We're Hot But Not In A Flirty Way

That's according to Eros, who is mine - and The Internet's - newest hero

There’s a guy on TikTok going viral for his hilarious hot takes on women. Mainly he’s going viral because he is more on our side than we are! His name is Eros Brousson. I know, you cannot make it up. A man who adores women whose name is Eros.

He’s French, bearded and tattooed and has racked up millions of views for his funny videos on socials. Obviously, his gruff French accent helps. He tells a recent podcaster that he was suffering from heart break a year ago when he first started posting or as he tells it: “I had heart break at the time, thank God… I am over it.”

“One day, 3am in my bed, nothing to do, checked social media, I see a guy doing these kinds of videos and it made me laugh.” So far, so all of us. Only Eros decided, with a Gallic shrug, that he didn’t have anything better to do so he posted his first video. “I was happy to do it. I was not looking for fame, [then] one day I woke up and I touch my phone and its burning. My phone was not working anymore it was too hot. Finally, managed to open it and I got 50 000 followers overnight.”

Yep, that is how much woman around the world love Eros and that is how quickly he went viral. Explosive. It happened in ten days. He’s now been at it a year with half a million followers on Instagram and more than 800K on Tiktok.

It’s not heard to see why if you watch him. This is what he has to say about menopause… Do yourself a favour and read this in a French accent, its is immeasurably better.

“Menopause is your villain origin story, your glow down, glow up, zero fucks given soft launch into your ultimate era…” I mean, forking hell Eros, could you have said it any better? And I am not one to rizz up being mansplained, but jirre – who can match this description?

He also says: “You’re hot, but not in a flirty way.” Viciously iconic. Getting it printed on tee-shirts. You know who is hot but NOW in a flirty way? Two women recently knocked it out of the proverbial park…

Nic Kidman has chopped off her hair or finally removed her odious wig - can’t say which - and rolled into the Met Gala with the shortest, sleekest, chicest, slicked-back bob that was so rock ‘n roll, I screamed. Truly, she has never looked better. It is sensational. Not to be tried on actual mortals, but sensational.

And then just a few days later, Andie MacDowell - my full-time hero since Four Wedding And A Funeral for actually being on screen with curly hair - stepped onto the Cannes red carpet in a fiercely tailored tux and the coolest, silver ‘do the world has ever seen. RIP. I am dead. How hot is this lewk?

As someone who’s mother firmly believed in the ‘no long hair after a certain age’ rule (who made this rule?!), I have long known she probably thinks I am totally taking the piss being 50 and still mangling my hair into a top knot every time it gets in my face. She would have told me a thousand times to just cut it if I wasn’t going to do anything with it.

Well, mumsy, I finally did cut it. But now I just feel like a total nerd-ball in comparison to these two properly epic chops that have just taken place. I think I might need to try again!

Good hair does wonders for feeling hot and in a flirty way, btw. I am, however, sitting pecking away at this newsy from Franschhoek and am rather hot in very hot and bothered way.

It’s the Franschhoek Literary Festival this weekend – hope to see some of you here! Please come say hi. And Franschhoek, being in the depths of the Cape Winelands, is arguably the ideal location for a woman in menopause. It is surrounded by wine-soaked vineyards and is generally always fairly nippy or damp in winter. Plus, for one weekend of the year in May, it is chock-a-block full of book lover and authors, thus making it even more perfect.

So allow me this deep and heartfelt menopausal sigh when I tell you that I have landed into knee-tremblingly hot weather. In this little enclave of the world, it is quite suddenly and surprisingly summer. Proper summer’s days predicated all weekend. Glorious for a festival and take-me-to-your-nearest-true-crime-documentary for anyone experiencing the, ahem, faintest blush of menopause.

Being someone who considers herself a professional packer, I have packed like an absolute arsehole. I think is says something about the woman you are becoming when you can check the weather app, disregard it entirely based on your own experience and pack clothes that align to previous visits rather than what’s in front of your very eyes. Its like not trusting the machine with the one task it is designed to do and relying on your gammy knee to tell you if there is rain predicted. Note to self: the knee is it to be trusted.

I am not alone though. I have already intercepted a marvellous author of my age-ish, who I know is much smarter than me, legging it into town to buy breezy cotton pyjamas. She yelled over her shoulder as she shot out the door: “I packed like an idiot!”

Same, girl, same. Also hot, but not in a flirty way.