Manliness is about getting swallowed whole by a Great White only to eat one’s way out and emerge triumphant from the waves like Clint Eastwood and John Wayne’s lovechild. Or is it?
Maybe it’s about meticulously shaping some designer stubble before effortlessly whipping up an eight-layered vanilla cake. Or, perhaps it’s about chomping on some live shark while simultaneously plating up some exquisite baked goods.
There’s been a lot of talk of late about gender equality and changing perceptions of men and women.
Lines are increasingly blurring as social commentators struggle to definitively describe the modern man (don’t worry, I’ll be staying well away from the whole “modern woman” debate).
Somewhere in Switzerland, deep underground, there is undoubtedly a team of scientists trying to distill the argument down to some sort of golden ratio or formula.
“Eureka!” they’ll cry as they excitedly email their findings to New Scientist, “finally, we can tell young men what they’re supposed to be like”.
But should they? Is it even a worthwhile discussion?
I was raised on a steady diet of 80s and early 90s action extravaganzas (despite being born in the late 80s), which taught me everything I needed to know about the world of men.
Sly, for instance, taught me that the best away to dodge the media scrum after losing a highly-publicised fight is to randomly start screaming your lovers’ name.
Bruce Willis, on the other hand, taught me never - no matter how long the flight was - to remove my shoes in the event of a Euro-trash terrorist attack.
Sigourney Weaver, confusingly, also proved to be an education in masculinity.
Then, of course, there was Arnie- Dutch, the T-800, the man.
Yep, there’s nothing more masculine than killing a Predator with your bare hands while stripped down to your undies and covered in mud.
As I grew older, however, I came to see my childhood heroes as characters that entertained men rather than defined them.
It’s undeniably corny, but my Dad (in my eyes anyway) embodies manliness.
Sure, he can fix cars and sinks and re-tile patios- but I’m not talking about all that “hair-on-the-chest” crap.
I’m talking about the fact that nobody gets to tell that bloke what sort of man he’s supposed to be. He is, for lack of a better phrase, what he is.
His family is his world and defines who he is and he’s proud of that.
He’s decided what sort of person he wants to be and is completely unapologetic.
To me, that’s the essence of manliness.
A real man grabs his destiny by the shoulders and tells it what’s what.
In this regard, a ballet dancer, cane farmer, reformed drug addict, gay rights activist, footballer, professional soldier or poet can all be equally ‘manly’.
Steve Tucker, who recently rose to fame through his unfortunate “Olivia” email, embodies this quite well.
Steve became the focus of national attention - and ridicule – when he emailed 4000 co-workers in his quest to find the mysterious “Olivia” he had met at a nightclub.
As we later found out, Steve suffered from cerebral palsy as a child, which made him a regular target for bullies.
He had zero self-esteem and was resigned to the fact he would never find love.
The frustrated Canberra public servant finally stumbled upon Olivia- a girl with whom he felt an instant connection.
But before the poor fellow could work up the courage to ask for her number, she left the club. Once again, Steve had lucked out with the ladies.
Instead of falling back into his usual pattern of self-loathing, however, he was determined to take back some control.
He steadied himself and clicked “send”.
Steve reckons it was a moment of clarity, one where he made a conscious decision to change his life and define, once and for all, who he was.
A boy lets the world dictate who he is; a man makes up his own mind.
A real man is someone who has the guts to decide what sort of person he wants to be and sticks by it.
He’s someone who fights for his happiness and his right to exist as he wishes, without harming others in the process.
‘Manliness’ isn’t granted; it’s claimed.
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