It’s been a wild month.

Kate Upton had her Esquire cover debut (sort of), Tebowmania got its close-up, and Details… continued to be Details. In short, a lot of madness. We’ve pieced through it all below, article by article and suit by suit, and come away with this, an unusually pithy executive summary.

Here’s everything you need to know from March’s crop of magazines:

 
 
GQ (194 Pages)

The magenta cover is starting to worry us, if only because it matches both Paul Rudd’s shirt and Jennifer Aniston’s lipstick.

Zegna’s going for the artful, FedEx-envelope wrinkle in their latest crop of blazers.

David Hart’s shantung ties were made for glossy mags. Beautiful stuff, and exactly right for this moment in menswear. Seek them out.

… followed by a page on expensive sweatpants.

Unless your last name is Khalifa, incorporating rose gold into your wardrobe should not be high on your list of priorities.

Oh man, Margherita Missoni. Oh man.

Sloane Crosley has nerves of steel, even in the face of muggers and incredulous policemen. When Batman starts happening, she’ll be our first suspect.

Glenn O’Brien big-ups the huarache and starts beef with Men’s Health. We approve of both.

Immortal wisdom, from a John Cusack rant: “When you are the crazy foil to Nic Cage, something has gone terribly wrong.”

In the middle of a thoughtful, honest piece on vasectomies, the editors have pull-quoted the lone sentence that contains the word “spooge.” Spooge.

Brady Quinn aside, the Tebow oral history is a pretty good example of how to write about the man without trolling or bullshitting anybody. (Klosterman, we’re looking at you.)

Paul Rudd and Jennifer Aniston seem too well-adjusted to be good profile subjects. It’s like having coffee with your wacky cousins.

The infamous Zanesville zoo escape story spills onto a full 14 back-page columns. They really wanted to drown out the competition.

 
 
Esquire (176 pages):

A helpful “Rules of the Spa,” but we would have included “When in the steam room, resist the urge to argue about boxing.”

On page 49, NYPD Commish Ray Kelly is wearing what we’d call an old-school DB—which is to say, it fits like a bulletproof vest.

Anyone who names Kevin Smith Director of the Year is perilously close to having their Critic’s Card revoked. But apparently Scott Raab is undeterred.

March 2012: The month that Esquire suggested you listen to a Ben Kweller song.

This month’s out-of-context quote: “We’re still about 13 years away from any fully immersive sexual computer experience.” Mark your calendars.

A crucial detail of reporting: apparently, the stem cells in stem-cell-infused moisturizers may just be ground-up foreskin. That got very real, very fast.

Nick Sullivan reminiscing about his sweater-vest-hating headmaster is easily the highlight of the issue. Is it too much to hope for a Tobias Wolff-style memoir?

Fiction in Esquire! And a pretty good story at that.

We’ve said too much about this Jon Hamm piece already, but it bears repeating. This is totally off the rails.

Oh man, Kate Upton. Oh man.

Willem Dafoe has actually been named William this whole time. What the hell, man.

Oh, another Zanesville zoo story. I wonder if that was a thing

In the back, they give some love to military totes. If more people start making them, this could be a bona fide thing.

We know you’ve seen Clooney in them, and the Burkman guys, but you should still think really, really hard before you put on a Hawaiian shirt. If you’re more than 10 miles from a beach and it still seems like a good idea, think harder.

The Oliver Goldsmith shades are looking pretty good—the sweet spot between Robert Evans and late Capote.

And just in case the spring style catalog had you ramped up, here’s seven pages of wrenching layoff stories. They’re good, but… damn.

 
 
Details (188 pages):

“Is Your Diet Making You Go Bald?” There it is, right on the cover, proof that Details is the glossy incarnation of your hypochondriac ex-roommate who eventually had to be hospitalized.

Those $300 tumblers are actually quite tasteful.

Details and Esky are both pushing the new crop of ultrathin PCs. Quite possibly the least sexy thing in either magazine—and that includes the text-only roundup of social media experts.

This issue’s words of wisdom come from the first of their 31 rules of casual style: “Fit is everything. Bring a tailored aesthetic to even your most easygoing clothes.” Words to live by, especially as more gents learn how a suit should fit.

Having said that, Rule 31 involves taking style cues from Chris Paul.

“Why You Need a Sonic Face Brush.”

Obligatory insanely Details-y piece of the month: a service piece about “vanity” muscles, which help you look like a male stripper without actually bothering to get strong. It’s illustrated by three pages of naked, waxed torsos.

Then, a two-page spread that’s just shirtless photos of 50-plus-year-old celebrities. Obama is inconspicuously sandwiched between Matt Lauer and Woody Harrelson. (Did that sound weird?)

The cologne roundup looks beautiful, but it also contains the worst cologne ever made—Jean-Paul Gaultier’s Le Male.

Best thing in the magazine: the three-pager on “known donors” who donate sperm to lesbian couples, but stay present in their children’s lives. It’s a throwback to the Details that published Eggers and Chabon.

And finally, the pictorial on understated style includes a $3,200 leather T-shirt from Dior Homme.

—R.B.

CONTRIBUTORS

  • Russell Brandom