Fabio? Hold Me!

It's no secret that approximately 1/3 of the nation's females read romance novels and most likely wear I love my cat t-shirts when they're feeling "dressy". You know who they are, you see them a few times a year, at places called airports. And sometimes, if your lucky, they're playing the slots at 4am when you stumble out of mur.mur in Atlantic City.

So what is the fascination with the Fabio's of the world? And why have images of this golden maned real life he-man singlehandly launched an empire of soft-core paperbacks at thousands of Barnes & Nobles?

The fascinating creature in the photo above appears outside my local Starbucks every single day at 5pm, his towering physique on display for all of Union Square to see, shirtless no less! Why has such a gift been bestowed upon my afternoon coffee break? And more importantly, who is this man who passes for a second rate Fabio and why does half of the male species aspire to look like him?

Psychologists would probably tell us that men are born and raised to be the breadwinners, lift weights (while grunting, natch) and throw back muscle milk and "jaegerbombs... jaegerbombs... jaegerbombs" with the best of 'em. It all goes back to the pre-school days when boys played with trucks and toy guns and girls perfected their EZ Bake recipes and dreamed about one day owning a Malibu Dream House. Fast forward fifty years and men still subscribe to the school of the thought that "bigger is most certainly better" and women are still trading recipes and sample sale locations. But when did Barbie's Hair and He-Man's body melt into Middle America's fantasy man? As long as I get to burst into uncontrollable laughter each and every day at 5pm, I don't care. Thank you my Fabio, thank you.

-KJ