Category Archives: Shirtless Male Celebrities

Aaron Schock Shirtless – The First (And Last?) Hot Republican

While I’m decompressing from a fantastic anniversary weekend in Boston, here’s a bit more eye-candy. This is currently our youngest congressman, Aaron Schock. He’s a Republican, and that’s all I’m going to say. There have been whispers about Congressman Schock’s sexuality, mostly because this is not the first time he has posed shirtless, but I won’t believe it.

Being on the cover of Men’s Health does not automatically make one gay. (But it certainly doesn’t hurt…) It’s the belt, shirt and white pants combo that Congressman Schock wore at a summer party (as seen below) that is, well, slightly more incriminating. Don’t get me wrong – I love it and would totally wear it in a heartbeat… so you see what I’m saying.

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Novak Djokovic Strips to his Underwear

This is Novak Djokovic on some Montreal runway. He is a tennis player, I believe, from Serbia. Personally, I’ve had a thing against tennis ever since Wimbledon pre-empted ‘Days of Our Lives’ one summer. I also have a thing against short robes on men. Luckily Mr. Djokovic didn’t keep this one on for long. The black briefs are much better.

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Christian Bale Naked

This is, obviously, Christian Bale in his iconic title role of American Psycho. Arguably, this is when Mr. Bale was at his most prime form, chiseled and cut to the perfection that Patrick Bateman demanded. (Bateman is even more physically fit than Batman.)

Mr. Bale also reveals his soaped-up bottom in the film, and this in no way hurts his image in my eyes. In fact, it’s sort of the reason for this post.

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Where David Beckham Disrobes & Madonna Still Sings

One of the best aspects of a personal website, at least of those that I frequent, is the fact that you never quite know what you’re going to get. Because our blogs are so personal, and the human instrument so variable, it is unlikely to feature the same exact post twice. If anything, that is the underlying impetus of much of my life – it’s the reason why boredom and stagnation are my number one enemy. Things can get awfully dull when there is no room for growth or evolution or change or improvement. I will never understand those people so blind and set in their ways that they cannot open themselves up to new ideas, new ways of looking at the world, new experiences, and new hopes and dreams.

This website is what I often wish I was at my very best – and sometimes very worst, because in order to live up to the dizzying heights we ascribe to, it is necessary to wallow from time to time in the very muck from which we wish to rise. It’s contrast, the nice word for inconsistency and human frailty.

And so, as the year begins, the 8th year of www.ALANILAGAN.com (which roughly translates to 80 if we convert blog years to human years), I look to bring you more of the things that interest me, from David Beckham in his underwear to Ben Cohen in his, from Madonna in and out of her underwear to Shirley Horn alive again only in her extensive catalogue, from the safety and warmth of my marriage to the recalled journey of a young man mostly alone.

There will be travels and adventures at home and in lands far away, tales both remembered and yet to be lived, and always there will be the spring and the summer to come. It will be a journey of family lost and gained, loved and recalled and never forgotten, of friendships that have lasted through the decades, and new ones forged along the way. People will come and go, certain friends fade, certain friends renew, but ever and anon the love endures, the loyalty burns, and a laugh lingers forever.

So too will there be art – words to read, photography to see, music to hear, theater to experience, movies to watch – and somewhere in between is the art of this blog – and every blog – for there is indeed an art to sharing what we share with the world. In some ways it is the most accessible form of art – open to all, open to any, and relatively free from constrictions. It is still an art in its infancy, rife with failure and experimentation as it finds its own way. There is something raw and unfettered about it, and therein lies its potent of-the-moment glory. Perhaps its might is in its very temporal nature – both immediate and forever. Once put out there it is just as likely to be lost as it is to be forever embedded in someone’s files and spread and saved a billion times over. Who can foretell the lasting scope of this technology?

That’s where I’m headed – and you are invited to come along. No blog exists on its own. It took about eight years for me to realize that, proof that no one is too old or too stubborn to learn, no matter how much they think they know.

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Matthew Morrison – Gleefully Shirtless

Here is Matthew Morrison’s shaved chest in the new issue of Details. You know what? I’m not even going to get into the usual chest-hair diatribe because it’s been said over and over about the likes of Stephen Dorff and Chris Evans, so just add Mr. Morrison to that list. What is it about being on the cover of a magazine that makes men feel like they need to shave their chests? Oh well, Mr. Morrison makes up for it in other ways, with the dulcet tones of his voice for prime example. 

Let this be a holding space until he gets a proper Hunk of the Day honor. That day will come with a nude scene. Hint hint…

“I don’t trust a man with curly hair. I can’t help picturing small birds laying sulfurous eggs in there, and I find it disgusting.” – Sue Sylvester

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Ben Cohen – In All His Hairy Glory

Ben Cohen is my kind of man. Not too perfect, not too shaved, not too thin. And not too close to anyone’s idea of what they assume I would find attractive.

My taste in men has been largely non-traditional. Aside from the occasional moment of appreciation for the ubiquitous David Beckham bulge or butt, and the brief admiration of a shirtless Chris Evans or naked Jake Gyllenhaal, I just don’t find the usual torch-carriers of male beauty all that impressive.

George Clooney? Gross. Brad Pitt? Yawn. Tom Cruise? Ca-raaaazzzy.

Maybe it’s the way they’ve been built up or put on the cover of Vanity Fair all these years. There’s something about a hugely popular figure that everybody else thinks is gorgeous that makes me subconsciously seek out beauty of a different sort. It’s the same thing that happens when many male models make me yawn more than anything else. Perfection is tedious, it’s boring. And it’s not to be found outside of the photoshopped pages of magazines and fashion blogs.

[See, this is how manscaping should be done: a bit of trimming, then leave well enough alone.]

The guys I find most attractive are those who are more real, those with a bit of baggage around their midsection, or a less-than muscular build – the dorks and nerds. I prefer a real man with a healthy field of chest hair, or someone who’s got an extra pound or two, someone who’s lived life enjoying a couple of beers or carb-loaded pasta dishes. Twinks and muscle-heads need not apply. Take your waifish, your plucked, your oiled masses and leave them outside of my realm of desire. I’ll take a real man like my husband over such nonsense any day.

(And Ben Cohen, only because he’s straight and unavailable.)

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