Skorts 1, Guy 0; turns out I don’t know everything 6

At this point in my life, I am pretty secure in my masculinity. Sure, I like to cook – and not just grilling, either. I make a kick-ass frittata, and despite the fact that’s pretty much Spanish for “quiche,” I stand by my guy bona fides. And yeah, I got a little misty during “Toy Story 3,” but who besides Chuck Norris didn’t? And my position on poop jokes is clear – for the record: always funny.

So, like I said – rock solid Guy bona fides. And despite this fact, I know a frightening amount of Girl Stuff. I credit that to (or blame it on) having lived with a woman for a very long time. Liz and I just marked our 23rd anniversary, and I don’t believe any man can live with a woman that long without picking up some degree of knowledge about – but probably very little insight into – Girl Stuff.

For instance, when Liz asks me if Earrings A complement her ensemble better than Earrings B, nine times out of 10 I can make the right call. Likewise, if she asks about a shade of lipstick, I can usually keep her from leaving the house looking like a clown (I’d do the same for myself, but the big, red shoes are so comfy.)

Anyway, I know a frightening amount of this stuff. And you know what? I’m totally cool with it. It doesn’t bother me a bit that I know mascara from eyeliner, or the difference between espadrilles and spectator pumps. Like I said – I’m totally secure in my dudeness, and also kind of proud of my acquired knowledge.

But the other day Liz asked me if I had seen her skorts, and I drew a total blank. If I’d seen ’em, I didn’t know it because I have (or had) absolutely no idea what skorts are.

Her query made me realize that, despite my knowledge of Girl Stuff, there are some areas where I am clearly out of my depth. And this made me wonder where the line is (or if such a line even exists) that a guy crosses at his own peril – a line beyond which a man goes from being just a garden-variety metrosexual Dude and plunges into the murky waters of Girly-Man-hood.

Don’t get me wrong – I’m not equating Girly-Man-hood with gayness. Plenty of straight-up hetero guys can discuss window treatments and hemlines with any woman on the planet and still fart on cue (with a two-octave range). And likewise, the gayest of the gay can be a fat, ignorant trash-talking redneck who doesn’t know Gucci from Pucci. So, a guy’s preference in plumbing has nothing to do with his being a Guy’s Guy.

As it turns out, skorts – despite their ear-grating name – are not some intestinal affliction that comes from eating tainted pork; nor are they related to the unfairly maligned spork. They are instead a piece of clothing that mashes up a skirt and a pair of shorts, combining the functionality of both while retaining the sex appeal of neither.

Typically, not knowing something bugs me; I’m a Guy, and we’re supposed to know stuff – and by my lights, that includes a degree of Girl Stuff. But today I must admit defeat – bested by a pair of skorts.


  1. hey eastside zilker neighbor…i am probably dating myself (is that legal?), but i think skorts are what we wore in elementary and junior high (aka middle school) when we were not allowed to wear pants (thank God we can now vote and drive) and we needed additional coverage under the skirts…

    • I’d like to nominate the versatile term “skant.” A portmanteau of “skirt” and “pant,” it accurately and colorfully describes this chimera of the women’s fashion world. Even better (according to at least one reputable online reference source) skant also refers to a prostitute who can’t get any. File between “Sisterhood” and “Skin Care” in your gentleman’s encyclopedia of Girl Stuff.

  2. Jefe, it takes a real cocksure, go-to-hell hombre to admit blanking on skort. Virtual chestbump! Your machismo inspires me to offer my own confession: Until Ginger told me the other day, I had no idea what “shirring” is on a swimsuit. Turns out it’s kind of a simulated stretch mark look achieved by clever tucking and sewing of fabric. So now I know what shirring is. Why it would appeal to anyone of any gender, age or sexual orientation is a whole ‘nother question.

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