A love letter to Russell Crowe and his no-nonsense tracksuit
SHOWING fantastic variation in tone and subject matter, today’s column will now pivot away from The Bachelor and focus on something a little more intelligent: The Bachelorette. Yes, yes. Apologies. But it’s actually a good thing because you probably know nothing about The Bachelorette. Only 631,000 people in capital cities across Australia tuned in to Wednesday night’s premiere. And only 539,000 folks bothered coming back for Thursday’s episode.
What makes this sad is it wasn’t even up against The Block. People love The Block, even though it’s basically like hanging out at Freedom for a few hours each week.
There are lots of reasons why we don’t care about The Bachelorette. The format is tired, Ali is a bit meh, but mainly it’s the boys.
When did it become normal for everyone to look like models and bodybuilders? It’s fun to fantasise about dating someone who is super fit. But the reality is far different. Friday night takeaway is not tolerated. And you can forget about eating overpriced candy at the movies. Super fit people don’t do this, which is crazy – the whole point of going to the movies is to eat junk food in a really dark room.
But the boys on The Bachelorette aren’t just fit, they’re also waxed and shiny and have no wrinkles, and their eyebrows are way too defined.
There’s one guy in there who looks like viral surgery sensation The Human Ken Doll.
What makes it so confusing is some of these boys have labouring jobs in construction and plumbing. In 2018, tradies spend more time in salons than on worksites.
It makes us dream of the days when Russell Crowe was the height of sexiness.
With one good black fleece tracksuit that he wears for all occasions, he’s the ideal man.
Ask him what products he uses and he’d probably reply “soap”.
Russell Crowe doesn’t know what a serum or a cleanser is. He wouldn’t quite understand how Uber works so he would take taxis. And when he catches them, he sits in the front seat because he feels like a lady if he sits in the back.
If you asked him to pick up a bottle of rosé, he’d probably reply: “That pink stuff?”
He’s the kind of guy who won’t bore you with talk about F45, but will complain about having to pay more than $15 for a haircut.