While, yes, The Strokes had their place and time back in 2001 and 2003 with Is This It and Room on Fire, the band’s downhill slide mirrored that of other similar acts of the era, including, say, Franz Ferdinand. And so, there is a certain breed of “man” who relishes telling others that his favorite band is still The Strokes. He is usually a “man” from New York and therefore feels the need to support one of the city’s largest claims to pop culture fame apart from The Ramones, a band The Strokes has ripped off in many a way.
He is also the type of “man” to be in a band himself, playing that odious word, “gigs,” at haunts like Baby’s All Right and Shea Stadium, just hoping and praying for someone to notice that his “style” is different than all the other indie groups in town. Not too different, but just different enough–much like The Strokes themselves, who haven’t had a decent album since, at best, 2006.
More than the clothes making the “man,” it’s his musical taste–and The Strokes say it all with their moniker: “men” who worship them are merely self-stroking their phantom appendage.