Picture this wonderful scene of nature. The male peacock flaunts its large, coloured feathers by spreading and jiggling them in the direction of a potential female mate. The female may receive offers from several males, with her selecting the largest and most dominant to engage in some bird hanky panky. Now take this image, but replace the feathers with muscles, the jiggling with weight lifting, and the peacocks with humans. Now let me welcome you, to my local gym.
My local gym shares many qualities with other gyms, it has a pool and treadmills and this delicate touch of BO, which you can enjoy beside the cross trainers where McDonald's addicts frantically try and burn off that last Big Mac. But skip to the weights section and the scene changes drastically. The dirty scent of testosterone hangs in the air and sound of creaking muscles fill your ears. You're in the jungle buddy.
These muscle addicts prepare themselves for the impending battle for females, by assessing each and every aspect of their well groomed bodies. It seems they are very finicky in their detail, as they stare at each muscle several times throughout the course of their session; supposedly this is to ensure no preparation is missed, as well as to simply see how hot they look.
As the males wrestle mass to draw attention, females observe from the safe distance of treadmills. Skilled in their observational techniques, a mere tilt of the head is needed to provide enough sight of those protein filled muscles. Once a male has been selected, the dancing ritual begins as they circle each other (at a distance) separated by the weights bench, rowing machine and leg trainer.
Unlike our feathered friends however, the ritual doesn't finish here. The male has one more asset in which the female chooses to base her decision. The asset is his metal, his choice of car.
The alpha-males possess large volumes of metal, in the form of Range Rovers, Volvo XC90s and BMW X5s. These males often succeed instantly in drawing in female mates, even if their mating dance was not quite strongest. It is once these most attractive males have departed the battleground, that the Audi, BMW and Mercedes saloon and hatchback owners are able to flaunt their slightly smaller metal and receive their slightly less attractive female prize.
The remaining 'unsymmetricals' are unfortunately the ones who face the lowest chance of finding a mate, with these including the pool of males that arrive in 8 year old Mondeos or squeaking Puntos. Surprisingly though, at the very bottom of this pile lay perhaps some of the most physically fit males, but playing havoc with their mating display is their choice of metal...a bicycle.
It's true cars are more than just a source of transport, and more than just a toy. They are a direct extension (or reduction) of the male trouser department, providing females with insight into how expensive the wine on their first date could be. A 2013 Range Rover Sport means the finest bottle of Sauvignon Blanc. A 1999 Peugeot 206 on the other hand, most likely leads to Le Shiraz de Asda.
So what's my viewpoint of this jungle like mating ritual? And where do I fit in? Well I've always been a man of quality not quantity, but that's not to say I wear XS boxers. My car of choice deceives females by seemingly slotting into the lowest bracket, but performing much closer to those in far more alpha regions of the mating chain. The same can be said for myself, with my lack of bulging biceps shortening my chances of females fainting in my presence, but my inner alpha giving me the personality of a lion. That's right, I might seem unsymmetrical, but I'm a dominant male deep down. A peacock who needs not to flaunt and jiggle his feathers.
Having said that though, I wonder why I never make it past the first date then..
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