First off, let’s cut to the chase: I’m ridiculously sexy. Since my days in the Young Buff Boys of Broward County beauty pageant in Fort Lauderdale, I’ve been insanely hot. I mean off-the-freakin’-charts hot. No matter how many layers of Guess and Prada that I wear, I simply exude hotness.
In a vain attempt to stave off stalkers, I even started wearing a bee keeper’s outfit when I leave the house. Still, I’m accosted on the streets by throngs of young women begging for my autograph, to have their pictures taken with me, and to offer me bits of their lacy undergarments.
Actual photo from a 2005 Esquire magazine modeling shoot. Contact me for your own glossy copy.
It all started to take its toll on my job, my life, my family and friends. Last weekend it finally came to a head. And I knew that I had to do something about it.
After a harrowing camping trip in the New Hampshire wilderness – at least five hundred feet from civilization with nothing but a thousand dollars in REI camping gear for survival and a handheld GPS with eighteen suborbital satellites to track my every movement – the last thing I wanted was to drive the fifty minutes back to my house. I’d spent the entire weekend surviving on the edge (that bitch, Les Stroud‘s, got nothin’ on me) and I wanted to get home ASAP. So I hitched a ride to Manchester Regional Airport to fly home.
That turned out to be a grave mistake. Just minutes before boarding the plane, I became the third victim in Southwest Airline’s recent fashion policing scandal. It appears the airline is an equal opportunity profiler.
I was well aware of Southwest’s casual dress code policy and figured my outfit would not be an issue. Boy, was I wrong. Before I made it to the gate, three security guards were on me like white on rice and calling for reinforcements.
As they wrestled me to the ground, threatening to taser me if I did not cooperate, I was told: “Sir, you’re too hot to fly. We cannot allow you to board in this attire. It’s simply too sexy.”
I told them my new copy of Star was waiting at home and that I had to get on the plane. They clearly did not speak Beautiful. I was strapped to my seat with duct tape and bungie cords and forced to cover up with a rather unfashionable airline blanket. At my attorney’s request, I’m posting the photograph below as a reenactment of the horrific scene:
Actual outfit I wore on the flight. Oddly similar to Setara Qassim‘s.
I’m not going to say it was sexist because clearly they have it out for both men and women. It’s beauty-ist. That’s right: they have it out for beautiful people. And it has to stop. It must stop.
Shamefully, I kept quiet about this incident when it happened. It’s only because of the strength and emotional resolve of improper attire pioneers, Kyla Ebbert and Setara Qassim (and to some extent, Janet Jackson), that I’ve decided to come forward as hopefully the final victim of their vicious and fascistic campaign of harassment. I’m sure there are other victims out there. Know that you are not alone and that it’s not your fault. Please: I implore you to step forward and be heard.
My agent will be fielding press calls and interview requests via a dedicated e-mail address: toohottofly [at] vagabondish.com. It’s first come, first served and interviews will be granted in order of request. (Unless The Today’s Show‘s Matt Lauer calls, in which case all bets are off.)