Anyway, as Brad was doing his requisite sadface Baywatch jog, scanning the ocean for a wife or one last shred of dignity, I noticed his waxed chest. And it made me depressed.
I think it made Brad's pecs and abs depressed, too. Look:
Can you spot the hidden face?
Now, I know that hairless chests are not a new thing. I know that for decades now guys have felt compelled for some reason to wax their torsos to a high sheen of Miss Hannigan standards in order to better display their sweaty muscles.
Which seems counter-intuitive to me. Muscles are masculine, yes, but so is hair. Hair is like the national flag of testosterone, right? So isn’t a spotty, bald chest emasculating? Isn’t it undermining the very chick-bating that the chicken cutlet breasticles were created to do?
I know that this logic has its flaws. Women, of course, are expected to shave and wax away every offending follicle until we resemble Kewpie dolls, only hungrier, and that sexist standard of beauty isn’t fair. But it also seems unfair that men now get to co-opt hairlessness. Hey, guy, that’s our sexist cross to bear. Me, Jane. You, Tarzan. Stop stealing my razors for your manscaping!
(To all you men who are naturally hairless, by the way, I am not trying to shame you. Like James Blunt sang so often during the summer of 2005 that I wanted to beat him to death with a blunt--ha--object, you’re beautiful. Full disclosure: My father actually got mocked for his lack of chest hair in his Columbia dorm’s common room in 1972, so it’s a discrimination issue close to my heart. Jeff also doesn’t have much chest hair, which makes no sense seeing as his legs and arms could be mistaken for John Oates’ head, although it’s growing in as he gets older.)
But seriously, here’s a visual comparison:
In bed with a hot chick...
Alone, on a beach, probably weeping and masturbating to Journey songs...
And look, I love Mr. Schue, even when his pubes have been Photoshopped into oblivion, leaving his pelvis looking melty. But you know what's not hot?
The stubble phase. Rug burn: not just for your back anymore. Amirite, laydees?
(Also, those boxer briefs. Is that Camilla from The Muppets?)
So consider this a PSA from me to you:
Chest hair: If you can grow it, show it.
And if you shave it, save it... to give to someone in need.
Like Bachelor Brad. The last thing he needs during one of those rose ceremonies is itchy nipples.