Being sexy — or rather remaining as sexy as possible — has been a secret goal of mine for some time. My workouts, my diet, my clothes, my grooming routine are all part of a private war on invisibility and frumpiness. I don’t mention it much — I’m a 62-year-old man and sexiness isn’t usually part of the job description, but now that may be changing.
A new phrase has been added to the wellness vocabulary. We had healthspan, the number of years you spend pain-free and mobile, and now we can adopt “hotspan”. Hotspan is the new goal of the ambitious, fit, midlife male — the number of years where someone might conceivably want to have sex with you.
There’s a man of similar age at my gym who has the most astonishing lean and muscular body, flattering but never try-hard kit and neat facial hair that always looks good but not obsessively maintained. This isn’t something I share much, but I check him out (in a heterosexual way). Partly, I’m looking for clues: what’s he doing? What can I learn? Partly, he’s motivation; the decline isn’t inevitable, he’s still bothering — and it works.
It feels weird to share all this but I genuinely think it’s healthy to have a goal that’s more ambitious and exciting than simply being not ill or not dead. I know I’m supposed to be exercising so I can lift my future grandchildren or survive a fall, but really I want there to be at least some possibility that a section of the global population will find me attractive.
Despite all the advances in age discrimination, this remains taboo and embarrassing. Having been young in the 1980s, I’m haunted by a tragic male stereotype who made himself absurd by trying to be overtly sexy in middle age. Every wine bar, every out-of-town nightclub had one of these men. He would attempt to signal his potency and masculine appeal via a triangle of exposed chest hair. He always had lots of mad opinions about “what women really want” and a pair of tight Farrah slacks.
This is not the hotspan I seek. All overt attempts to make sexy your primary characteristic are ludicrous and all attempts to make yourself look young or attractive to younger people are just insanity. When I say I want to remain as sexy as possible, I mean to an appropriate audience of people my age or older — and I want any sexiness to be unobtrusive and natural. The moment you try to counterfeit youthful hotness, you are on the rocky path that leads to beard dye.
I do not want to spend thousands on lifts, injections and hair transplants. I don’t condemn those who do, but my goal is to look the best version of the real me rather than try to change the raw material. My role models are that generation of famous men whose job descriptions have always included sexy and who have managed to age without making themselves look odd or scary.
When hunting for lessons, I look at Keanu Reeves, who at 61 is slim, fit, in possession of an unashamedly greying beard and manages to appear entirely oblivious to his own sexiness. Jason Statham, at 58, is my bald go-to — his body looks mobile and capable and never steroid-y or bloated. He wears his male-pattern hair loss with pride. Brad Pitt, a human miracle at 62, appears effortlessly handsome; no visible contrivance can be seen. I have no idea what these men do behind the scenes, but they suggest a casual, healthy aesthetic I can at least try to emulate.
My efforts to avoid a descent into cardigans and sexual irrelevance start with my workout routine. I lift weights three times a week and supplement that with bodyweight sessions. I always find time for biceps curls and overhead triceps extensions. These work the muscles at the back and front of my arms. I find it hard to keep any bulk as I age. To promote size, I do slow, hard reps that really fatigue the muscle and I focus on the downward part of the biceps curl and the backward section of the triceps extension. To grow muscle, you need to work hard enough to stimulate a response. As I’m a writer, there is absolutely no need for me to have these arm muscles — even the heaviest laptop or the largest chai latte does not warrant this kind of prep; these are vanity exercises.
Alongside this work, my diet is all about keeping a flat-ish stomach. Clothes hang differently if you have a slim waist. I don’t aspire to a six-pack, but I want T-shirts to sit without a belly interrupting their shape. There are so many good health reasons to manage your body fat but for me, a great pair of dark denim jeans and a slim-fit top is all the motivation I need. I emphasise protein and vegetables at every meal. The best tool I have is a food Thermos. I can take a lean chicken, broccoli and bean-based meal out with me for lunch and escape the damp sandwiches that dominate the high street.
All this has to be combined with constant and tireless attention to small grooming details. Eyebrows, ear hair and nasal hair growth were not an issue when you were younger but trust me, if you let them flourish, the effect is devastating. No one will stop you in the street to comment on your ear fuzz but it will create a strong subliminal signal that you are no longer sexually in play.
The beard needs even more vigilance. After a few days of neglect, my white facial hair turns me into a Victorian returning from a long and gruelling expedition. Much of my life is spent in beard management. Few people want a romantic interlude with Charles Darwin.
Listed like this, my attempts to remain presentable sound exhausting. In reality, they’re all about self-esteem, remaining in the game and actually make me feel more energised.
I’m profoundly married and in no way seeking actual sexual affirmation. My audience is hypothetical or imaginary and that’s the way I like it. But I resent the idea that older men should fade into the background.
Midlife men are more than our jobs, more than our Isas and our retirement plans; we are human and we have a right to strive for maximum hotness. There’s a horrible tendency to use the word “sexy” in the workplace to describe any eye-catching business strategy or product innovation. If this is the only sexy in your life, can I suggest you find a nearby gym… and tackle that ear hair.