Why Springsteen and sex appeal are mutually exclusive
Just before this time last year, in the days of throwing your arms around your friends at every possible moment, sipping on the same straws in bottomless brunch triathlons, and sharing a cig because you don’t fancy a full one but then going on to chain-smoke a whole pack, I concluded a night out by getting a lift home from the guy I was sleeping with. Throughout the car journey, I detailed at length how I would never, ever settle down with a man unless the man in question was Bruce Springsteen. I then proceeded to sleep on my lover-cum-taxi (sorry about the cum!) driver’s lap, and upon reaching his house, I ate the entire pizza he’d ordered for his tea.
What we have here is a love story. But not — on this occasion — for best friends, or limitless cocktails, or even shags you pull at 70th birthday parties (a non-septuagenarian attendee, obviously). I’m talking about a burning passion for The Boss. It’s primal. I can’t remember where I was or what I was doing when I heard Bruce’s racy, murmured intro to ‘I’m On Fire’ for the first time — but what does it matter, when every playback is like the first time? The song itself describes the woes of a man who is so horny, he fears his skull may actually split in two — and while this a peak level of horniness I’ve yet to encounter, it’s time to address the freight train runnin’ through every woman’s head.
In conversations with my female friends, Bruce is our sure-fire ‘Marry’ of ‘Fuck, Marry, Kill’ – with the implication being that marrying him means lifelong fucking, obviously. When we discuss the prospect of us walking down an aisle constructed in reality rather than a social forced choice question and answer game, Bruce is the hall pass we’d present to our spouses. Our grandparents had Cary Grant, we have The Boss. But since it’s certainly not his hairline, just what is this septuagenarian’s hold over 50% of the world’s population?
He’s just so bloody manly. Show me a manlier man than Bruce Springsteen, and I’ll show you a liar. I say this as someone who typically isn’t even stirred by traditional masculinity — one of my first memorable crushes was Duckie Dale in ‘Pretty in Pink’, and once my stepdad tried to lift a sofa with my ex-boyfriend, before telling him to put it down because I would do it. Bruce Springsteen makes women everywhere swoon, because we know he’ll catch us in those big, capable arms. You just know he’d put the bins out for you.
The man loves his wife! Now, I’ve surely lost you before we’ve even truly got started, but you have to admit there’s something purely lovely about a committed man who only has eyes for the woman he’s with. As much as I’m always happy to strike up a conversation about fantasy shagathons with The Boss, they’re exactly that — fantasies. While we’re on the topic of Bruce and Patti’s rock solid union, I give you the anthem of the pandemic — ‘Human Touch’. This song is a perfect ode to shagging, complete with the sexy harmonies of two people who’re madly in love. You simply have to respect it.
One of the greatest and most reliable litmus tests for whether someone is truly sexy or not is the white T-shirt. Homer Jay Simpson? No. Kate Moss? Without a doubt, yes. Bruce Springsteen? Springsteen invented the white T-shirt. He has every right to contact whoever is currently in charge of white T-shirt production and patent them all. The white T-shirt is simply called “The Bruce Springsteen” now. Thank you.
The All-American vibe is confusingly alluring. Clearly, the first point of order here is that Annie Liebowitz arse shot, because how could it not be? But it’s more than that. The screen door slamming in ‘Thunder Road’ — what is a screen door, anyway? In ‘Born to Run’, the highway’s jammed with broken heroes on a last-chance power drive! “Highway”’s just a bit sexier than “M60”, isn’t it? The powerful riffs backing up these lyrics instantly transport you to the passenger seat of a Chevy on a dusty, empty-for-miles American highway; the sun’s just setting, and Bruce has one arm on the wheel and the other draped over the back of your headrest.
You thought I’d forgotten ‘Born in the U.SA.’, didn’t you? Not a chance. This song only brings us to more of The Boss’ powerful allure — the man is rock ‘n’ roll’s working class hero. You could be forgiven for thinking the punchy chorus of this 1984 title track is a patriotic chant — really, it’s a roar of frustration and despair. More like… born into a blue collar, beat-up town, and drafted into a war he doesn’t believe in. Springsteen has never authorised use of his music in advertising – in fact, he turned down a $12 million offer from Chrysler. The only thing lining this man’s pockets is that worn, grimy red baseball cap.
In a romantic landscape where there are no crowded bars open to facilitate barely coherent dancefloor ear whisperings and clandestine hand-holding under tables, the government’s recommended sex position for regular partners is doggy-style-with-face-mask, and all prospective meet-cutes have been replaced with Hinge video calls, it’s comforting to know, we will always have The Boss.