“..If you’re a woman reading this – or, more importantly, looking at the pictures – you will know exactly what I’m talking about: -
- you probably feel like telling me there’s a wasp near my hair – just so you can reach out and muss it up a little.
If you’re a man, on the other hand, you’ve doubtless already formed an opinion about me.
You almost certainly find me a threat – a threat to your career, your relationship, your masculinity.
It’s not something many men will dare to speak publicly about – but being terribly, terribly handsome is a double-edged sword.
For every female Starbucks employee who made it her business to remember my name – there was a male employer telling me to do up my top three shirt buttons in the office.
I can’t tell you how many male acqaintances have stopped speaking to me over the years for petty “reasons” – (unpaid debts – being alleged source of unpleasant rumour – refusal to appear as character witness) -
- when jealousy is the transparent cause.
I’ll probably never know how many women have been too intimidated by my looks to talk to me -
- but I know exactly how many men have been angered enough by my face to try to punch it.
I don’t invite the attention.
I’ve come to dread the sarcastic, whispered comments in the gym about my physique, my chiseled jaw, my loose-hanging tank tops.
At times I’ve found it so stressful that I’ve even taken steps to play down my physical beauty.
I tried wearing a hoodie all day – but they wouldn’t let me into Harrod’s food hall – where the lady at the cheese counter sometimes gives me free samples – even though I hardly ever buy anything.
More recently I decided to grow a beard -
- just to blend in with “normal” men…”
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