I step away from my GQ for like five minutes and look what mysteriously happened:
…That’s right: Lance strikes back!
You have to understand that unlike the vast majority of people, Lance does not find people attractive. Well, okay, let me back that up a bit: Lance doesn’t have cute little celebrity crushes like the rest of us. No, instead, Lance merely acknowledges attractiveness, and in his Choose-Your-Own-Adventure, he picks the route where he doesn’t appreciate it so much as despises it.
Take the above model, for example. This dude is Arthur Kulkov, model for everything under the sun, previously of Macy’s but now mostly Tommy Hilfiger and H&M. Now, can anybody really argue that this little Russian blini is an ugly turd? I mean, look at the guy! At the very least, you have to acknowledge that this Soviet pinko commie is objectively a good looking dudeski, da.
[Wait! Maybe this is what Mitt Romney meant when he said that Russian is our number one geopolitical foe–their sexy Siberian models are like sirens to us weak-in-the-knees Americans.]
Lance won’t admit that Arthur Kulkov, or Bradley Cooper, or Henry Cavill are nice eye-candy. To him, they’re repugnant. Lance detests them; when he sees them, he lets out an involuntary, “UGGGGH!”
I’ll let you in on a little secret, though: Lance loathes these Messrs. Beefcake for a simple reason–he actually finds them terribly (and terrifically) attractive, but at the same time, he just can’t handle the competition. Therefore, he’s got to cut them down in order to feel better about himself. (Maybe this is why we don’t have many gay friends…)
“Henry Cavill’s teeth are crooked.”
“Bradley Cooper…was on Alias, which I didn’t like, so he has bad judgment, a fatal character flaw.”
“UGH! That Arthur Kulkov is…um…err…I see fat rolls. Oh, God, who am I kidding? I don’t know! He’s perfect!” [runs away, crying]
Lance, instead, finds celebrity crushes in those I think we can all agree are…second-string. His current crush is Aussie everyman Sam Worthington…who, you know, is perfectly average in every way (except for the fact that he starred in the highest-grossing movie of all time and all that.) Lance likes Sammy because he’s not threatening in any way–he’s not more attractive than Lance, and he’s certainly no more of a natural thespian than my hubby, either.
See, that’s the great curse of The Gay: we’re attracted to somebody, but at the same time we often envy the same traits we like about them. It’s tough, man.
I openly admit that I am taking advantage of the fact that Lance hates people he finds truly attractive. I coast along right under the top, threatening echelon (or so I hope!), all the while enjoying the very gorgeousness he seems so oblivious about:
For a long time, I thought that if Lance ever realized how attractive he was, instead of berating himself all the time for brown teeth or disproportionately long arms, our marriage’d be over faster than Britney Spears’s Vegas wedding to Jason Alexander (no, not that one). Now, I realize, though, that he couldn’t possibly stand to be around somebody as attractive as himself. So what does that mean for me? Hell, that’s fine with me! I’ll ride this gravy train ’til the end! Choo choo!