Russian GQ named designer Tom Ford (or, if you prefer, ТОМ ФОРД) its International Man Of The Year for his services to ruching. The cover is very much in the vein of Tom Ford covers we've seen before: the fully-clothed man of the hour makes a squinty face while reaching out to fondle one of the collection of naked women that surround him. Yawn. But the photo that GQ chose to run on the inside cover is another story. You've really outdone yourself, Tom.
Do you think the pressure of being Tom Ford, the naked-est most controversial-est NSFW-est designer evar ever gets to Tom Ford? What does a man who's already put an oiled-up anus in a perfume ad dream of? How do you top yourself when you're the man who invented the Gucci-branded bikini wax? Short of discovering a new orifice, what's left in this world for Tom Ford? Does Tom Ford ever just want to relax the squint, tell everyone to put on some pants, and have a cup of tea and a lie-down? My guess would be Tom Ford does not. Tom Ford has two speeds: Sex and SEXXXXXXXXXXXXX. For Tom Ford, plucking perfume fragrance strips out of the cleft of a naked lady's ass is just an ordinary Thursday. You think male models are "buff": Tom Ford buffs male models. You care about how women's bodies are portrayed in advertising, Tom Ford cares about getting over our bourgeois hang-ups, okay? Tom Ford, you have now given us the Platonic ideal of a Tom Ford photo. Let Thursday, September 29, 2011 stand as the day the earth reached maximum Ford.
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