TBT. This was first posted on my website, CultureCatch.com. I've edited it slightly to fit my current mindset.
"My dad's a cooler dude than your dad!" bragged my ten-year-old daughter to one of her friends on her phone.
Wot? Can I be a dude and a dad? Hey, that's pretty cool. I still play music, but I thought Quincy Jones was "the dude." After all, he did release an album in the '80s called The Dude. (And wrote the theme song for funny actor dude Mike Meyer's comedic dude spoof-on-James Bond films, Austin Powers.) But where did my daughter pick this "dude" tag up? From my wife? (Doubtful, she might not have married me if she believed I was a dude.) Probably from the Scooby Doo cartoons we watch together. Or from her older brother and his crazed sidewalk skateboard pals in our 'hood. Or maybe she caught The Big Lebowski at one of her friend's apartments.
Ultimately, it didn't matter because I suddenly became obsessed with defining what makes a guy a dude. More importantly, did I possess any of the dude's DNA?
Fast forward a year later...
"Hey, dude!" I grimaced, turned, and saw two tanned, healthy young men in their late teens in baggy, neon surf gear fist-punch each other and continue their conversation. I shuddered and continued reading my morning paper in some nondescript restaurant in Venice Beach. I was on the West Coast for my friend's wedding and a little business, away from the comfort and sanity of my family and home in New York City. Five days into my excursion, I had left myself weak for good deli food and something other than surfers’ lingo.
This dude thing had reached critical mass. Dudes everywhere were chasing me. Even on the radio as Mott the Hoople's early '70s anthem, "All the Young Dudes" (written by the most excellent music dude David Bowie), blasted from my rental car's speakers.
Malibu, Huntington, the Valley, and San Diego—the entire Pacific Coast was crawling with them. From the Sunset Strip to the Santa Monica Pier, I couldn't travel anywhere without hearing that word.
I decided to query my waitress about this dude thing; after all, she'd been talking to the two surfers.
Much to my dismay, she said she didn't know much about it but volunteered that her friend “Buddy definitely qualified as an expert dood."
Buddy!?! Now, there was a name I could appreciate. Love to meet the folks that decided that was a proper given name for a dude child. Come on. Nonetheless, if I were going to unburden this albatross clinging around my neck, I'd have to confront the enemy, regardless of the consequences.
I assumed that by polling people, I'd reach a coherent working definition. And, perhaps in some delusional manner, determine if I fit the dude criteria for dude-dom.
Over the next couple of weeks, I randomly asked, "What is a dude?" I left them to ponder from Los Angeles to Ohio to New York.
Once I settled back in New York, I would collect the data and hopefully piece things together. (Remember that this was without any government-subsidized art program backing me.)
Much to my amazement, as I started to assemble this mythical character, I discovered all sorts of shared qualities. And more often than not, these qualities were universals. So much so that the West Coast surfer dude had more in common with the East Coast inner-city tough dude than either would care to acknowledge.
It is doubtful that the average person on the street could find commonalities between seemingly opposite things. However, essential elements were easily interchangeable between diverse characters such as Tony Starks, also known as Iron Man, played by award-winning actor Robert Downey Jr., and Shaft, portrayed by the original actor Richard Roundtree and then actor Samuel L. Jackson in the 2000 reboot.
For starters, all dudes emanate a particular sensibility, lifestyle, and attitude. They neither wallow in squalor nor swim in ostentatiousness. And most importantly, they always remain righteously true to themselves first. Moreover, when possible, they seek out the truth, whether commandeering a woman to her full feminine sensuality or shooting the perfect game of billiards with their peers.
I examined my past. Did I encounter any such beings while growing up in Ohio?
Maybe they were the characters we called "cool" in school."
If that was the case, I remember one of my classmates in elementary school definitely fit the profile. His name was Jeff Thompson. And come to think of it, he did possess a certain something, although I'd bet our teacher felt he was a troublemaker. But I don't ever recall him actually causing trouble. (He never started any wastepaper basket fires, but he did boast of masturbating at a prepubescent age.) He just seemed bigger than life.
It is possible that dudes, in the purest sense, represent the essence of individuality. They don't copy anyone else. They don't dress like anyone else. They don't sound like anyone else. They exist within all dimensions of popular culture without being too trendy or too stylish. Just look at James Bond and all the leading men he's endured. While the Scotsman Sean Connery remains the quintessential and original Bond dude, Daniel Craig (trailer below) breathed a much-needed dudeness into the contemporary 007 legacy. (Check out Sir Sean in Goldfinger!)
