ABOVE: Thomas Gainsborough, The Blue Ben (oil on canvas, cir. 1770)
Can there possibly be anything more rife with comic possibility than a Big Hollywood post by America’s Worst Unemployed Lawyer and Film Critic™ Ben Shapiro in which Ben, of all people, laments the disappearance of the manly men’s man from American culture. It’s rather like an article about grooming and hygiene tips written by Jonah Goldberg.
Ben begins his lament with his (rather revealing) epitome of the masculine ideal: the abdominally ripped, pectorally grandiloquent, protruberantly crotched Superman.
I am constantly bemused by the attempt to re-set Superman. The original comics are classic pieces of Americana. The original movie with Christopher Reeve was wonderful in almost every way – the first forty minutes of the original Superman is pure magic.
Pure magic? Ben, buddy, you don’t write an article extolling manliness and then let a purse fall out of your mouth just 40 words in. I mean, you might have well as said that the first forty minutes were “faaaaaabulous”
Superman is sincere in his masculinity. He doesn’t wax his chest.

Also.
Our movie stars are now metrosexual rather than men’s men. It’s been a long transition, a transition that began with the androgynous heroes of the 1970s – testosterone-free actors like Dustin Hoffman and Jack Nicholson became pop culture icons, replacing the Errol Flynns and the Marlon Brandos.
Apparently they don’t teach you in law school that Marlon Brando admitted to his fair share of sucking cock and that Flynn, well, if he could hold it down, he fucked it, irrespective of the gender of the naughty bits involved. Can it simply be coincidence that Ben picks these two as his personal icons of masculinity?
More people will still shell out bucks to see Harrison Ford (as long as he stops the metrosexual post-Calista Flockhart crap) and Sean Connery than they will to see Robert Pattinson sans fangs. It’s not because they’re old. It’s because they’re dudes. Men want to be them. Women want to be with them. They kick ass, take names, and don’t shave their chests.
There we go with the chest-shaving issue again. Okay, Ben, we get it. You like bears. Thanks for sharing. (I think.)
Note from our New York law firm: Sadly, No! is not liable for any self-inflicted trauma resulting from efforts by its readers to obliterate from their brain the image of Ben Shapiro making the two-backed beast with John Podhoretz or this. See our terms and conditions.