The Company of Men

I am winging my way to London, after spending a week in Germany with Men. Not just men, but Men from across the globe. Germany of course, but also London, Lisbon, Rio de Janeiro, Amsterdam, New York, Toronto, Chicago, Shanghai, and Johannesburg.

It was the project I had asked for because I was fascinated with the idea of how an XX could help (or would I hurt?) an entirely XY creative team on a global branding project. You’ll have to ask them if I was successful or not.  Of course, it’s only fair to say that there were other XX’s in the room at times. Planners, business thinkers, and other amazing women who deserve a column of their own.

But I digress.

The week started as expected. Burp jokes. Fart references. And other assorted themes. At first I’d catch a sideways glance down the table after an off-color remark. But sooner than I expected, they forgot that I was XX.  Almost.

Immediately the group began to engage in a battle of one-ups. Who had the fastest retort? The wittiest comeback? Who could source the most obscure movie reference? Who had the biggest uh, music collection? (There were definitely winners in all categories in my mind, but I will take those opinions to the grave.)

I heard a lot of good jokes. None that I will repeat because somehow I feel like I would be violating the trust they showed in me by sharing them in the first place. I learned new words and phrases. For example, in South Africa, wine coolers are called “Bitch Liquor.” How awesome is that? And my friend from Toronto has an excellent phrase for a failed punch line or idea. He describes the reaction to such a moment as “Easter Island heads looking back at you.” In case you’ve forgotten the expressions on those Easter Island heads, I’ve attached a reminder. Cue the crickets.

I saw everyone’s collection of prized YouTube clips. One morning I snapped a quick shot of the magnet art an XY had carefully created on a board. The shot is so anatomically correct that if I posted it, my site would get flagged as porn. So, you’ll have to use your imagination.

The surprising thing (to me and I actually think to the guys) was how small that part of the discussion really was. For all of the “we don’t like to talk” references and “women are better at sharing their feelings,” these guys opened up like a warm watermelon dropped from a balcony. My stoic friend from Lisbon lovingly described his feelings for his daughters. Another day we heard a story about a grandfather that was so heartbreakingly beautiful, you wouldn’t believe it came from the same mouth that moments before had blurted out “Bitch Liquor.”

But perhaps the memory I will treasure most was the moment shared with my quiet friend from Shanghai. As the rest of us talked about families, farts, and funny stories, he worked diligently at his computer. Then, on the very last night, he looked at his phone, looked at me, and opened up for the first time: His daughter (16 months I think) had just created her very first work of art.   That’s how, after sitting next to him for five days, I learned that he had a wife and daughter.

Thank you for sharing that milestone with me. Thank you strong silent types. Thank you Jack Sparrow (you know who you are.) Thank you earnest academics, thoughtful artists, funny guys, orators, and storytellers. Thank you Mr. Attention Span of a Gnat. Thank you (an exponential thank you) to the mentor who has always believed in me as a writer, and cared about me as a person.

 Thank you for the privilege of the company of Men.