by Jillian Leigh, Ampersandology
Call it a fluke: the oeuvre of Judd Apatow has popularized male friendships in a such a way that called for the resurrection of its handy portmanteau--coined, incidentally, in the late 1990s by Dave Carnie--the bromance. All but unheard a decade ago, the bromance has crept back into the vernacular with a vengeance.
To be sure, dropping casual mentions of one's bromance with another is bordering on trendy -- from the Apatow-produced Superbad or I Love You, Man, (which, truly, was a full-throated ode to the underlying romance of male friendships) through to the man love solidarity on display every week on shows like House M.D. or latter-day Scrubs, its pop culture temperature has transformed the love that didn't bother to speak its name into something that every male treasures or wishes he had.
Is it a sign of the times? I'd like to think so. Until one looks at the definition, gleaned from the most reputable of sources for all thing pop cultural, Wikipedia:
Oh, I see you there, you tricky little thing. You little homosocial.
Ah, the homosocial: mental lubricant for any grad student worth his or her salt and fur-raiser of anyone who just wants to watch crappy 1950s biker movies in peace, goddamnit. It was the product of feminist scholars who, by and large, examined the remarkable solidarity and affection that existed in male friendships--and sidenote, the homosocial prompted theorist-with-chops Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick to posit in 1985's mind-bending Between Men that...
Nowadays, of course, it's adorable to see George Clooney and Brad Pitt joke about meeting each other at a bath house. Man love, bromance, boy crush ---call it what you will, but its stuff is no longer the tormented undercurrent of cultural taboo. Now, it's practically fashionable to openly embrace your gooey guy on guy feelings.
But the central point of my post? Is that bromance is nothing new. And these johnny-come latelys owe a hell of a lot to these trailblazers in the turbulent world of men loving men -- mostly platonically but also kind of...not.
So long story short, Arthur inherited the title of king by divine right, and set about creating a utopia where all men were equal and all the castle tops were bright blue. It was no easy feat, given that knights were more given to the pillaging and raping side of the coin than the traditional chivalry we think of today. YAY HISTORY! But Arthur triumphed, creating the Round Table, a gathering of knights so noble and courtly, with none so noble as the greatest knight in the land, Lancelot du Lac.
Legends vary, but Lancelot basically came to Camelot intending to devote himself in servitude to Arthur, who he saw as a fair and just leader. They were besties in the truest sense of the word, and all the other knights were jealous of the attention and favour that Arthur showered on him. And no wonder: word had it Lancelot was raised by the mystical Lady in the Lake. Quite awkwardly, Lancelot also held the honor of the Queen's Knight, which basically meant that all his heroic deeds were abstractly done in her name and also, that every time she went and got herself captured (which was often) Lancelot was the one who saddled up to go rescue her.
Why was this awkward? Because Lancelot and Queen Guinevere were totes in love. Their affair was one of many factors that ultimately crushed the dream of Camelot, rending the kingdom apart by the seams when their betrayal was exposed. Arthur ultimately forgave them, but no one ended up happy: Lancelot became a hermit, Guinevere chopped off all her hair and became a nun, and Arthur ended up dead by his illegitimate son's hand.
That...well, that sucks. Moral of the story? Keep it in your pants, people.
In a letter dated April 26, 1821, Byron wrote to his good friend and fellow poet, P.B. Shelley, (emphasis mine)--
But their passion was halted abruptly and tragically by Shelley's accidental drowning--his boat overturned in rough seas and his body was found with a book of poetry. According to John Trelawny's juicy account, when he stood on the beach reflecting on Shelley's funeral pyre, Byron was so overcome he leapt into the sea, yelling furiously that the fickle waters should take him next. Spent, he then retired to his coach, and was soon making his girlfriends dress up like choir boys to soothe his grief.
Okay, check this: the whole set-up of the Sherlock Holmes story was that his Girl Friday and faithful sidekick, Dr. Watson, lived with him and went on most if not all of his adventures through the underbelly of 19th century London. That's pretty bromantic in itself, but it gets even better.
More importantly, Dr. Watson was the one who chronicled their adventures in a series of "pamphlets", thus explaining the existence of the tales and lending credence to the idea that Holmes was a real guy. Holmes was supposed to be way too cool for school to bother with such trivial matters, and in fact, kind of made fun of Watson for doing so. But Watson did it anyway, becoming Holmes' unofficial biographer in the process.
