The Everyman idea is a fallacy.
The guy who refers to himself as “just a regular dad” is, in fact, Extremely Extreme Sports Dad, oft spotted doing the school run.
He can do it because he’s his own boss. He heads up a consultancy firm that specialises in oblique business messaging. He comes and he goes. You never really know what he actually does, but on pay day, an earth mover arrives and dumps an unfeasible amount of cash into the back pocket of his jean shorts.
To add insult to injury, Extremely Extreme Sports Dad rocks up to the school run in his Extreme Sport clothes. That’s how we know what he’s into.
Clima-dri™weaves cover his body as if he’s about to do the London–Dakar, but Olympic-walking it.
He also runs. How do we know? He’s always got a strapped thigh—sorry—Extremely Strapped Thigh. He bikes. He’s got a ten-speed. Or is it a twelve-speed? Old school.
Extremely Extreme Sports Dad’s real name is probably Jonathan or Graham. He went to Auckland Grammar, where he was Extreme Head Boy.
He’s got a soft side. He’s got daughters. He knows all about how long the women take to get ready. And that’s about all he knows.
He’s 6 foot five, taller than anyone else. The children gather around him after school as he stops to have an Extremely Important chat with another budding alpha male (let’s call him Lachie). Who will win the conversation is anyone’s guess, but Jonathan is a disrupter in the consultancy world, and Lachie is afraid.
On Saturday, he’s on the football sideline, egging on his sons into a world of Extreme Sporting. Then they’re off, into the ten seater with someone else’s kids too for a big Saturday.
Later that night, Juliette and Rog are coming around for relaxing drinks and nibbles. The group will sprawl out onto the deck while Extremely Extreme Sports dad demonstrates his new drone.
And it’s over, another packed day. Soon it’s Monday again, time to do the school run, this time in a land yacht.