Thursday, December 04, 2025 |
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My daughter just met Santa for the first time. He was at a mall on Long Island, not at Macy's on 34th Street, home of the One True Santa. But that didn't matter to her. Her response? No squealing, no shock, just total acceptance: There's Santa. I admit, I'd never given much thought to the men who play Santa. How do their transformations into St. Nick transform them? How are they affected by all the kids and families that entrust their idea of Christmas—of love, joy, generosity, and grace—to a man in a red suit? After reading David Gauvey Herbert's story about Macy's Santas, and about one man in particular whose life was profoundly changed by his experience, I'll never make that mistake again. You can read the story below. —Kevin Dupzyk, contributing editor Plus: |
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Bob Rutan is legendary among the tight-knit fraternity of Macy's Santa Clauses. Like many of these men, playing Santa changed Bob. Profoundly. His story is one of struggle and failure, heartbreak and grace and—yes—the magic of Christmas.
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Santa Claus was nursing a beer at an uptown dive bar. The neighborhood was gentrifying, and management seemed eager to accommodate—there was scented soap in the bathroom and twenty-two-dollar lobster rolls. But the place couldn't outrun the regulars. They drank tumblers of Irish whiskey filled to the brim, illicit pours they secured with ten-dollar tips to a curvy Dominican bartender. Santa—Billy—was fiftyish, with a modest gut, gray hair, a lustrous beard, and a caddish gaze that followed the bartender up and down the rail. He was dressed in sweatpants and a T-shirt. For the price of three beers, he told me his story. As a young man, Billy had come to New York to be an actor, but over time he began to feel like an extra in his own life, watching it happen without any control over its direction, the way a person does sometimes. These were bad years, shameful even. He lost his job. He lost his wife. Lost touch with his young son too. He was overweight and undershaved. A friend had a weird idea: Billy could try playing Santa Claus at Macy's. And that's what Billy did. |
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There are a lot of songs that Sheryl Crow is happy to explain. She can tell you all about the upheaval in her life when she penned "Leaving Las Vegas," and about the election night that sparked "Run Baby Run." She can even detail the heartbreak of watching her mother fade away to Alzheimer's disease that led to her more recent song "Forever." But everyone wants to know one thing: Who is the famous rocker that she immortalized in the wry semi-love song "My Favorite Mistake"? Crow reveals a lot in her episode of the new MGM+ storytelling series Words + Music, which airs December 7, but she says that's one secret she's keeping forever. |
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The first time I made a woman orgasm from nipple stimulation alone, I remember thinking, Wait, I might actually be good at this. It was 2019. She was a gorgeous woman a few years older than me, visiting from out of town, who'd found my Reddit profile. We were both married and playing discreetly, which made everything feel strangely equal. There was no penetration. Nothing beyond what I felt prepared for. Just breast worship—exactly what I'd been searching for. Up to that point, anything I'd done with breasts had been quick, perfunctory foreplay on the way to intercourse. But this woman wanted me to stay there. She stretched out on the bed and let me take my time. |
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