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Since pretty much the day after a 2002 article in Salon defined the term metrosexual for the masses--and outed David Beckham as the ultimate metrosexual--magazine articles have been declaring the metrosexual era over. "The Manly Man Is Back!" scream the headlines, as if wishing a trend into being could make it happen. Carrie Bradshaw is dating a carpenter with a cabin in the woods--the macho man is back!!! Men are using Preparation H on their chests to look more ripped--hello, muscle man!!! Guys on the runway have stubble--move over, metrosexuals!!! Brokeback Mountain scores at the Oscars--women just want some cowboy lovin'! (Oh wait, the cowboys are lovin' each other? Never mind.) And when these articles really want to push the over-moisturized, well-groomed metrosexual back into his (well organized, designer-label-filled) closet, they declare the arrival of the retrosexual.

According to this article in the Daily Mail, the retrosexual has a simple, uncluttered mind: sex, beer and football. Also, retrosexuals don't chat with their friends about their star sign, they have strong arms for opening things, they don't own more beauty products than their girlfriends, and they'll stand by and cheer while their buddy date-rapes a sorority girl in the tap room. Oh wait, that last one was us. Apologies in advance to anyone who considers this "labeling," but here's how WE define the retrosexual in our lexicon Rec Sex: An A-Z Guide to Hooking Up:

retrosexual (noun)
A person who fucks like they are living in the fifties. Unlike funky old martini-maker sets and Elvis (the young version), retrosexuals are not cool. They make at least one of the following assumptions: Men always pay for the date, sex before marriage is a sin (unless you're a man), women don't enjoy sex (or don't need to), a clitoral orgasm is a poor man's vaginal orgasm (à la Freud), homosexuality is a disease, foreplay lasts approximately 10.5 seconds, and women's sexual responsibilities include cooking, cleaning, and foot massaging.

Sure, we swoon over macho mountain men with the best of them (at least, Em does; Lo's more into the elfin-magic waif-boy look) but a man doesn't need arms that drag on the ground in order to open a jar of mayo for you. You've got to watch out for the quiet ones, remember?