The Word that Comes to Mind Is “Douche”

TNR’s Eve Fairbanks:

P.S.: Okay, lump me in with Chris Matthews, but watching him banter with staff and glad-hand for ten minutes in the hotel lobby, there is something weirdly alluring about Thompson — unlike even Obama in person, you just want to keep watching, his presence is so much bigger and more glamorous than the diminutive peons buzzing around him. At the same time, I wondered if his variety of masculinity — his main qualification for the White House, after all — is at all the right kind: It’s less strap-on-the-ass-kicking-boots and more kick-up-the-Bruno-Maglis-on-the-leather-padded-desk. Surrounded by Iowans, Thompson’s silk shirt’s texture looked a little too buttery and fine, his buttons were undone a little too low, his shoes gleamed a little too brightly, his tan was laid on a little too thick. The word that came to mind was louche.

What. The. Fuck.

The wrong kind of masculinity? A tan “laid on too thick”?

What is this even about?


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