The Daily Telegraph - Features
No, Mr Macron, virility is putting up a shelf not hitting a bag
Sacré bleuchh! Do you want to tell him or shall I? Monsieur Macron, your attempt to portray yourself as virile in this bizarre new presidential pin-up is woefully out of touch.
There you are in the gym, with a photographer getting up a little too close and personal as you aim a punch. The veins protrude on your bulging biceps as you strike the bag with gritted teeth, leading to one question: pourquoi?
I’m sure there’s a niche market for something so performative and pointless – but the ladies ain’t impressed. I’ll tell you what’s virile: retiling the bathroom, or – be still my beating heart – rebooting the Wi-Fi router without being asked.
That is what we want. There’s a reason that those Athena posters of strapping bare-chested stevedores cradling puppies conquered the planet. I get that times have changed – maybe an endangered pangolin would play better to modern sensibilities – but fundamentally we just want Man 1.0.
Sure, we bluestockings might marry the bookish ones with the intriguing jazz collection and a fondness for foreign films, but once that novelty wears off, nothing (but nothing) makes us friskier than fists like hams. Useful hams, that can put things up, take things down, drill, dig and solder.
I know at least two women who have completely fallen for their builders. Madness? No, just the inevitable fallout of watching a proper bloke Doing Stuff rather than procrastinating about Doing Stuff and manfully drinking endless amounts of sugared tea rather than getting prissily aerated about the last Nespresso pod.
That’s why the final series of Motherland, where Julia develops a crush on Garry the builder, prompting her to question her marriage, was both the most scabrously funny and heartbreakingly truthful piece of social commentary my generation has ever witnessed.
So, Monsieur Macron, that’s why there’s nothing remotely sexy about punching – unless it’s a stud wall because you are remodelling the Elysée Palace.
In fact, given the current vogue for digital tweaking, is that actually you? If so, I struggle to understand why some bright spark didn’t just insert a library pic of Putin, bare-chested and slung about with weaponry, to add verisimilitude.
It’s a bizarre attempt at power play, and it makes me wonder whose idea it was. Let us hope it doesn’t catch on this side of la Manche. What on earth would – could – our own PM possibly do to upstage him? I shudder to think. His profile at rishisunak.com states he enjoys “keeping fit”. The ticker tape of images – leg warmers, headband, singlet – flashing before my eyes is too terrible to share.
Non, merci. The only thing that matters is being fit for purpose. Female voters on either side of the channel don’t want a lover, or a fighter, we just want a man who keeps his word, gets stuck in and, ideally, loves to cuddle a kitten.