NO… a man in tights is not a pretty sight… at least not to me…

… nor is the male Speedo bathing suit (crotch hammock) considered a SuperStud look, at least beyond the sightlines of an Italian Riviera beach…

… further … and at a more personal level, I’ve been oft reminded of my own Speedo debacles many times in the late 80’s and early ’90’s by my kids- with the haunted look of Edvard Munch’s The Scream on their faces – whilst training diligently for triathlons adorned in this briefest of briefs…

No… a man in tights or anything similar just isn’t necessary.

Back in my kid’dom, my family went summer camping at Port Elgin on Georgian Bay, an offshoot of Lake Huron.

These were the best kid summers ever, befitting the iconic Beach Boys era of music and bikini’d babes on the beach. Close your eyes and envision Annette Funicello and Frankie Avalon running in the sun-drenched sand.

Occasionally on one of those sticky-humid summer evenings when the late-day sun cast beautiful amber tones on our faces, we’d get lucky and my parents would take us out to a “professional” wrestling match at the local arena.

Passing through the building’s doors the atmosphere was excited and boisterous, swirling scents of fresh popcorn, underarm sweat and cigar smoke filled the arena air.

The famous “tights” boys of the time were Whipper Billy Watson (always the gentlemanly good guy), Haystacks Calhoun, Bruno Sammartino, The Sheik (the ultimate villain, racism thrived!), Sweet Daddy Siki.

For a pre-pubertal boy, these nights were the closest thing to a wet dream there was…

… the tights that squeezed like sausage casings over the generally rotund bodies were colourful and fashionably imaginative… and anatomically revealing… which makes me wonder today just what Billy Watson’s “Whipper” nickname referred to??

It just wasn’t necessary…

It was in this timeframe that I personally began flirting with sexy undergarments …

I’m an old-time hockey player… as a 6 or 7 year-old, I began wearing a garter belt to hold up my hockey socks before I had any knowledge of gender issues. Marilyn Monroe uses these? Does she play hockey too?

If my Dad had only known about it, I may have been pulled from the Parkdale Steelers hockey team. A gentleman of his Mad Men era wouldn’t calmly tolerate a boy of his wearing girly underthings.

Years passed, and in my high school of the 1970’s, a number of the boys looked to impress the sweet female audience in our classes.

Preparing themselves in the bathroom before the start of class, the brawny bold guys sat down manspreading in their desk chairs with cocky grins on their faces… they carefully ensured their clothed member was skillfully outlined down either the right or left leg of their tight pants, like a hungry, adolescent serpent hiding in the bushes.

I don’t know if sex sells in the high school classroom but they were trying their best to impress with largesse.

It just wasn’t necessary.

One last example: who really wants to see the bulky enclosure that male ballet dancers use to hide/highlight their elephant trunk?

I enjoy dance performance… but, sometimes, I find watching the dance becomes less about technique and beautiful movement… and more an observation of what the hell is that pup tent apparatus, holding everything in place down there?

I wonder if maybe the wine served at intermission is really intended to wipe away the lingering vision of the lycra crotch bubble (“hello, my face is up here…”).

As a general observation, men’s fashion when it comes to the area where the twig and berries hang out is a scary and precarious thing.

I figure there’s a reason why male anatomy mags never really took off the way the girlie mags did… us boys don’t carry the same artistic lure in our “Y” region… we pack functionality for sure, but any aesthetic beauty was shunted aside for this usefulness.

It’s reassuring for you – and my kids – that I’ll likely never be found in “tights”, or a Speedo, again in my lifetime… small mercies and all.

Today, I carefully shield my gentletalia from public view as much as possible… it’s my kind and gentle contribution to fairness and all that is good in the world…

… and heavens, should there be an accidental exposure? Well, the skillful Stephen King couldn’t put a more chilling horror show together with all his weird word’ish expertise.

Let’s face it… it just isn’t necessary…