I like a man who isn’t afraid of his chest hair.
Okay, so this is not the most forward (make that forward-thinking) thing I will ever say, but it’s true. I like a man with a sprinkling of short, dark, curly, man-smelly hair on his chest. My gal-pals and I have exchanged thoughts on this briefly, and they strongly prefer the hairless chest. In fact, my friend C has mocked me for getting silly at the sight of chest hair peaking from an actor’s shirt (because, you know, God forbid I should acknowledge my weakness in public).
Hugh Jackman is an excellent example. But then, he is an excellent example, period, no matter what, if anything, is the topic of discussion.
Visually, he can pull off rough and rugged (any and all of the X Men flicks, but especially X Men Origins: Wolverine, where he wears flannel–“Lesbian lingerie”, as (The Delicious) Brian Kinney of QAF puts it (oh, don’t start complaining about the merits, or lack-there-of, of those films; that’s for another, less hormone-crazed, man-hungry post, don’tcha think?)) , refined and flustered (Kate and Leopold, as the delicious Duke of Albany), and daily casual. If you’re unsure as to which is my favorite, scroll up and re-read the first sentence.