The other day, at a Fashion Week party, my friend Alan and I stood against a wall, scanning the room for hot people, as you do. I told him that, at 31, the realization was probably a bit overdue, but I knew what he meant: As one gets older, it becomes harder and harder to be attracted to someone simply because of the way they look. Or perhaps we become more acutely aware of the impermanence of beauty after experiencing our own signs of aging? While some people clearly feel proud to have a hottie on their arm, others are more comfortable having the upper hand in the beauty department. Millie and I lived together during our early and mid-twenties, and at the time, it felt like every other week she had a new model boyfriend. Most of us, at some point in our lives, have hung posters of models and movie stars on our bedroom walls. And no matter how much I love my partner, I still occasionally masturbate to Tony Ward.
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