You are correct to think that this poster shows a male rather than female body, and not a very sexy one at that. Created by the Parisian advertising agency Leg, it encourages French attendance at the upcoming summer Olympic Games in London by poking fun at the stereotypical British physique; this softly beer-gutted man is more likely to throw darts than a javelin. Her Continue reading
This gallery contains 19 photos.
I fucking hate diaries. Could any literary form be more tediously self-indulgent? ‘Dear Diary, How are you? I am fine, doing laundry after cleaning out my walk-in closet, ready to distribute size 3, 4, and 5 jeans to skinny bitches at the gym. On the … Continue reading
We meet every Sunday in the change room, sometimes already wearing our Lululemon ass-lifting pants, sometimes still slightly drunk from the night before. But we are always there: FFG, PDDs, and Fitbabe. Even the Grim Reaper could not keep us away from this refashioned Lift and Bitch, a name that suitably recalls a history of female support and sociability. Continue reading
Everything is going my way these days, and I am finally at the competition of my dreams. This time, however, my partner is on stage, showing off his stuff, while I am in the audience, shouting encouragement. ‘Work it baby! You’ve got this!’ All that dieting, shaving, and shining is about to pay off, here, at the ‘Arnold Classic World’s Most Beautiful Balls Contest.’ Continue reading
As I step outside into the light, the sun’s rays trigger an intense physical memory. It is the summer of 2010, and I am on a warmly fragrant train headed toward Montpellier. Exhausted after touring the medieval fortress in Carcassonne, I slump into a rare empty seat, noticing that my partner, across the aisle and four rows ahead of me, has already fallen asleep. Smiling, I listen for the familiar sound of his snoring, but am distracted by the scent of wet dog mixed with unwashed scalp. A roughly dressed tattooed man and his placid canine have paused in the aisle beside me, evading the ticket-punching conductor. When the train unexpectedly comes to a complete stop, I turn to look out the window. Instead of a station, my eyes perceive a glowing expanse of French countryside filled with grape vines and poppies. To my amazement, two white horses suddenly cross the tracks a few feet from my car. I inhale sharply and hold my breath, as if my movements could startle them. Unperturbed by either the train or its contents, the wild, magnificent creatures toss their manes and slowly trot away. Over the intercom, a male voice hesitates as it apologetically explains that a delay has been ’caused by … horses.’ I now use this excuse whenever I am late for meetings. At the time, however, this unforgettable experience was imprinted on my body. Its sensory overload can be summoned by any number of smells and sounds. That is why, when I remembered les chevaux again last week, I knew that I was finally getting my body back. Continue reading
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