My Beef with Men’s Fitness
What gay guy – top, bottom or sideways – hasn’t combed the pages of those sexy men’s mag duo, Men’s Health and Men’s Fitness. Either we want to kill those fucken gorgeous specimens of manhood, photo-shopped or real, who cares, for being so perfect, or kill to get them in bed. I know, I know, just about every one of them is under 40, which means I guess us over 40 guys should rent a coffin until we actually need one. Or dig the hole, pull out our lawn chair and wait. But hell, you should look that good at 25 or 30 if all you do is live in a gym or take steroids or guzzle muscle milk or do all of the above.
But that’s not the reason I’m pissed off by these mags.
I’ve heard some brothers say Men’s Fitness should start a version just for us which would be nice except for one fact: size matters even in publishing. By size here I mean the number of readers. Magazines are less concerned about the $$ they make from us in subscriptions which are often practically given away; it’s selling to their advertisers that x number of people are potentially seeing their ads that decides what rates they can get away with. Hell, when you really analyze these mags they’re four color promos for all these fucken supplements, with articles thrown in to break up the advertising. And while we may think we’re taking over the world, our numbers still pale in contrast to heteros, and are probably not enough to launch a mag, particularly these days when the web is killing the publishing industry. After all, while they may not admit it, Men’s Fitness and Men’s Health know that they already got us hooked.
I remember it was back in the ‘90’s when one of these mags experimented with a “senior” version. Though I thought those older in-shape guys were hot daddies and didn’t feel as intimidated as I did looking at the youngens doing their work-outs, I was apparently in a minority and the experiment went over like a pair of dumbbells being lifted by a nerd. Either the old guys wanted to be inspired by young flesh or they thought they were already perfect specimens (sure), and didn’t need a magazine to tell them how to become one.
But that’s not why I find these mags hypocritical.
Nor do I find it anything more than laughable that every fucken cover of every fucken issue with or without a muscled celeb has an obligatory blurb about “Amazing Abs in Just 15 Minutes a Day” or “Killer Six Pack in Just 6 Weeks.” Sure, so how come I starve myself, do a couple of thousand reps on the ab machines every time I hit the gym, and clock in another 500 crunches at home on off days on my Bow Flex and still only have a three and a half pack to show for my efforts.
But that’s not why I find these mags bullshit either.
No, my pet beef with these glossy testaments to the male animal is the fact that their publishers and writers again must realize a significant portion of their readers are gay or bi and yet show absolutely no acknowledgment of that fact. Sure, I understand they don’t want to offend their predominantly heterosexual readership, and I don’t expect for them to run features on the best gay gyms in America.
But why the fuck is every article about love making and good down and dirty sex centered around pleasing the female. When the hell are they going to run some articles on ways guys should teach their gals how to push their buttons? And, reading between the lines, how to give a guy pleasure – your guy?
After all, if a guy closed his eyes, a hole is a hole, but there’s only one creature with a tool to set your clit on fire and that’s a M-A-N. And if their super hetero writers don’t have a clue what I’m talking about, I’ll be happy to introduce them to a bunch of guys who do or, if they’re cute, give them a trial demonstration personally.