I got the new issue of BUST the other day, having recently re-subscribed after a short boycott because I was fed up with them. Actually, I'm still kind of fed up with them, and I'm not sure why I subscribed again - maybe for Ayun Halliday's column. I have a love-hate thing going with BUST because their particular brand of feminism makes me really uncomfortable. The whole ironic feminism thing is wearing thin for me. You know, "Don't tell me I'm not a feminist, just because I wear red lipstick and bake cupcakes and knit sweaters and slide up and down a stripper pole! I am such a feminist that I can buy into any form of male-dominated societal bullshit and turn it on its head! My cupcakes and lipstick are ironic!" Yeah. Okay. Whatever. I'm a feminist in spite of the fact that I wear lipstick and knit and bake cupcakes - I'm not selling them as feminist acts. So mostly, I prefer Bitch for my feminist reading, though they piss me off sometimes too.
But anyway, my point. BUST has done another "Men We Love" issue, and predictably, Ira Glass is one of the chosen. Yeesh. I am so over hearing about Ira Glass crushes (and in fact, NPR crushes in general). It reeks of desperation to portray oneself as a quirky-cool, hipster intellectual. What's more, I'll bet you a million dollars that Ira Glass is a jerk. In the BUST interview, he admits that he enjoys being the object of a thousand indie-girl crushes. "It's incredibly dear," he says, qualifying with the fact that he's "devoted to [his] wife and would never consider acting on something like that." Mmmm-hmmm. Sure. Nerdy guys who never got any action in high school, but developed a patina of cool in middle-age, are usually total players. It's like they're exacting revenge for being snubbed in their younger years, although maybe it's not that malicious. Maybe they're just making up for lost time. In any case, let's stop pumping up Ira Glass's ego. If you insist on harboring a quirky crush to bolster your hipster-cred, I nominate Ben from Lost. You'd be helpless before his unblinking stare, as that calm, hypnotic voice instructed you to - well, he could probably talk a girl into doing anything at all. Creepy=hot.