The April Issues
Gentlemen, a new month is upon us.
The good news is, this one features a lot more Sofia Vergara from Esquire and a 100 points of spring style from GQ, among other things. Naturally, we don’t agree with every last piece of it, so we’ve provided a running commentary for this month’s print crop, separating the sublime from the ridiculous. Consider this the Cliffs Notes version.
Here’s everything you need to know from March’s crop of magazines:
GQ (168 pages)
The editor’s note devotes a full paragraph to Linsanity puns. It was a simpler time.
The vintage watch piece finally shows some love for Calatravas. Too often lost in the diver’s shuffle.
Is it just us, or does Ben Clymer’s woodcut portrait make him look like a 40-year-old Indian man?
A rule of thumb: when a classic item (like, say, the boat shoe) has been around long enough that it needs a crazy multicolored version to seem current, it’s probably time to back away. Or just stick to the standard Sperrys.
Like Sid Mashburn himself, Sid Mashburn coverage never goes out of style.
Oh snap, Glenn O’Brien just called some guy a “pretentious bounder.”
What do Game of Thrones and Girls have in common? “Startling amounts of rear-entry sex.” Gotta love pay cable.
Drew Magary’s “So I Bought a Minivan” piece bears an eerie structural resemblance to last month’s “So I Got a Vasectomy” piece. Just saying.
It doesn’t matter how many green gingham shirts you put on John Slattery. Everyone knows he looks better in white and gray.
Alongside genuinely back things like faded jeans and cargo pants, GQ has officially resurrected the trucker hat. This will not stand.
Our favorite thing about the GQ 100: it is 20% shoes.
The sentence of the month, from Molly Young: “Everything I know about the styling industry I’ve learned from watching The Rachel Zoe Project, which is exactly like Moby-Dick but with a tiny bronzed woman instead of Ahab.”
Esquire (154 pages)
Triumph is just running full-page pictures of Steve McQueen as ads at this point. We approve.
Every time I see Sean Avery in a Hickey Freeman ad, I feel like I’m about to be punched in the face. Every time.
This month in Esquire/GQ conflict: Andy Langer recommends a Justin Townes Earle song that’s currently streaming at GQ.com. Watch the throne, chaps.
Style writing often gets huffy about the slim-not-skinny distinction, but it would be easier just to say “don’t dress like Russell Brand.”
Miles Johnson of Levi’s Made & Crafted on a pair of broken-in jeans: “They look like lilac and they feel like peach skin.” Poetry.
We whole-heartedly support putting Sofia Vergara on the cover (really!) but surely they could have found something to talk about other than hazy generalizations about Latin women.
Chris Jones’ rueful consideration of the worst sex he’s ever had is pretty good evidence for separating out sex surveys and windy magazine writing.
The biggest surprise from Esquire’s sex survey: half of American men have received oral sex while driving. Buckle up out there.
Esquire still does the suddenly-getting-real move better than anyone else on the newsstand—like following up nine pages of skin-happy sex writing with a wrenching longform piece about infidelity. Gets us every time.
Esquire’s style has gotten a lot more British lately—all straight-backed men with briefcases, ready to negotiate petroleum contracts.
DETAILS (128 pages)
The guy in the Louis Vuitton ads looks more like James Dean each time.
The earnest Rust Belt photographer chose a very silly hat to wear in his author photo.
Moshe Kasher has written a searing memoir of a childhood marked by mental institutions and casual cruelty, and he would prefer you did not mention his writing for Chelsea Lately.
This issue offers definitive proof: Alison Brie always looks amazing, even if you just have her lying on her back in a parking lot.
A strange homeless man has wandered into the magazine, and they’re saying he was the frontman for Soundgarden.
Contra the travel piece: anyone who packs less than three shirts for a work trip is asking to be spilled on.
The buzz cut looks great on Chris Evans, Michael Fassbender and Channing Tatum. Pattinson, on the other hand, just looks like a mental patient.
This month’s Most Detailsy Thing Ever is a three-way tie between “Carbs are the New Bling,” “The Rise of the Celebrity Nutritionist,” and the sentence “Epaulets will add structure and definition to your shoulders, even if you’ve already sculpted them at the gym.”
Crucial news of the month: “Getting his penis tattooed (with the phrase ‘good luck with your journeys’) gave a 21-year-old Iranian man a permanent erection. He told reporters he has no regrets.” We’ll file that under “unconfirmed.”
Is Jason Statham a gay icon yet? And if not, why not?
And on page 120, a gentleman sitting backwards on a motorcycle, wearing a denim jacket and a mankini.
The 126/127 spread looks like two people who have forgotten how to have sex. Her foot’s in his face and he’s clawing at the outside of her thigh. You’re doing it wrong! Don’t you read Esquire?