The appeal of men
in work shorts.

I would like to make a considered literary argument for men’s thighs. Specifically, men’s thighs in work shorts. The sort of shorts bought with durability in mind and worn by a man who appears to have no idea that sitting down has just changed the atmosphere.

When I made Tristan’s thighs one of his finest features in Ideally Positioned, I knew exactly what I was doing. A good pair of legs can tell a reader something about a man before he opens his mouth. They can also make a very capable woman forget what she intended to say. Both were useful to me.

Evie sells prestige property. She understands presentation, proportions and the importance of a good first impression. It seemed only fair to introduce her to a man whose best features were visible without a floor plan.

There is something particularly effective about the work-short hemline. Standing up, it is reasonably well behaved. Then its owner sits on a low wall, bends a knee or steps up into a truck, and the fabric makes a small adjustment. Nothing has technically happened. Nevertheless, you have lost the thread of a conversation about parking.

I suspect the appeal, for those of us susceptible to it, is partly that sense of catching something in passing. The man is occupied. The clothes have a purpose. We get a glimpse of the body inside an ordinary day, and our attention supplies the rest.

Naturally, I would love to claim that this is a sophisticated new development in the female gaze. History, rather inconveniently, has receipts.

In eighteenth-century European menswear, breeches and stockings made the male lower leg highly visible. Stocking decoration deliberately drew attention to the calf; by the 1770s, some men were putting padding inside their stockings to improve its shape. The Cooper Hewitt, Smithsonian Design Museum records this detail, which I offer in affectionate solidarity with every woman who has ever adjusted a bra before leaving the house. Cooper Hewitt

Men have been arranging their legs to advantage for centuries. Some of their ancestors even brought equipment.

The calf is, admittedly, downstairs from our present subject. But the principle is familiar: clothes direct the eye, and what they reveal or outline becomes part of the conversation. A hemline has always been capable of making an introduction.

Australia developed its own wonderfully practical contribution. Stubbies shorts launched in 1972, and a surviving advertising poster describes them as “The Little Short For The Big Jobs”. Whoever approved that line left very little work for a romance author. Stubbies advertising history

The Australian work-short look has a particular place in my imagination: cotton drill, boots, sun on bare legs, someone getting on with the day. It belongs comfortably beside the servo coffee and the early start. For a Sydney romance, that familiarity matters. The appealing man might be on the street outside your house. You could encounter him while putting the bins out in an old T-shirt, which is an outrageous failure of notice.

Literature has been interested in capable working men for rather longer than my publishing career. In Thomas Hardy’s Far from the Madding Crowd, Gabriel Oak’s practical knowledge becomes part of his romantic importance. When a storm threatens Bathsheba’s harvest, he recognises the danger and works to protect it. Read through a romance lover’s eyes, the attraction is easy to understand: here is a man who notices what needs doing and does it. Thomas Hardy, Far from the Madding Crowd

I am not suggesting Hardy wrote an extended appreciation of thighs. I am suggesting that competence has excellent literary credentials. Give Gabriel an Australian summer uniform and I would be willing to revisit the syllabus.

D. H. Lawrence brings us closer to the experience of suddenly noticing a man’s body. In Lady Chatterley’s Lover, Connie unexpectedly sees Mellors washing outside his cottage. He is absorbed in an ordinary private act; she is unsettled by the glimpse. What interests me is Lawrence’s attention to his vulnerability and aloneness as well as his physical beauty. The encounter makes him intensely present to her. D. H. Lawrence, Lady Chatterley’s Lover, Chapter 6

That is useful territory for a novelist: the everyday moment that becomes charged because of the person looking. A body can arrive in a story through a movement, a little exposed skin, an unexpectedly intimate detail. The reader understands the attraction because she has been allowed to notice it too.

