Deciding upon which combination of semi-suitable words to use in this, the opening line in my maiden blog entry, taunted me for several vain minutes before I settled on these that you see before you. I so wanted to make a good and lasting first impression to you and the rest of the blogosphere. Thankfully, sitting here typing, I am safe from many modern day make-sure-you-create-a-goood-first-impression hazards such as tripping over my own shoes on my way to meet you, going in for the kiss when it really should have been a handshake, and having to pull a bemused face when asked who won the rugby yesterday. Those are all things that in this situation, I don’t need to worry about. As it’s just me and a screen, and a very valuable Edit function, I can spend as long as I want really perfecting that first impression.
And it was in this utterly self-indulgent phase of wheedle-deedling over my wordsmything that got me thinking about the many, many things a middle-class man worries about on a daily basis.
Now I am a middle-class man, and I have worked hard to get where I am. Yet while I value a lot of the privileges I have earned, I am more often deeply ashamed of many of my peers for their ignorance, small-mindedness and lack of appreciation of what is actually important in life.
I have titled this blog Man without substance for many reasons, one of said reasons is that I fully intend to comment and judge the behviour of others without necessarily having much of a leg to stand on myself. So please read what I write with a good pinch of salt. It would be wrong of me to start without my making that clear from the start.
Phew, that’s done and admitted. Good. Sweating. Next paragraph.
So, I’ve started this blog, not to bleat on narcissistically about how unfair society is (please, spare me), but instead, I shall take a light-hearted view on the various middle-class problems I come across in my day-to-day life. I will attempt to shed light on, console, empathise with and most likely also ridicule those I encounter, so I hope you enjoy the ride.
Somewhat aptly then: first impressions. Just how do you make a good one? And do you even need to? I often joke that in the amount of time I spend over the days, weeks and years just waiting for girls (and, granted, the occasional guy), I could probably run MI5.
What to wear. How much lipstick is too much. Moisturiser. Weird metal instruments for eyelashes that look like they were designed purely to cause pain. Which shoes. Which bag. Transferring necessary contents from one bag to another. Changing mind. Swapping bag. Doing it all again. Then, when you finally get there, just how pretentious should one be? Dashingly offbeat? Confidently bohemian? Sensible and oafish? Or maybe just honest. Or maybe, just turn up on time. If they like you, they like you, not all your regalia. They probably won’t notice 90% of your efforts. But they will notice if you’re on time, and if you have a personality. My advice? Just be there. Everything else is secondary.
Part two of A first impassioned impression to follow soon…