Yes. That's right. Doc Watson was such a lovestruck fanboy that he was writing fanfiction about his boss.
Considering that everyone and their dog thinks of Sherlock Holmes as this bad-ass Victorian dandy with a keen deductive eye, who snuffs cocaine and has a "profound knowledge" of everything from botany to paperback horror stories, Watson did right by his subject. Watson seemed to be nursing one hella mancrush on Sherlock, describing his employer as a formidable bare-knuckle fighter, an expert swordsman, a trained boxer AND a master singlestick...whatever that means. Those aren't words you throw around lightly. The 2009 Guy Ritchie update notwithstanding, the bromance of Holmes and Watson was as touching as it was low-key.
The most tempestuous of all bromances, Fitzgerald and Hemingway met in Paris in April of 1925. They moved in the same circle, affectionately nicknamed 'the Lost Generation', though at the time of their meeting Ernest's best work was in front of him and Fitzgerald's was reaching its apex with the publication of The Great Gastby. The two fell into a fast friendship, despite the disapproval of Mrs. F. Scott Fitzgerald, Zelda... whose personality can be rather accurately described as sugar-coated TNT. Fitzgerald was dead-set on helping Ernest reach literary greatness, and put his considerable celebrity and know-how to work.
But all was not well in bro-land. The two were famous for their disagreements, which could turn sour quickly and go on for days. And they disagreed on plenty: for one thing, Fitzgerald was a cheap drunk, and for Hemingway, this was a major character defect. From Steve Newman's account of their meeting:
In addition, Hemingway and Zelda hated each other something fierce. Ernest would accuse her of keeping him drunk so that he couldn't work, and Zelda, volatile on a good day, was convinced Ernest had seduced her husband and lured him into an affair. Also, Hemingway was a bit of a bully, churlish and imposing exacting standards on his companions, while Fitzgerald crumbled under social pressure with drink and frivolity.
Alas, it was not meant to be. In 1930, the Fitzgeralds abandoned their Paris playground when Zelda was admitted to a sanatorium in Switzerland for treatment of her schizophrenia. The friendship appeared to dissolve after that, with Hemingway and his mustache going on safari in East Africa before joining the Spanish Civil War, all the while pumping out the great novels of his career. F. Scott faded into churning out hated grunt work in Hollywood, while his former tutee soared into the annals of literary fame. By the 1930s, the bloom was definitely off the rose of their friendship, transforming the two into bitter rivals that met only a handful of times throughout the 1930s. In fact, Hemingway would notoriously, and likely unfairly, depict F. Scott as a drunk, snivelling lout in his autobiographical last work, A Movable Feast. But the brilliance of their friendship lives on in infamy, though it burned out too fast in reality.
No one ever said bromance was meant to last forever.
To be sure, dropping casual mentions of one's bromance with another is bordering on trendy -- from the Apatow-produced Superbad or I Love You, Man, (which, truly, was a full-throated ode to the underlying romance of male friendships) through to the man love solidarity on display every week on shows like House M.D. or latter-day Scrubs, its pop culture temperature has transformed the love that didn't bother to speak its name into something that every male treasures or wishes he had.
Is it a sign of the times? I'd like to think so. Until one looks at the definition, gleaned from the most reputable of sources for all thing pop cultural, Wikipedia:
bro-mance: (noun) a close but non-sexual relationship between two (or more) men, a form of homosocial intimacy. See also: man crush.
Oh, I see you there, you tricky little thing. You little homosocial.
*
Ah, the homosocial: mental lubricant for any grad student worth his or her salt and fur-raiser of anyone who just wants to watch crappy 1950s biker movies in peace, goddamnit. It was the product of feminist scholars who, by and large, examined the remarkable solidarity and affection that existed in male friendships--and sidenote, the homosocial prompted theorist-with-chops Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick to posit in 1985's mind-bending Between Men that...
...the oppressive effects on women and men [create] a cultural system in which male-male desire became widely intelligible primarily by being routed through nonexistent desire involving a woman.
So basically, in all these stories the men funnel their man love through to lady love just so the world keeps spinning its hetero-axis. And suddenly, the plot machinations of Closer make a whole lot more sense.
