On Masculinity: “The Most Interesting Man in the World”
Kevin Arnold
“He wouldn’t be afraid to show his feminine side — if he had one.”
As eminently quotable (and enthrallingly hilarious) as he is, the “Most Interesting Man in the World” can perhaps be summed up in this one sentence from Dos Equis’ influential ad campaign.
That is, if you have the audacity to try and sum him up at all. I’m not sure, but that’s probably some kind of affront to him. I’m afraid he’ll sic that pet mountain lion on me, or something.
It would appear that the Most Interesting Man in the World, played by actor Jonathan Goldsmith and inspired by his late friend and sailing partner Fernando Lamas, has fomented a mini-revolution in men’s advertising. There is a common stylistic and thematic thread stretching from here to the new Old Spice Guy, Isaiah Mustafa (that tall, handsome gentleman who off-handedly informs us that he’s “on a horse”), and then further down the line to Edge Shave Gel’s heavy-handed homage (or rip-off) of this same figure. Even Dairy Queen has gotten in on the act with some of their recent advertisements.
Remember the now-cliché “Chuck Norris” jokes of a few years ago?
Strange as it might seem, something about the Most Interesting Man in the World has struck a deep chord with men today, something bigger than the phenomenon of the ads themselves. The influence and popularity of this most manly of figures speaks a new vision of masculinity at the beginning of the twenty-first century, actually a kind of mini-revolution in masculinity itself.
In order to understand this, we need to go back a few decades. Traditional models of masculinity — picture your dad coming home from a long day’s work, retreating to his own self-contained bubble of beer cans and football highlights on the couch — have been declining since at least the 1980s. It is unclear what caused this change (Feminism? Shifting gender norms in the workplace and domestic sphere? Modern male enlightenment?), but the fact is that men who limit themselves to the blundering, caveman-like role of silent provider do so at their own risk. Women today want more: they want a man who’s emotionally expressive. They want a man with a six-pack, and I don’t mean of beer.
It seems that men want more for themselves as well. Since the late 1990s, advertisers have been cashing in on this development by selling a new image of masculinity. Nice arms and a sculpted chest are no longer only for the vain; the ability to whip up a kick-ass soufflé isn’t necessarily a sign of effeminacy. This is the modern man: strong and sensitive, moisturizer and the know-how to fix a flat.
If this concept has proven successful (and perhaps somewhat radical, in certain respects), it nevertheless continues to present a nagging anxiety for men. It’s a constant theme of masculinity that extends over millennia: perhaps men have veered too far in the opposite direction and become soft. The idea of the sensitive man, of “men as sex objects” just never seems to stick. It doesn’t sit quite right. Something is missing.
Enter the Most Interesting Man in the World, an obvious antidote to the soft, slightly effeminate man of late 90s and early 00s advertising. What this figure does is allow men (and women) to fantasize about the return of the traditional man, a man who appears in the ads as ambiguously from another time and place (He seems ageless, and where exactly is that accent from?), a man who is nevertheless still suited for and at home in the modern world.
But with a twist, because the Most Interesting Man in the World is also a clear parody of traditional masculinity. The ads are supposed to be funny. No one takes seriously the idea that a man’s personality could be “so magnetic, he is unable to carry credit cards,” or that even his enemies would “list him as their emergency contact number.” Like 90s advertising, these ads also operate to “dispel the myth” of traditional masculinity, but instead of offering a counter-image of male sensitivity or passivity, they poke fun at it. In taking old school masculinity to new, hyperbolic extremes, they expose how ridiculous it is.
The difference, however, is that this postmodern parody is also somewhat sincere. Even if we read the Most Interesting Man in the World as ironic, we also, at the same time, fantasize about the possibility that someone like him (someone who is like us) could be real. Ultimately, what these ads do is speak both meanings at the same time.
A previous generation of advertisers (and, if we’re being honest, a lot of feminists) got it wrong. If masculinity is a myth, it is nevertheless a serious one: to say that masculinity is a myth is not the same thing as saying it’s a lie. Because the truth of masculinity is not, as the Most Interesting Man in the World tells us, that it has a “feminine side,” but that it isn’t afraid to speak its contradiction.
The quote is therefore less an adamant assertion (or a denial) in the face of threats to masculine integrity. Rather, it converts this fatalistic tragedy into ironic, paradoxical humor. And between masculinity and its failure, oscillating in the interval, is something endlessly fascinating, truly a Most Interesting Man.
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