All right, girl guides! Now that you know where 96.4 percent of unzombified human males are (still not sure? See our color-coded breakdown), it’s time to go out and find one.
Oh, yeah. Find one. These anthropological curiosities won’t be around for long, so grab your binocs and hit the street before they disappear completely. Here, everything you need to know to male-watch with the best of them.
Know what you’re looking for.
Chances are, you’ve sat next to a UHM on the subway or stood behind one in line at the supermarket. You just didn’t realize it because he was dressed exactly like you. The vast majority of UHMs are blenders—men passing as women to blend in. Men blend for a variety of reasons: They’re embarrassed by their own lack of productivity; they’re ashamed of how they behaved when the plague first struck; they want to avoid a fuss.
The best way to identify a UHM is by his Adam’s apple. A man can don a dress and a speak in a falsetto, but he has few options when it comes to hiding the projection in the front of the neck formed by the largest cartilage of the larynx. Be suspicious of any woman wearing a wool scarf in the middle of summer or indoors. A UHM will typically claim to be an opera singer keeping her vocal cords warm. To confirm, ask her to sing Der Hölle Rache from The Magic Flute. Most divas have the aria down pat and will happily show off their technical skill. Other suspicious characters? Clowns and scuba divers.
Know where to look.
When the daily grind of their total pampered existence takes on a minutely uncomfortable edge (“What’s that pea doing under my mattress?”), UHMs like to come down from their penthouse suites and immerse themselves in the teeming humanity of everyday life. Their chosen spot to remind themselves of the hyped-up anxiety and rude discomfort of the true daily grind? Starbucks. But not just any Starbucks. UHMs prefer the ones with the tightest quarters, the better to be annoyed by their fellow patrons queuing impatiently for their macchiato lattes. For kicks, they will always mutter their name, then laugh at the barista’s closest approximation.
Know how to look.
Finding a UHM requires three crucial things: good binoculars, an excellent bladder and a mildly engrossing book. Male watching is a full-day activity, so arrive early and grab a table with a clear view of the door. (Skip the counter; stools don’t provide back support and you’ll be facing away from the action.) Since you’re settling in for the long haul, it’s important to pace your purchases. A good rule of thumb is one drink every two hours. Go for small tea or regular coffee; fancier drinks will up your budget and calorie intake quickly. Keep your binoculars handy and don’t be shy about using them. Other women won’t mind the attention, and UHMs won’t risk their cover by complaining. Hold steady. Male watching might seem like a wasted effort but if you persist, I guarantee you’ll eventually see a human male. Which begs the question: What will you do when you find him?