The tank top is a tricky one. You're walking around in what is, traditionally, an undergarment or a piece of sportswear in the old-timey sense. It can make you feel vulnerable—even a little inappropriate, maybe. Wearing one, in my book, is more daring than going fully topless to collect as much vitamin D as possible. It's a move, is what I'm saying, and it's not an easy one. But I also believe wearing a tank top can look incredibly cool when done correctly. A lot of "doing it correctly" comes down to confidence, panache, or just acceptance and love of your body—and those are three things I think every guy needs to have. So in a weird, roundabout way, I am very much a fan of the tank top and what it can do for a guy. |
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Amidst WWE's booming presence on Netflix is the new documentary series WWE: Unreal, which takes cameras deep into the locker rooms and writers' rooms (yes, WWE employs narrative writers) to reveal how the in-ring sausage is made. The first season chronicles the months and weeks leading up to WrestleMania 41, held in Las Vegas last April. It "pulls back the curtain," so stated in the series by WWE's chief content officer and de-facto showrunner Paul Levesque, himself a multi-time champion by the name Triple H. "Drive to Survive for WWE" was clearly the elevator pitch for WWE: Unreal, with sprinklings of Greg Whiteley (Wrestlers, America's Sweethearts: Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders) and his body of non-scripted sports dramas. The walls of kayfabe have come down brick by brick over the years, but Unreal marks its historic demolition on a scale many fans never thought possible, at least under previous management. While wrestling matches are predetermined—"winners" are figured out beforehand—and not unpredictable as in Formula 1 racing, success is still determined by the inches gained and mileage lost with the wrestling fandom. |
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We were walking side by side, hand in hand, after finding a quiet moment at the glowing neon carnival of Burning Man in Nevada's Black Rock Desert when the most unexpected sentence I have ever uttered came tumbling from my mouth: "I think . . . I want to have a daughter with you." This was shocking news not only to me but also to my audience—my wife. When we'd started dating nearly a decade prior, there was that rapid-fire, energetic series of discussions that punctuate any new relationship. We talked about how we wanted our lives to unfold, how we wanted asymmetrical, exciting careers. How we wanted to live in New York City. How the idea of fixing up and running a boutique hotel in an exotic foreign country sounded like the ideal retirement plan. |
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I've got no problem with summer. By and large, the three hottest months of the year are my favorite because I spend as much of it as I can next to, or in, a body of water. My issue with summer comes down to clothes. In New York, where I live now, I feel the need to be in a suit, but linen can only do so much and too much of it makes you look like a wannabe Neapolitan. I love a Lacoste polo shirt when it gets hot, but it doesn't make up for the pocket situation that comes with a loss of a jacket—I need somewhere to store sunglasses, a lighter, and tobacco products. And most of the time it's too hot to wear anything more than swim trunks. So, my checklist for a summer shirt has always been: good looking, hard-wearing (for beach days and frequent washes), semi-breathable, and at least one pocket. My go-to has always been, and will always be, a Ben Davis half-zip. |
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Every year or two, the weekday business lunch—sometimes called the power lunch, in which businessmen and businesswomen break bread, often with alcohol—is declared either dead or back. It came up last week, when one of the most popular writers on Substack, Emily Sundberg, author of the "Feed Me" newsletter, suggested lunch was waning. Nobody eats anymore, she said (I suspect that's a reference to the prevalence of weight-loss drugs like Ozempic), and our phones are always getting in the way. "Modern technology has also made it harder to just be present sitting across the table from someone, focused solely on the food and conversation, without feeling the screaming glow of notifications from the device stashed at the bottom of my bag," Sundberg wrote. |
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"When somebody says there's a shark in the water, everybody runs." Leaning back in his chair with his brown leather boots propped up on the desk, Tony Buzbee gazes out the window of his office on the seventy-fifth floor of the tallest building in Texas, basking in his own personal shark tank. The feisty, flamboyant personal-injury attorney is more than a little obsessed with the ocean's scariest hunters. His cavernous workspace here in downtown Houston is decorated with gold sharks, silver sharks, a marble shark sculpture, and shark-shaped doorknobs. And he's quick to pull up his shirtsleeve to show me the shark tattoo on his right forearm. His private jet even has a shark decoration on the tail. |
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