doesn’t know what has hit him. His mates in Australia must be rolling around the floor with laughter, clutching their tubby tummies.
This is a man who’s made a living out of his blokeish image. He’s a man’s man, a proper bloke who drinks pints with the lads. Yet he has apparently reckoned without the unstoppable force that is Liz Hurley. She may look girly, but by heck there is a core of steel running through that woman, and what she wants, she gets.
As did I — for a while at least. When I met my husband, he looked woeful. He had a handsome face, nice hair and was very funny — but his clothes! Where do I start? He had two favourite jackets.
One was made from grey nylon with turn-up cuffs in a different fabric. He thought this was trendy. The other one was a fetching shade of brown velvet that flared out at the bottom.
He didn’t have an extensive wardrobe, but it seemed each and every item had been hand-picked for its hideousness. A favourite jumper was pink, too tight from being washed on a hot cycle, with a golfing-type pattern and made entirely from rayon.
Shane has the shell-shocked look of a man who doesn’t know what has hit him. His mates in Australia must be rolling around the floor with laughter
Another beauty was the grey pin-stripe, three-piece suit made from a fabric that had never been anywhere remotely near a sheep.
In fact, his wardrobe was so full of man-made fibres it’s a wonder he didn’t self-combust if he walked too quickly. He didn’t think trouser bottoms should rest on his shoes — they should stop, neatly, just at the point where his ankle socks began.
And his hair . . . he favoured a centre parting in the manner of early David Cassidy and if just washed, it had a slightly bouffant air.
This was the Eighties, the era of the yuppie, and what I really wanted was a man who looked as if he made loads of money, as greed, at the time, was good.
Ross was then a scruffy reporter on a BBC radio station, but within weeks I had him togged up like a merchant banker. Stripey shirts. Suede Church’s brogue shoes. Smart chinos in navy or beige, black wool socks.
I dragged the poor man out shopping until his feet were blistered. He absolutely hated it and begged me to stop.
He only put up with it because he was so in love with me and, to be honest, when a man is getting lots of action in the bedroom, he would dress up like a chilli pepper to please you.
I also threw away a lot of his clothes when he wasn’t looking. Not even his pants survived. He favoured greying M&S Y-fronts — now he was to become a boxer man.
Taking control: Despite his helpless bleating, you create an new wardrobe for the unsuspecting man, who is about to be ruthlessly stripped of his identity
Even to this day, I try to keep an iron grip on his wardrobe by buying nearly all his clothes for him but, to my chagrin, he has learned to rebel in his own subtle way by wearing his expensive designer clothes until they are in rags.
He hasn’t worn the striped shirts for years, and the only shoes he will wear are Timberlands because he doesn’t have to lace them up. All the designer jeans I bought him with button flies remain firmly in the wardrobe, and any shirt that demands cufflinks is shunned.
Now his job is running our holiday cottages and managing the land, so he spends a lot of time on a tractor and his mode of dress is unvaryingly a rugby shirt with muddy jeans.
It might be practical attire, but I think he looks like a tramp. I’d far rather see him looking smart and clean. However, at least I know his jeans are Ralph Lauren and his rugby shirts are from Hackett — because I bought them.
But if I’m honest, after 23 years of marriage, I have rather given up. Ross is, by nature, a rough diamond — and now he looks like one, rather than a primped and yuppiefied version of himself.
I wonder how long it will be before Shane rebels. Surely he can’t keep that look up.
All his clothes seem so brand new they have the creases from the packaging, and Liz has clearly pinned him down in a beauty salon chair to have his eyebrows plucked and his eyelashes tinted. Oh, Mr Warne, what were you thinking?
But I suspect Shane might prove to be Liz’s equal. The blond tuft will suddenly pop back up. The diamond earring will reappear.
His roguish charm will resurface from the metrosexual makeover and Liz, like me, will rediscover the ‘real man’ with whom she first fell in love.
Explore more:
- People:
- Liz Hurley,
- Shane Warne,
- David Cassidy,
- Elton John,
- Michael Jackson
- Places:
- Australia
Read more: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-2010891/Curse-man-makeover-Forget-Liz-Hurley-change-man-s-style-long.html#ixzz1R7a3W7NV
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