As I approach my 30th birthday, a few things have become clear. The most obvious being that it's time to replace my Maxim subscription with GQ. That noise you just heard is my childish sense of humor lamenting the loss of a longtime friend. Of course, my inner suave man welcomes the change. It is quietly nodding and looking cool as we speak.
It's not that I think I'm too mature for Maxim's college humor and single paragraph stories. And I by no means want the cover models to think I don't appreciate their sexy poses. I just have to realize that in order to become cooler than Paul Newman and more interesting than the 'Most Interesting Man in the World', I need to branch out.
I need my half naked models to be surrounded by sensible fashion suggestions as opposed to more half naked models. And instead of learning how to disarm a biker with a pool cue, I need to learn how to master my english on a pool table. It's merely a slight step up commensurate with my age.
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