The Impossible Task Of Defining Perfection.

The concept of a gentleman is a curious one, at once evocative yet impossible to define, it is the vaguest possible description of a vast array of unrelated and wholly confusing attributes yet it seems to pinpoint with unerring accuracy our perceptions. I do not intend to speak here on the traditional (read : old fashioned)  idea of a gentleman, some landowner from long ago poncing about town in a frock coat and riding boots is all well and good for Victorian England but frankly I don't recommend it as any way for a young chap to conduct himself. I tend then, more towards the modern perception of a gentleman, divided as these ideas are between America and England, for they are two utterly different ideas. First, let us sum up the pedestal mounted ideals of each species, starting with Britain.

British Gentlemen

This chap is gazing into the distance, searching for far off lands just begging to be civilised. Tea and railroads 

for everybody. 

In modern Britain, being the hub of all civilisation and excellence, those typically described as being a gentleman tend towards those of exemplary manner. Their status in life is scarcely considered, not their money, job, assets, education, nor manner of dress weigh in any matter on the perception of a gentleman. This is perhaps the closest to the dictionary's definition of what a gentleman ought to be, described as it is in one entry as "A well-mannered and considerate man with high standards of proper behaviour." The idea of a feudal land owning baron being perceived as a gentleman has long since passed on the shores of this fair isle, if some Duke or other is lacking in the required manner, none shall hesitate to dash his claim to this noble title. There also exists in Britain the ideal "British Gentleman" this is perhaps the most common image conjured when the word "gentleman" is uttered, imagine him, if you will, striding along Piccadilly, immaculately attired in three piece suit with tightly rolled umbrella thrust under one arm. He walks with head held high and back straight, towards his gentleman club in which he may sit with other like minded chaps, quaffing tea and ridiculing foreigners. This though, is perhaps a little close to caricature and one must be clear at all times that the rarefied heights of the true gentleman would never fall to such indignity as to be considered a stereotype.

Southern Gentlemen

"I do declare that you must be the finest flower in all the South." Or some other hilariously contrived Southern things to say.

Let us turn our gaze Westwards, towards the colonial island known as America, a wild and savage land filled to the brim with all manner of humanity. America holds a special place in the hearts of all British folk as would a particularly rebellious child, whom, upon being carefully schooled in the correct manner of imperialism and arrogance, violently casts off the authority of their parent and stomps off into the world, happy to cause all manner of mayhem whilst said parent looks on, stiff lipped and proud. Now then, In America you have a splendid breed, The Confederate Gentleman (or for those of a particularly nervous and politically correct disposition, the Southern Gentleman) here is a chap for chaps of all backgrounds to get behind. He drinks fine whisky and cocktails, he puffs heartily on tobacco pipes, he dresses in splendid attire and he treats all those he meets with courtesy and polite refrain. Perhaps he resides in some beautiful Confederate mansion, replete with porch to rest ones weary feet whilst sipping cocktails and cradling a shotgun in the lap, suspiciously eyeing strangers. 

Douchebags Calling Themselves Gentlemen

I cannot even start to explain how much I want to punch him in his impossibly smug face.

Last, but by no means least, let us view what a gentleman is most certainly not. A gentleman is not defined by his clothing, lifetime loyalty cards to Ralph Lauren and Brook's Brothers do not a gentleman make, though of course upholding standards of appearance cannot hurt. Nor then does proclaiming oneself a gentleman hold any merit, on Twitter or the like, some handle pertaining to ones gentlemanly qualities is not sufficient to cement ones legacy. A knowledge of fine wines or foods, a well read manner or a cultural inclination, all fall by the wayside if proper manners are not upheld. 

The Ideal Gentlemen

"Don't be frightened Ladies, but there is a suave motherfucker on the loose."

So then, assuming we are satisfied with at least a vague idea of what constitutes a gentleman, let me lay before you the ideal. Read well, classics and beautiful novels. Listen well, the strains of the master composers. Dress well, uphold the highest standards you can possibly set and refuse to bow. Mean well, take each day as an opportunity for improvement, not only of your life, but of those you love. Treat well, your manners are your calling card to your friends, family and strangers alike, all should feel equally comforted by your presence.

In short then, be perfect. 

Fighting Tigers.

There comes a time in every young chaps life when he must head out into the world, cast aside the shackles of youth and prove himself a man. Perhaps he accomplishes this feat by taking over Fathers multi-million pound company and transforming it into a multi-billion pound company. Perhaps he takes part in a classic car rally, skidding precariously round mountaintop roads and speeding his way to glory and everlasting fame. Perhaps the young chap heads to the casinos of Las Vegas and makes a pile on the roulette tables whilst flirting outrageously with young starlets under the ever watchful eye of old crooners. But if you are stuck for more novel ideas, one cannot fail with the age old male pastime of killing some huge beasty with a big gun. There is nothing that will set your stake higher then coming home to tell your parents or little woman that you have bagged a Tiger. It's head perched over your shoulder in a knapsack you set it on the table with pride and from all around will come the sound of swooning fillies and fellows saying "Jolly good show! This, is what being a man is all about. "There I was!" You tell them "Crouched in the jungles of Calcutta, my rifle in hand, beads of sweat slowly creeping from my brow, every small step seeming to echo loudly against the quiet of the jungle. Insects buzzed but the rustling of bigger animals had ceased in that all too familiar warning, A predator is near." I had downed my G&T, grabbed my rifle and leapt into the nearest bush and now here I was, my heart pounding against my chest in a futile effort to escape and my eyes straining, searching the trees for any sign of movement. "I crept ever forward, certain that at any moment the claws of said huge beasty would surely tear me limb from limb, when suddenly from my right side came a blood-curdling growl and the brush parted as a giant tiger leapt forth and swatted my gun from my hand. I was knocked to the ground and only just managed to avoid having my head bitten off by rolling to one side at the last second, I leapt to my feet, pulled my trusty hunting knife from my belt and ran to meet the Tiger's attack. We clashed head on, two titans engaged in epic struggle, both throwing punches and ducking and weaving for all we were worth. I got the better of the exchange and managed to knock the bugger off balance with a judo hip throw. He staggered back still in my clutches and we both fell head long through the trees and rolled into a dashed river. Our mortal fight far from over we wrestled back and forth in the raging river,the villainous Tiger held my head under the water with both paws but I fought my way to the surface and managed to get him into a choke hold. As I felt his strength sap from his body the rush of the water started to pound in my ears and grow stronger by the second. I chanced a glance over my shoulder and was put out to see an approaching waterfall. We were bucked and thrown clear of the waterfall, falling a hundred and fifty feet into the raging waters below. We became separated in the fall and as I struggled to the surface and to the waters edge my mind sharpened for the oncoming battle to the death. The Tiger looked weary, like the soggy moggy he was. I stood, respect for my foe shining from my eyes and spoke for the first time, "Look Tiger, let's put an end to this nonsense. We'll call it quits today and meet again another. What say you sir?" The tired Tiger nodded his head wisely and turned to walk away but suddenly he sprung at me, murder burning in his eyes, though he had reckoned without my trusty blade. As he he crashed against me I buried the cold steel straight through his heart. "I thought you were a Tiger, but now I see you're a "Cheater". I quipped.

This, is how you become a man.