An authentic dude lives on the cutting edge, taking his life in new directions daily while the rest try to keep up with his predestined course. Again, who else but 007 could single-handedly save the world by defeating evil in the catacombs of Rome and, in the next moment, sit with the Queen looking unhassled, relaxed, and fabulous?
A genuine dude is free of ego and all of the destructive elements associated with it. He would never say, "Hey, baby, look at me, am I not the most dynamic fella you've ever encountered?" He doesn't have to announce his own self-worth. Those around him will usually do it for him.
A real dude doesn't aspire to anything except being at ease with himself. Whether he's feeding ducks in a pond or strolling in a summer rainstorm without an umbrella, nothing is too banal about experiencing the simple side of life.
As stated, he embodies many desirable qualities. Many folks view him as dangerous, aloof, coy, cute, clever, charming, rugged, handsome, endearing, righteous, free, timeless, spiritual, and trustworthy.
He is not necessarily the most handsome or spiritual, but rather the perfect blend of all these qualities. He may be a hero to some and provoke envy in others, depending on the individual's perception.
Who else but a dude would attempt surfing a thirty-foot wave, pull it off, and ride it all the way to the shore?
He doesn't hide behind his clothes. He's got his own style. Check out any cool urban movie, like Shaft or Superfly, to highlight this point. Do you honestly think that rapper Snoop Dogg would have graced the film Starsky & Hutch without some serious cuts? Or that Curtis Mayfield would've wasted his time writing the theme song for anything less than a perfect dude-heavy flick like Superfly? Ditto for Isaac Hayes and the very righteous theme for Shaft.
Anything a genuine dude wears merely adds to his totality, whether chillin' in his tattered old button-fly denim at a country BBQ or playing baccarat in his tailor-made tux in Monaco at night.
An authentic dude is not without emotion, though many people may be fooled by his leather-tough shell. But once you get beyond his veil of 'tude, you'll find a soft side underneath.
He could be cheering for his favorite baseball team on Saturday and crying over the beauty of his sister's newborn baby on Sunday. Moreover, it's not the silly vibe of Ashton Kutcher in Dude, Where's My Car? It's the fabulous "abide" of Jeff Bridges in the Coen Brothers' epic dude paean, The Big Lebowski.
So there I was, left with a much broader understanding of what a dude was and probably will always be.
Did I possess any of that stuff? Since I've never surfed, this prevented me from drawing any relevance from the beach scene. And I've never been known as a tough street guy, even though, as a kid, I played touch football in the mean streets of Akron, Ohio, or that I lived in the East Village in 1981.
Yet, I always felt I could be engaging, even when people feigned interest in my opinion. Most of my closest male friends agreed that all guys could be "dudish" from time to time, so I guess I could be, too.
Maybe all you needed to do was borrow a little—"Bond, James Bond"—from time to time. You know, you've been milling about some boring social function when your gaze meets some femme fatale trapped in some mindless chatter with some oafish chap. You imagine yourself offering her an expensive glass of champagne from a bottle you've hidden in the kitchen from the rest of the party. It's got to be better than the designer drink this affable clown offered her. Now, if you only had the balls to approach her, maybe you could fulfill your fantasy.
Nonetheless, my observations lead me to one universal conclusion:
He represents the quintessential man—a total Utopian state of malehood—sensitive, intelligent, humble, righteous, funny, charming, well-mannered, and (add your descriptors). Moreover, he is the apex of perfection in man, which no man will ever reach. And he always abides by being truly comfortable with himself in each and every situation in his life.
Was Adam the first dude? (Bet Eve thought so.)
Was Jesus the perfect dude?
Country dude Kris Kristofferson thought so and even wrote a very dude-worthy song about him called "Jesus Was a Capricorn." Besides, who would argue with Kris, as he's still one of the coolest older dudes on the planet?
But what about Krishna? Or Buddha? Or Muhammad? Or Ghandi?
Or your favorite teacher? Coach? Mentor? President?
And what about Dads? Can they be dudes, too?
Sure. Just ask my daughter.
As for dudettes? Well, I’ll leave that for another essay. Best I check with my spouse first.
(Here’s a Dude playlist for you dudes to imbibe.)
Great stuff, Dusty! I'm fairly confident that I'm a dude. Some of our kids call me (and sometimes my wife) dude. Either "dude" is making a comeback, or I am, in fact, a dude.
I never analyzed the word "dude" to this extent. I like what you've come up with and hey, you're a dude!
When "All The Young Dudes" came out the confused, 8-year old me asked my mother to define a dude. I do believe she fell back on "cowboy" which was probably how the dictionary defined it at the time...
PS: You might enjoy Simon Mills' The Male on Sunday column, which veers very much into this kind of territory.