The Manly Man?

I’ve never been known to possess too many “manly” traits—I mean, I keep my legs shaved in case I crash while racing my bike, and pride myself on keeping my arms spindly—and yet, I recently had a very manly weekend.

It all started on a Friday with some good and manly attire. It had snowed a lot the previous night, so I woke up to a thick blanket of snow covering the sidewalks, roads, and cars that Friday morning. While school kids were throwing snowballs at one another in celebration of a snow day, and moms and dads were brushing the snow off their vehicles for the drive to work, I was outside shoveling off my sidewalk. Now, to most people, shoveling snow is a heinous chore to be avoided or outsourced at all costs, but I think it’s highly underrated.

Mostly, I like snow removal because it’s a great excuse to pull on my heavy wool shirt, my Carhartts, my boots, and work gloves—you know, the kind of ensemble that makes my girlfriend cringe and say things like: “Oh, Mr. Bunyan, I didn’t hear you and the blue ox come in, have you seen Andrew?” or “Hey cowboy, you ropin’ cattle today, or what?”

But flattery aside, I don’t get to wear warm, comfortable, practical clothes too often. My day job, as a reporter, requires slightly classier garb, and as much as I love my workpants, they don’t make great lounge wear. So I seize upon any opportunity I get to pull on my rough n’ tumble work-wear.

Dressed in my most rugged clothes, shoveling is all the more fun. I like to pretend that I’m someplace manly, someplace where such attire would be equally appropriate sidling up to a dirty bar or attending your best friend’s wedding. Fairbanks, Alaska, and Yellow Knife in the Northwest Territories are both frequent daydreams. Of course, I’ve never been to either of those places, but I’m confident that Carhartts and wool shirts are widely worn at both. Besides, I can’t think of two more manly places on this continent, and wearing my manly clothes makes me long for nothing more than being in a manly place.