DAN ON: the extreme male makeover...

Facials, manicures, foundation. This is not the language of men about town. We’re meant to be talking about Ronaldinho, rare Bulgarian beers and carburettors. But when the beard is starting to resemble something more “at home with David Attenborough” than   civilised society, it’s time for a Richard and Judy moment… the extreme makeover. For men.

Never let it be said that the male half of the Newsletter Team aren’t in touch with their feminine side. In fact for one day at least, Darren and myself decided to rub moisturiser all over our feminine sides. So having watched the girls get their hair done, get dressed up and get snapped by a professional photographer type person, the guys wanted a piece of the action.

Why? It’s because as much as we pretend to be grunting primates only capable of spilling lager over each other’s manes, most men are actually incredibly vain. Yes ladies, you tear yourself away from the mirror one morning and you’ll probably find your man preening himself peacock-style in the bathroom when he thinks you’re not looking. And yet despite our vanity there is still a stigma attached to spending any time on your appearance as a man. You get mocked if you have your hair cut and mocked if you don’t have your hair cut, so we tend to ignore the whole grooming process and give the impression that we don’t give a flying straightener what we look like as long as The Roxy will let us in on a Friday night without calling the police.

Thus, to address this burning (curling tong) issue, Darren and myself booked ourselves in for the New ID makeover photoshoot. Taking one for the team, if you will, to show that men too can take some time out to enjoy being pampered - and not look like you were kicked out of Babyshambles for resembling a tramp.

First up was the hair. Now my barnet is very important to me. It’s almost always been foppishly (messily) long and I’ve always assumed this has given off a certain air of dishevelled (disorganised) artistic genius. In fact it probably only gave off an air of rotting vegetables, but that’s enough of my personal hygiene. In an attempt to stop my hair curling as much as a David Beckham free kick, my professional hair sculptor (good with her scissors and quality banter about East End pubs), chopped away enough fur to make a tasteful rug for Ikea. Which left me looking a little like the sort of Hoxton-mulleted tool that I used to shout drunken abuse at, but who I now think are really lovely chaps.

Next up was the manicure, and once the lovely nail lady had finished picking her tongue off the floor at the disgraceful state of my nails, we got the full treatment, leaving our cuticles shinier than my old man’s head. The make-up was always going to be the clincher – the moment we crossed the line. This was definitely a step too far and yet I have to admit the facial made me feel warm and tingly, like climbing into a freshly made bed on a winter’s night. Another experience which is something of a rarity for me.

And so replete with foundation and subtle mascara – surprisingly we didn’t want to look like a pair of teenage Goths – we were taken through to have our new looks immortalised on film. Several slightly homoerotic 80s catalogue poses later and well, you can see the results for yourselves. Not exactly the male equivalents of Kate Moss but at least it was all done in the best possible taste. My Mum will probably put one up on the wall. And my new beauty regime? Well I did buy a new beard trimmer last week… - By Dan Pilkington

Get the New ID makeover photoshoot here - now 2 for 1!

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