As reluctant as I am to join the general scrum that resulted from the president's desultory performance in last Thursday's debate, the shebeen does have certain public responsibilities. However, let me say that rarely has my profession behaved so badly, and rarely has my low opinion of the Democratic party's essential backbone been so thoroughly justified. Exhibit A on Point One: On his way to a fundraiser in the Hamptons, the president was greeted by six people carrying signs urging him to resign. Within minutes, at least five respected members of the political media—and you know who you are—leaped onto the Xwitter machine to share a picture of these pasty jamokes like their presence meant something. |
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Consider this your personal handbook for navigating the dressy but not too dressy aesthetic. |
| Celebrate our country with big TVs and big savings. |
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You have to respect Kevin Costner's loyalty to the old-fashioned western. Since the earliest days of his career in Hollywood, the actor and director has done well by the genre (Silverado, Wyatt Earp, Open Range), and the genre has done well by him in return. But watching Horizon: An American Saga—Chapter 1, the opening installment of a planned four-part cycle, you can't help but wonder if his loyalty has turned into folly. After all, Costner has already sunk $38 million of his own money into the frontier epic. And it's not as if audiences in 2024 are lining up outside multiplexes waving signs for more westerns. If I were his accountant, I'm not sure that I'd advise him to keep plowing ahead with this passion project. While Horizon is, at times, a maddeningly flawed film, I'd be lying if I said I didn't enjoy it. |
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The June debate had to have been one of the worst presidential debates in history. Esquire Members sat down with Charles P. Pierce to get into what and why and how on earth. |
| In the latest edition of our video series, "Iconic," we explore the equestrian roots of one very famous slip-on. |
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I'm never doing that again. This was the first thought that went through my head as I crossed the finish line of the New York City Marathon, my very first. It was a brisk, sunny day in November 2023, and my skin was encrusted with salt. Muscles felt like old rubber tires. I really wanted a banana. After a few more steps, I was handed a finisher's medal. Some pretzels. Gatorade. No banana, but slowly, I started to feel more human. I was transformed, though. These 26.2 miles were the most I had ever done. The accomplishment started to sink in. Dude, you just ran a MARATHON! My attitude toward running another one began to change. This was one of the good days. Complete strangers would shout my name–in an encouraging manner! How often does that happen in NYC? If I ran a bit easier, next time could be more fun, less suffering. |
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