Kann ein Mann eine Hēdoïne sein?
Not very long ago, we found ourselves at a cocktail party positively being forced to speak at length about our impossibly glamorous company. Yes, we founded it ourselves. Yes, the tights really are run-resistant. Yes, I’ll have another glass. And so it went, on and on, until a handsome young man standing to the side of our collective circle posed a question we had not previously considered.
“Excuse me,” he said softly. “I’m quite intrigued by everything you’ve been saying, and it led me to wonder, can a man be a Hēdoïne?”
“Of course!” we blurted out. “You’d look amazing in an Edgy pair with a low waistband!”
“Well, that’s not exactly what I meant,” he said, smiling coyly. “I was referring to the philosophy behind the brand. If a Hēdoïne is a hedonistic heroine of great strength, sophistication and style, is there a male equivalent to that? And what would you call him?”
Momentarily perplexed, we began to wonder. Well, we thought, the male version of a heroine is a hero, but we wouldn’t want to call him a Hēdo. That doesn’t sound right. Maybe he’d be a Hēdoïst? But that’s just one letter off from a hedonist, which is only half of the idea. A Hērodoïne? No. Sounds like an itch cream. It really was puzzling, and so we pondered.
First thing the very next morning, we had our pilot, Felix, fly us directly to Davos where our dear friend Ingebord Ladyschetz happened to be attending an international linguistics symposium. Well, you know how crowded those things can be, but we did manage to find Ingebord and presented her with our dilemma.
“Of course, a man can be a Hēdoïne!” she barked at us. (Ingebord is not shy.) “But why does he need his own name? Actors and actresses, waitresses and waiters, dominatrixes and dom-daddies, what’s the difference? We’ve moved past all that! Your original prototype may have been based on an archetype of strength and style and femininity, but why shouldn’t a man be allowed to aspire to such ideals as well? And if he does, why must he be labeled with some unnecessary, gender-specific moniker that sets him apart from the very ideals he longs to embody? It’s a crazy question, and you could’ve saved me a lot of time and yourselves a lot of jet fuel if you’d just thought things through yourselves. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need a drink.”
The rest of the afternoon was a veritable flurry of canapés, cocktails and conversation. We never did see Ingebord again, but we had a perfectly lovely afternoon with the exception of one unseemly argument with some fool who kept insisting that Wasabi was going to be the color for Spring 2019. Idiot.
Anyway, on the flight back to London we nodded approvingly at Ingebord’s sage advice. We knew she’d clear things up, as only she can, and we were eager to find the charming young man from the cocktail party to tell him, “Yes, Darling! Yes, you too can be a Hēdoïne, and we welcome you!”
As our plane sailed smoothly along, the setting sun cast a pink and orange glow across the sky. We gazed serenely out the window at the twinkling sea below, and we couldn’t help but think, “Hm. Felix might also look pretty good in an Edgy pair with a low waistband.”
