Mario Lopez is apparently launching his own line of men’s underwear. Ho hum. I say that while not being completely unimpressed with Mr. Lopez’s obvious physicial attributes. Hell, I’d kill for those abs and that chest, not to mention the arms and legs… but I delightfully digress. I just don’t get the point of a new men’s underwear line if this is it. Briefs and boxer briefs – how utterly and unapologetically original. And that ‘cute’ waist band slogan – nothing but embarrassing. If I’m trying to seduce someone, I’m not going to wear underwear that says something in hand-printed block letters. This isn’t grade school.
Category Archives: Underwear
December
2011
November
2011
When I Go Commando
It is entirely possible to inadvertently go commando. Let me explain by going over a bit of my daily routine. Every night, before I go to bed, I lay out whatever outfit I’m going to wear the next day. This saves time in the morning, and makes for better decisions. (Here’s a helpful hint going out to several of my co-workers: if you pick out your outfit in the light of the previous day, it saves so much heartache. For all of us. Especially those that have to look at you. I can’t tell you how many people apparently get dressed in the dark. Navy will never go with black. Ever. Personal opinion only.) But I digress…
When the morning comes, and I head into the bathroom for a shower, I bring in the outfit for the day and set it down, closing the door behind me and jumping into the shower. If I have forgotten to put a pair of underwear in the pile, I am always – always – too lazy to go across the hall and find a pair, so I simply go without. That’s how I end up going unintentionally commando now and then. Sometimes, it’s a nice change-up.
It’s the little thrills that matter.
October
2011
My First Awards Dinner
The Pride Center of the Capital Region celebrated its annual Awards Dinner this past Friday at the Hilton Garden Inn in Troy, and I was honored and humbled to be chosen as their ‘Volunteer of the Year’ for my work at the Romaine Brooks Gallery. The only glitch was that I was expected to make a little acceptance speech – and I do not do public speaking. However, right before we left for the night, a rainbow appeared over our front yard, so I took it as a good omen and started getting ready.
The trick to pulling off any decent outfit – and to feeling confident and secure in said outfit – is to start with a pair of underwear and socks that make you feel good, and as if you have a secret that no one will know about. In this case, a bright canary pair of Emporio Armani briefs and some matching argyle socks from Hugo Boss provide the necessary shot of fun to counteract any insecurities. And they’re my secret boost of confidence needed to pull off The Suit.
Yes, it’s a little bit plaid. Yes, it’s a little bit garish. And yes, it’s a little bit questionable – but for all those reasons and more I loved it. But what I loved more was the fact that some of my favorite people got to be there with me that night, including my Mom and best friend Suzie – who surprised me with a trip up from Brooklyn. I normally don’t like surprises – at all – but this was a good one, and Suzie always sets my mind at ease. It was exactly what I needed as the minutes leading up to the Awards ticked on, and my heart started to beat faster and faster.
According to the schedule, I was going to follow the Paul Postiglione Youth Services Award, given to Joshua Dunning Powell. Unfortunately for me, Mr. Powell gave the most moving and powerful speech of the night, recalling his days as a bullied child, and how no one had helped him. The whole room was choked up, and I was on the verge of balling. It was incredible – and easily the moment I would take away and remember from that night. I looked helplessly over to Suzie as if to ask ‘How the hell can I follow that?’ and chugged a glass of wine.
Luckily, there was a Silent Auction interlude, and some fundraising to be done, that both distracted and lightened the mood before I had to accept my award, and thank God. The always-entertaining Penny Larceny introduced me, and before I knew it I was at the podium.
“The only thing I hate more than public speaking is a pair of crocs,†said the man in the plaid suit, and then I quickly ticked off a brief list of people who helped me in managing the gallery, and then I was off. It was the briefest of speeches that night, but I survived it and could enjoy the rest of the evening worry-free.
And it was indeed a grand evening. Being that this was our first time attending the Pride Center’s Awards Dinner, I didn’t know what to expect. Surely not so many wonderful, supportive people from all communities – and certainly not so many moving moments that made me proud to be a gay man in the company of such fine citizens.
The best part of the night was seeing my family and friends gathered together to support me. That meant more to me than anyone would ever guess. Thank you Mom and Dad, Suzie, and Andy
September
2011
From Briefs to Boxers
Most guys (straight guys at least) don’t change their underwear style too often. They find something that they like and stick with it – forever. I’m not that way. I’ve been known to change up my underwear hourly if the situation arises (don’t ask). In the last few years, though, I have seen subtle patterns in my underwear-wearing emerge, mostly due to the seasonal variations of the Northeast. I hadn’t really noticed until I started getting into the boxer briefs this week and then it dawned on me. From now until the winter, there will be a gentle transition from briefs to boxer briefs to regular boxers.
The main difference between briefs and boxers is a delicate differentiation in comfort and temperature. I liken it to the distinction between gloves and mittens. Gloves, while form-fitting and tight to the skin, are actually less warm than mittens in the winter. The same principle seems to apply to briefs – which seems at odds with what most people might think. I find that boxers – like mittens – are a bit warmer. Body heat and humidity get to move around a bit, instead of being whisked away by the capillary action of fabric fibers close to the skin.
