When news broke of Colin Kaepernick, NFL’s greatest douche, on the cover of GQ as “Citizen of the Year,” there was some outrage. Note that “outrage” here is mostly a lot of eye rolls. More than a few people took Kaepernick’s mug very seriously. You know, the “how could they feature Kaepernick when [solve for x] is more deserving” exercise. As if we’re talking about a Congressional Medal of Honor. No. Save your coffee machines.
But as Owen Benjamin points out, when you see who else passes for GQ’s cover, it’s hard to take any of this seriously…
That’s right. THIS Kevin Spacey and THIS Louis CK. I guess we should be lucky when Kaepernick took a knee, he didn’t then flash his backup QB. Or any unsuspecting cheerleaders. Sideline reporters. Ball boys.
GQ is a private business, so it can do what it wants. Okay? Okay. We should all just be grateful they telegraph to which people we should all give a wide berth. Might be a curse to be on the cover of this magazine. Perhaps they should change the name a tad: Gentleman’s Quarterly: America’s Next Pervert. Or GQ: Go Queer.