Nowadays, of course, it's adorable to see George Clooney and Brad Pitt joke about meeting each other at a bath house. Man love, bromance, boy crush ---call it what you will, but its stuff is no longer the tormented undercurrent of cultural taboo. Now, it's practically fashionable to openly embrace your gooey guy on guy feelings.
*
But the central point of my post? Is that bromance is nothing new. And these johnny-come latelys owe a hell of a lot to these trailblazers in the turbulent world of men loving men -- mostly platonically but also kind of...not.
Plato & Socrates
Bromance Heyday: 469 - 399 BC
It’s the classic love story – just a boy and his mentor. In his youth, when Plato was the ancient Greek equivalent of those guys
who devour Simple Plan one day and Kurt Cobain the next, he’d listen to anyone
in an effort to iron out his world view. But he soon joined the horde of young men who would follow
Socrates around and hinge on his every word. And once Socrates took him on as a
student, all bets were off, and Plato predictably turned his attentions to what
chewed up Socrates’ time—namely, what made one’s life virtuous.
Compared to some philosophers out there, this is a
positively tame doctrine, but it was enough to get the old boy killed. Socrates
was put on trial for impiety (disrespect of the gods) and corruption of youth,
and ultimately sentenced to death. Waste of good hemlock if you ask me.
After his mentor’s death, Plato became a one-man army for
preserving the Socratic teachings. You see, Socrates had never written down any of his teachings or philosophic methods down on paper. In fact, Plato's efforts are probably the only reason we know
who this hemlock-scarfer is today. Now that is devotion.
Arthur & Lancelot
Bromance Heyday: sometime in the late 5th to early 6th century
Perhaps one of the more tragic tales of bromance is the story of King Arthur and his bravest knight, Lancelot du Lac.
So long story short, Arthur inherited the title of king by divine right, and set about creating a utopia where all men were equal and all the castle tops were bright blue. It was no easy feat, given that knights were more given to the pillaging and raping side of the coin than the traditional chivalry we think of today. YAY HISTORY! But Arthur triumphed, creating the Round Table, a gathering of knights so noble and courtly, with none so noble as the greatest knight in the land, Lancelot du Lac.
Legends vary, but Lancelot basically came to Camelot intending to devote himself in servitude to Arthur, who he saw as a fair and just leader. They were besties in the truest sense of the word, and all the other knights were jealous of the attention and favour that Arthur showered on him. And no wonder: word had it Lancelot was raised by the mystical Lady in the Lake. Quite awkwardly, Lancelot also held the honor of the Queen's Knight, which basically meant that all his heroic deeds were abstractly done in her name and also, that every time she went and got herself captured (which was often) Lancelot was the one who saddled up to go rescue her.
Why was this awkward? Because Lancelot and Queen Guinevere were totes in love. Their affair was one of many factors that ultimately crushed the dream of Camelot, rending the kingdom apart by the seams when their betrayal was exposed. Arthur ultimately forgave them, but no one ended up happy: Lancelot became a hermit, Guinevere chopped off all her hair and became a nun, and Arthur ended up dead by his illegitimate son's hand.
That...well, that sucks. Moral of the story? Keep it in your pants, people.
Percy Bysshe Shelley & Lord Byron
Bromance Heyday: 1816- 1822
In a letter dated April 26, 1821, Byron wrote to his good friend and fellow poet, P.B. Shelley, (emphasis mine)--
You want me to undertake a great Poem - I have not the inclination nor the power. As I grow older, the indifference - not to life, for we love it by instinct - but to the stimuli of life, increases. Besides, this late failure of the Italians has latterly disappointed me for many reasons, - some public, some personal. My respects to Mrs S.
Yours ever.
BYRON
P.S. Could not you and I contrive to meet this summer? Could not you take a run here alone?Since their meeting in 1816, when the two poets rented neighbouring houses on the shores of Lake Geneva, Byron and Shelley had provided inspiration throughout the often tumultuous years of being a bad-ass pirate son and adulterous pretty boy (respectively). Their personalities complemented the other, for the most part -- where Shelley was imaginative and reclusive, Byron was forceful and gregarious. Their meeting, among other things, coaxed Shelley through a rather vicious case of writer's block and encouraged Byron to take his pen (and talents) a little more seriously.
