Dick Day

Today, I decided I would be a man for the day.

From the moment I got out of bed this morning, I’ve been talking like a man, walking like a man, and I even went to the J. Crew at The Grove and bought a sick little prepster outfit to wear. If Rachel Maddow fucked Brag Goreski, Brad would give birth to me as I am right now. Think grey hoodie, pastel polo, pleated shorts, loafers.

It’s been a really fun experiment. When I met my gynecologist at brunch she had no idea who I was. Fun! My dad thought I was my gay bestie, Roman, for the first five minutes of our daily Skype-sesh (he’s in London dealing with some pre-olympics steroid scandal shit). Fun! My dogs have been attacking me all day. Fun!

The point is, every now and then, everyone should totally switch up their look as long as it means maintaining a reasonable level of chic. We learn a lot about ourselves when we step out of the same old boxes that we live in or wear every day, so go out, buy yourself an expensive strap-on and have yourself a dick day.






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