Yes, this is a shoddy bit of science, probably none of it true – but mind over matter. And, as always, style over substance. As long as my underwear matches my outfit, I’m happy. Onward to the boxers!
March
2011
Disrobing for a Day Nap
Our place in Boston is a second-story floor-through – meaning it has windows in both the front (living room and kitchen) and back (bedroom and bathroom). As such, we are fortunate to have a bay window that lets afternoon sunlight into the bedroom, flooding the space with light. This is one of my favorite places to take an afternoon nap. After a few minutes of reading, I find it easy to slip into snooze-mode for a couple of hours, even in the bright sunlight.
It is quiet here, too, despite being in the middle of the city. When I worked for John Hancock I sometimes made it home for lunch, luxuriating in the mid-day quiet, pausing in the brief respite of peace. It was – and remains – a restorative moment and place. (These days I wouldn’t make it one-sixth of the way to Boston on my lunch half-hour, but on long weekends it’s a manageable, easy trek.)
Sleeping in a bed bathed in sunlight is its own priceless excursion. In the simple there is so often the sublime, and I didn’t even have to leave my bedroom to find it.
February
2011
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.
February
2011
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.
January
2011
Battle of the Bulges: Cristiano Rinaldo vs. Rafael Nadal
Full-disclosure: If they weren’t in their underwear, I’d have no idea who these two men were. I don’t follow soccer/football/American soccer/American football (these are apparently four different things), so if it weren’t for Armani (and the skivvie-trailblazing by David Beckham) I honestly wouldn’t know Ronaldo from Rafael. However, being that they are in their Armani underwear (Mr. Nadal recently took up the shorts previously filled by Mr. Ronaldo and Mr. Beckham), I can bring my more substantial knowledge of fashion to the floor and offer my take on who better wears them. First, a look at the contenders:
Above is Mr. Ronaldo. Kudos to him for following the ballsy choice to wear briefs in some of his ads. The original underwear star, Mark Wahlberg, in all his iconic poses of the 90’s, never once wore briefs. Boxer briefs, yes, but they don’t count as true briefs. It wasn’t until David Beckham crotch-rocketed his bulge onto billboards the world over that briefs became acceptable for the big names to wear. That gives Mr. Ronaldo a rather impressive edge over his follow-up:
In his first ad for Armani, Mr. Nadal is wearing a pair of trunks, shorter and more revealing than boxer briefs, but still not a true pair of briefs. This is only the first glimpse of the ad campaign, however, so I’m guessing there is more revealing fare to come.
If I had to choose at this point, (and it would be a gun-to-the-head choice as I find neither of these men all that appealing – just not my taste), I’d have to go with Ronaldo, but only because he’s had a chance to grow on me. (Truth be told, I found his ads horrendous the first time I saw them – I don’t care enough to post them here, but Google his Armani work and tell me his eyebrows don’t freak you out.) But like all savvy advertising, they were so ubiquitous that I came to appreciate his body and its curves, even if I never could bring myself to say I found him attractive. Perhaps the same will hold for Nadal, provided he steps into a pair of briefs and goes balls-out to the world.
January
2011
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.
November
2010
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.)
November
2010
The Madonna Timeline: Song #11 – ‘Justify My Love’
{Note: The Madonna Timeline is an ongoing feature, where I put the iPod on shuffle, and write a little anecdote on whatever was going on in my life when that Madonna song was released and/or came to prominence in my mind.}
I wanna kiss you in Paris,
I wanna hold your hand in Rome,
I wanna make love on a train… cross-country…
This came out in December of 1990, and as I was not yet a superfan, I don’t remember much about when the big brouhaha went down. The MTV ban, the Nightline premiere and interview, and video’s commercial release – missed it all. To be honest, I never much liked the song (where exactly is the song?) It seems more of a simple recitation of mildly erotic lyrics set to a mediocre percolating beat, with nary a glimpse of melody. I like songs that have a bit more substance to them.
Of course, ‘Justify’ was all about the video, and it remains a not-that-naughty bit of soft-porn, S&M-tinged pop art that looks rather quaint today. (And features the timelessly hot piece of ass known as Tony Ward, for which the term bubble-butt seems perfectly made.)
(Surely this post deserves a bit of the butt of the man who caught Madonna’s eye – an eye that sometimes favors body over face. It’s nice to see that Mr. Ward still fills out his briefs like nobody’s business.)
I do think the remixes of this song (one of the first times William Orbit worked on her stuff, I believe) are superior to the source material – and the one version I came to enjoy was her performance of the song on The Girlie Show Tour in 1993. (And only the end, when the actual singing began.)
Some have pointed to ‘Justify My Love’ as the seed that resulted in the Sex/Erotica debacle, and that may be true. Personally, I don’t care how sexy you get as long as you have a catchy tune to put it over – for me, ‘Justify’ wasn’t it.
Poor is the man whose pleasures depend on the permission of another.
Song #11: ‘Justify My Love’ – December 1990