But their passion was halted abruptly and tragically by Shelley's accidental drowning--his boat overturned in rough seas and his body was found with a book of poetry. According to John Trelawny's juicy account, when he stood on the beach reflecting on Shelley's funeral pyre, Byron was so overcome he leapt into the sea, yelling furiously that the fickle waters should take him next. Spent, he then retired to his coach, and was soon making his girlfriends dress up like choir boys to soothe his grief.
Sherlock Holmes & Dr. Watson
Bromance Heyday: 1887-1927
Okay, check this: the whole set-up of the Sherlock Holmes story was that his Girl Friday and faithful sidekick, Dr. Watson, lived with him and went on most if not all of his adventures through the underbelly of 19th century London. That's pretty bromantic in itself, but it gets even better.
More importantly, Dr. Watson was the one who chronicled their adventures in a series of "pamphlets", thus explaining the existence of the tales and lending credence to the idea that Holmes was a real guy. Holmes was supposed to be way too cool for school to bother with such trivial matters, and in fact, kind of made fun of Watson for doing so. But Watson did it anyway, becoming Holmes' unofficial biographer in the process.
Yes. That's right. Doc Watson was such a lovestruck fanboy that he was writing fanfiction about his boss.
Considering that everyone and their dog thinks of Sherlock Holmes as this bad-ass Victorian dandy with a keen deductive eye, who snuffs cocaine and has a "profound knowledge" of everything from botany to paperback horror stories, Watson did right by his subject. Watson seemed to be nursing one hella mancrush on Sherlock, describing his employer as a formidable bare-knuckle fighter, an expert swordsman, a trained boxer AND a master singlestick...whatever that means. Those aren't words you throw around lightly. The 2009 Guy Ritchie update notwithstanding, the bromance of Holmes and Watson was as touching as it was low-key.
F. Scott Fitzgerald and Ernest Hemingway
Bromance Heyday: 1925 - roughly 1930
The most tempestuous of all bromances, Fitzgerald and Hemingway met in Paris in April of 1925. They moved in the same circle, affectionately nicknamed 'the Lost Generation', though at the time of their meeting Ernest's best work was in front of him and Fitzgerald's was reaching its apex with the publication of The Great Gastby. The two fell into a fast friendship, despite the disapproval of Mrs. F. Scott Fitzgerald, Zelda... whose personality can be rather accurately described as sugar-coated TNT. Fitzgerald was dead-set on helping Ernest reach literary greatness, and put his considerable celebrity and know-how to work.
But all was not well in bro-land. The two were famous for their disagreements, which could turn sour quickly and go on for days. And they disagreed on plenty: for one thing, Fitzgerald was a cheap drunk, and for Hemingway, this was a major character defect. From Steve Newman's account of their meeting:
Fitzgerald was getting drunk, awfully drunk, and on just three glasses of champagne. Hemingway realised Scott could not take his drink, that drink made him ill and turned him into a small, well dressed monster.
In addition, Hemingway and Zelda hated each other something fierce. Ernest would accuse her of keeping him drunk so that he couldn't work, and Zelda, volatile on a good day, was convinced Ernest had seduced her husband and lured him into an affair. Also, Hemingway was a bit of a bully, churlish and imposing exacting standards on his companions, while Fitzgerald crumbled under social pressure with drink and frivolity.
Alas, it was not meant to be. In 1930, the Fitzgeralds abandoned their Paris playground when Zelda was admitted to a sanatorium in Switzerland for treatment of her schizophrenia. The friendship appeared to dissolve after that, with Hemingway and his mustache going on safari in East Africa before joining the Spanish Civil War, all the while pumping out the great novels of his career. F. Scott faded into churning out hated grunt work in Hollywood, while his former tutee soared into the annals of literary fame. By the 1930s, the bloom was definitely off the rose of their friendship, transforming the two into bitter rivals that met only a handful of times throughout the 1930s. In fact, Hemingway would notoriously, and likely unfairly, depict F. Scott as a drunk, snivelling lout in his autobiographical last work, A Movable Feast. But the brilliance of their friendship lives on in infamy, though it burned out too fast in reality.
No one ever said bromance was meant to last forever.
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