Television and film have their own contributions to the discussion. Tom Selleck’s introduction in Magnum, P.I. involves short swimming trunks and a man actively getting on with his work. There is a long screen tradition of putting an attractive man in practical motion and trusting the audience to pay attention. Magnum, P.I. costume analysis

Then Daniel Craig walked out of the sea in Casino Royale, wearing blue trunks that made a persuasive case for giving Bond a turn as the view. Costume designer Lindy Hemming was explicit about the intention: “And why should it always be the girls in the bikinis!” Lindy Hemming interview

A fair question. It is healthy for a franchise to review its allocation of responsibilities.

And then we come to Connell.

Paul Mescal’s Connell in the television adaptation of Sally Rooney’s Normal People wears GAA shorts: Gaelic games kit, with a very recognisable Irish sporting identity. Costume designer Lorna Mugan described a wardrobe of familiar basics that follows him from Sligo into his university life, where it distinguishes him from wealthier, more fashion-conscious peers. The shorts belong to his world. Lorna Mugan on the costumes of Normal People

That feels central to their appeal. With the adult Connell, the physical confidence of an athletic body sits alongside emotional uncertainty. He can look entirely at home in his clothes while struggling to find the words he needs. For me, the combination gives the image its charge. We are looking at a person whose strength and vulnerability occupy the same space.

His chain received considerable attention. I simply believe the wardrobe department deserves recognition further south.

Of course, liking the view and explaining why you like it are different exercises. There is some research on male legs and attractiveness, although it is much narrower than the question of why a particular woman finds a particular man distracting.

A 2018 paper in Royal Society Open Science reported three studies in which heterosexual women in the United States rated computer-generated male figures. Legs slightly longer relative to the body than the study’s baseline were preferred. The researchers were testing proportions, not thigh thickness, work shorts or the emotional consequences of a man leaning against your kitchen bench. Their findings cannot supply a universal formula for women’s desire. Versluys, Foley and Skylark, 2018

My own interest is in the combination: the shape of a leg, the way someone moves, what he is doing, how he treats the woman noticing him. Attraction becomes much more interesting when it acquires a person.

For me, a strong thigh can suggest steadiness. Work clothes can bring associations of physical effort and familiarity. Those are impressions a writer can play with, not evidence of a man’s character. His behaviour still has to earn the reader’s affection. Shorts have pockets; they do not contain references.

That distinction matters with Tristan. I wanted his physical appeal to feel at home in his working life, and I wanted Evie’s response to be gloriously inconvenient. She has a schedule. She has responsibilities. She is accustomed to assessing the room. Then this man enters her field of vision and her attention becomes much less professionally distributed.

In the opening chapter, she notices his legs after he has pushed her clear of a car. His navy council shorts are described as “practical and cut too high for public safety”. The attraction interrupts an already chaotic moment, which is precisely why I enjoy it. Desire has appalling administrative manners. Read Chapter 1 of Ideally Positioned

Making his thighs memorable also lets Evie look with specificity. I wanted her desire to have a point of view: she notices particular things about this particular man. A broad description of a handsome hero can leave the reader standing at a distance. One detail that the heroine cannot quite stop noticing brings us much closer.

And I like giving her that appetite. She is allowed to be interested in his body. She is allowed to have an unhelpful thought during a perfectly serious day. Her attraction belongs to her, with all its humour, impatience and occasional damage to concentration.

Tristan’s strength also sits very comfortably alongside a woman who knows what she wants. I find that combination appealing: a physically imposing man who can be warm, attentive and receptive. His body can promise strength while his choices make room for hers. That is where the romance gets interesting to me.

So yes, I chose his thighs deliberately. They help place him in his world. They give Evie something wonderfully specific to notice. And they let me put a little mischief into the distance between the woman she intends to be in public and the thoughts she is actually having.

I could give you another paragraph about characterisation. But honesty belongs somewhere in this article.

I also thought they would look very good in work shorts.

Elira Hope is the author of Ideally Positioned, a spicy Sydney romance featuring a prestige property agent, a gorgeous garbo and a distracting pair of navy council shorts. Meet Evie and Tristan in the free first chapter.