Description
Every city has a clique that everyone loves to hate. In West Hollywood, it’s an elite group of gay men - the A-est of the A-Gays, the prettiest of the pretty boys. They’re “The Ten 10’s” – Dylan, Jagger, Chase, Fitch, Paxton, Rocco, Blade, Damian, Lex and Dante.
A few years ago, this group of extraordinary men became friends after months of running in the same circles and crossing glamorous paths as the pretty set are wont to do. In an event commensurate with the Big Bang in significance, the stars aligned one night when ten of these impossibly perfect men found each other at the same Hollywood Hills party. When each realized there were nine others who’d reached the stratospheric heights of physical perfection they had, a band of brothers was born; brothers who happen to have sex with each other on occasion.
So much organized beauty in one place at one time was borderline obscene. Everyone wants to be a “10,” but no amount of surgery could imbue you with the necessary qualities - it’s an attitude and a way of life. What makes a “10” is elusive and indefinable, and yet when you see one, is as plain as the not-as-perfect-as-theirs nose on your face.
When so many beautiful men get together in any one place, it creates delusions of grandeur and elevated importance making the 10s bitchier and more self-important than the salespeople at Fred Segal. And that’s pretty bitchy.
The 10’s have what realtors call, “curb appeal” – they looked good from the outside; the inside, however, needed to be gutted. The 10’s have yet to put their standards and doctrines down in print like the Ten Commandments, but tablets would definitely be involved if they did.
Being a 10 means having power; the power to pick any man you want, to get into any party or club, the power of intimidation, the power of knowing you’re both envied and hated, the power of knowing that you mattered – people cared about where you went, what you said and
A few years ago, this group of extraordinary men became friends after months of running in the same circles and crossing glamorous paths as the pretty set are wont to do. In an event commensurate with the Big Bang in significance, the stars aligned one night when ten of these impossibly perfect men found each other at the same Hollywood Hills party. When each realized there were nine others who’d reached the stratospheric heights of physical perfection they had, a band of brothers was born; brothers who happen to have sex with each other on occasion.
So much organized beauty in one place at one time was borderline obscene. Everyone wants to be a “10,” but no amount of surgery could imbue you with the necessary qualities - it’s an attitude and a way of life. What makes a “10” is elusive and indefinable, and yet when you see one, is as plain as the not-as-perfect-as-theirs nose on your face.
When so many beautiful men get together in any one place, it creates delusions of grandeur and elevated importance making the 10s bitchier and more self-important than the salespeople at Fred Segal. And that’s pretty bitchy.
The 10’s have what realtors call, “curb appeal” – they looked good from the outside; the inside, however, needed to be gutted. The 10’s have yet to put their standards and doctrines down in print like the Ten Commandments, but tablets would definitely be involved if they did.
Being a 10 means having power; the power to pick any man you want, to get into any party or club, the power of intimidation, the power of knowing you’re both envied and hated, the power of knowing that you mattered – people cared about where you went, what you said and