What I Learned about Style from Bret Michaels's "Girls on Bars"

People love to think that The Olsen Twins invented “

pruning

” for photographers, but that’s wrong. It was actually

Bret Michaels

. He was teasing, greasing, and “

pruning

” before MK and Ash were even born. “Pruning” for a photograph is basically “duck lips”—that whole mouth trend that famed when teenagers started taking selfies for their MySpace profiles—you part your lips, then, kiss out the word “

prune

.”

In the 80s, Bret Michaels was a glam rock king who fronted the band Poison and bank rolled star fuckers. Then, he got all Hollywood and tried film. More recently, he’s re-famed for his dating reality show Rock of Love and kept busy attempting to sue The Tony Awards when the stage set-up crashed down on his head. Rock of Love was solid TV. (There hasn’t been a reality show that perfectly demented since The Ashlee Simpson Show.)

Say it with him now: "Pruuuuuune."

Now, Michaels is back with a new studio album True Grit. It’s Michaels going full-blown CMT country and the first single, “Girls on Bars” is an all-American classic that puts city-dwelling, fashion snobs in their place. Fuck you and your tailored pant suits, Fran Leibowitz. Leave nothing to the imagination. “Girls on Bars” is more than just style lessons, it’s life lessons. The lessons of America, man. The lessons from the Rock of Love himself.

(The only thing missing in this video is a Charlie Sheen cameo.)

Look, lady. I know you are “working” in a highly dangerous environment full of grease, heavy metal, tools and other car parts that could potentially slice your breasts open like a bag of sand, but that is NO excuse to forget what really matters about you: your god damn tits. Why do you think the jumper your boss gave you was missing the first five buttons? Hello. Earth to the male-fantasy-of-a-female-mechanic: a girl ain’t shit without her tits.

Hair metal bands of the 80s were gender-bending, flamboyant men who would fuck you stupid, then steal your best black eyeliner on the way out the door. And you were totally fine with that. The Reagan era rained rock 'n’ roll “masculinity” and sex appeal in the form of red spandex, teased, bleached hair and men in more make-up and jewelry than your grandmother in her casket. Brett was a bangle-sporting, “pruning” pioneer and just because he’s going modern country, does NOT mean he (and YOU, guy) should shake off your glam metal sensibilities. Is your Five-Head so hot its making everyone jealous? Did you lose your eyebrows while trying to light that BBQ for the tailgate? Whip on a brightly colored headband. Is your chest feeling a little mundane? Layer on those chains, brosephine. And remember: bangles, bangles, bangles, bangles! Bracelets are for bitches, bangles are for bros.

Yes, it’s perfectly OK to use the eyebrow pencil your ex-wife dropped behind the downstairs toilet bowl to color in your goatee. In fact, it’s encouraged. Scribble in a soul patch! You do you. (Side note: Your girl's eyeliner is one thing, but she's gonna get pretty pissed if you keep stealing her extensions, Brett.)

Day jobs are so pathetic. Who has them? Not rockers, man. No fucking way. Rockers are too busy slamming puss, shooting tequila, and blasting their custom Marshall stacks up to 11 to even think about computers and paperwork. That’s nerd shit, man. All offices should really go up in flames, but since arson is a felony, Brett is going to metaphorically burn down the corporate bull crap of America with his flaming acoustic guitar and killer jams. (Just forget that Brett’s salary is cut in these very buildings… nothing matters with the fiery, delusional power of RAWK.)

There’s this Van Morrison song from 1971 where he sings, “All the girls walk by dressed up for each other” and you know what? That’s what it is. The fashion you like is just for you and your chicks. Ladies, look: that kimono-inspired Maxi dress ain’t doing your body any favors. Real MEN do not want to bang The Paper Bag Princess (plus, her feminist rage was totally NOT foxy.) You want to land a man? Think of the Michael Scott Rule: K.I.S.S. (Keep It Simple Stupid!) All you need is a tight bare of jean shorts (preferably undone), cleavage, and a bikini top. Double points if your bikini top is an American flag. Triple points for the Confederate flag. (Triple points equals a love making session with Kenny Powers.) As the moral of this song goes, “Boys like girls dancing on bars” and you can’t shake it on the bar like Coyote Ugly in a billowy frock.

Continues below.

Country is wholesome, good ol’ American badassery. And you know what badasses do NOT do? Waste their coins on expensive cowboy hats. You can pick up a perfectly sexy, bedazzled cowboy hat from the dollar store. Spend the rest of your dough on makeup, because you are invisible without it.

Every man knows that a girl loves a boy driving a fancy car. Bret says it in the song, duh. But you know what girls like even better? When boys hang their heads out the side of their ride and shoot off a round of finger guns. As long as you, the man, are in the front seat (only “scrubs” ride in the passenger seat, thanks TLC) then you will impress her.

Men can get “thick” with age and disguise their flaws with headbands, cowboy hats and tons of sexy flare, but ladies have to keep their bodies in check. You never know when you might find yourself dancing like a snake being charmed out of a basket in front of a green screen sunset. Your brain will eventually deteriorate, but with enough starvation, surgery and skin cream, that silhouette can be sexy forever.

Mish Way is flexing her finger guns. When she's not doing that she's fronting White Lung and she's on Twitter.