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Why being as beautiful as David Gandy may not be all it's cracked up to be
Not long ago I was walking through an airport when I briefly locked eyes with another man. The man in question was a gentleman’s underwear model. I know th...
“Poor guy,” I thought. “His beauty is so obvious, whereas mine is very understated.” Was that a look of jealous longing I saw in his eyes? A look that said, “Brother, help me. Help me live a life like yours.”
Who is really to say? Not you. But I take your point. Probably the main difference between David Gandy and me is our looks. Certainly, if you were to see pictures of us side by side, nine out of ten people would immediately know who is who. But I like that. I do. I do not want to look like David Gandy. I don’t. No way.
Because for one thing, whereas it is the aforementioned obviousness of his beauty that has made him a millionaire icon of the fashion industry, it is that exact same obviousness that meant that – when it turned out he was on the same flight as me – he had to make sure he was the very last to board.
Not because he was late. David Gandy is never late for anything, because nothing truly starts until David Gandy is there. But in case he was stared at by hungry eyes. Getting on last all the time means David Gandy can never pay for, say, the Speedy Boarding option on EasyJet flights, because what’s the point? Maybe that’s why he sometimes looks sad in his photos.
