I sure hope you followed along with Esquire's live coverage of the Oscars last night. Over the course of the evening, Hollywood insider Anthony Breznican kept a running list of what actually mattered from the ceremony (including ... a tie?!), while Josh Rosenberg chimed in with his snubs and surprises of the night. As you decide for yourself whether or not the Academy got it right, you should scroll down and start with the latter. Mostly because we really need to talk about Marty Supreme dropping a goose egg for the night—including Timothée Chalamet losing out on the best actor trophy. – Brady Langmann, senior entertainment editor |
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Even if Grogu can't clap, let's hand it to the night's biggest winners. |
For once, the winners of year's Oscars don't feel like a no-brainer. If Kalshi was around in 2024, I could have bet a billion dollars that Oppenheimer would win Best Picture. But after Anora pulled off the upset last year, the feeling that anything is possible has carried over into 2026's awards show. Even better? It seems like audiences are genuinely interested to find out who wins. You can't take that kind of engagement for granted. So, the 2026 show took a cue from Paul Thomas Anderson and threw in one moment after another one. Audiences saw one of the only ties in Academy Awards history. Amy Madigan gave an unhinged speech for her supporting actress win and the Oscars' first real acceptance of horror. And I'm 99 percent certain that Robert Downey Jr. mispronounced Channing Tatum's name during a bit by saying "Tanning Chatum" live into the microphone. |
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We say this every four years, but this year it just might be true: American soccer is ready to have its moment. The U.S. Men's National Team has a world-class coach, an in-form roster, and it's doing the bulk of the hosting duties this summer. And, crucially, it has the uniforms to match. U.S. Soccer just dropped its new USMNT team kits this week ahead of the 2026 FIFA World Cup, and they're instant classics. If you expected the usual home whites and away reds or blues, hold on. This time around they went for it. We are given two kits, two distinct personalities, and a design process that actually involved the players who'll be wearing them. |
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The moment we stepped off the Zodiac boat, that air just hit us. It was this exquisite, overwhelming blast. Crisp, clean, utterly pollution-free. A shocking, massive contrast to the familiar density of New York City, where we live. The ice? A stark white—pure, blinding, sublime. And the noise was the inverse: a profound, beautiful quiet. It was broken only by the crackling of surrounding ice, like an immense bowl of Rice Krispies snapping in the distance. This was Antarctica. This was my son Wilder's seventh continent. He was seven years old. The Zodiac had deposited us here on a rocky Antarctic landing, where black stone and snow met the ice-strewn sea. Wilder didn't run straight for the colossal iceberg floating nearby. Instead, my little orange marshmallow, encased in layers of thermal gear, his massive boots making him waddle, spotted a pair of Adélie penguins on a rocky outcrop. They were engaged in a quick, wobbly moment of copulation. He ignored the majestic vista—a scatter of towering blue-white icebergs drifting in a steel-gray sea—and pointed a bright-orange sleeve at the birds. "Look, Mom," he shouted, his voice impossibly small in the pristine expanse. "They're high-fiving!" |
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