Sex and Shopping

Abercrombie & Fitch has to be the most overtly homoerotic store on the planet (except maybe gay sex shops). Their flagship store on Fifth Avenue has a four-storey mural of vintage jocks (wearing those bathing costumes and sports kits they had in the early twentieth century), all musclebound, all pretty boys, half of whom and topless. There are a few women, but they seem more of an afterthought. The walls are plastered with massive closeups of smooth, perfect abs and pecs. And they have a resident topless model (when we went on Boxing Day, I thought it was just a seasonal gimmick, but he was still there – or one of his clones – this afternoon). The male staff are all fit and young and rather tasty. There are plenty of young, pretty, slim female staff, too, but again, they seem to be making up the numbers aesthetically.

Which all makes it my kind of store. The music is too loud, the lights too dim – it’s basically the retail equivalent of a gay club. Half the customers are hot college types, which adds to the attraction.

We went up the Empire State Building today. I can’t say the wait – about two hours in multiple lines – was worth the five minutes at the top. It was something you have to do, I guess, and the views on a sunny day like today were spectacular. But my queueing ability was severely tested.

We fly home tomorrow. I love this city, but eleven days is just enough for now. I don’t mind at all returning to Blackpool. I have plans – this is the year I get a grip of my life and start steering it somewhere good.