Gucci’s Gold Ear Accessory… For the Bond-Villain-Fashionista Inside All of Us

Photo Credit: Gucci
October 10th, 2019
Nick Byrne


Goldfinger, GoldenEye, and now— this is almost too much of a dad joke for me to actually finish— The Villain With The Golden Ear?

Italian luxury designer Gucci has recently made their full-scale, gold ear accessories available for purchase, just in time for… Bond 25? Halloween? Fall? I’m actually not quite sure what the gold clip-on is in time for, but what I do know is that it sure is something!


According to the company’s website, the new accessory— which originally debuted at the designer’s Fall/Winter 2019 fashion show— is inspired by artist Eduardo Costa and his 1966 24-karat gold-work, ‘Fashion Fiction #1’ (published in Vogue USA February, 1968). This barely sort of answers some of my questions, and still, there are so many more.

Photographed on Marisa Berenson by Richard Avedon for Vogue USA in 1968

The earring— or ear-clutch— is sized at 3.1″ by 1.6″, so this is a one-size fits all sort of a thing, however, unlike an adjustable baseball cap, it doesn’t seem like this accessory will accommodate every ear. The piece also comes in either a “left” or “right” design, though it is unclear if one should wear both at the same time. When viewed from the side, it is shown that there is both a bottom and top clip, to which I assume the accessory is meant to attach to both your ear’s upper flap, as well as its lower lobe. The dual-clip feature must guarantee a decent amount of security for those sporting the piece, though the actual weight of the item remains unknown.

Being that my ear holes are wildly oversized, I’ve never been able to enjoy the cool aesthetic of having two white AirPods stick out from either side of my face, and so it’s nice to know that I can now invest in this alternative ear accessory in order to mark my lofty stance in society (the precious metal ornament starts at $350.00). I’ve also been looking for the perfect facial trademark in order to properly convey myself as a world-dominating-criminal-mastermind, if not one of their evil henchmen, so I’d say this is a win-win.

The piece, and others alike, are now available for purchase. And on a technically unrelated note, Bond 25, otherwise known as No Time to Die, will be in theaters April 8th, 2020.

What do you think of Gucci’s latest accessory? Comment below!

Bond Villains

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Relentless Reminders, Brought to You by This Year’s Emmys

Photo by Invision/AP/REX/Shutterstock

September 24th, 2019
By Nick Byrne

My barometer for judging award shows is limited to that of a MTV standard of quality. When it comes to anything higher brow, take the Oscars or the Emmys, I truly can only base my opinion on two things: 1.) Was I emotionally invested in a nominee? And 2.) How many celebrity-audience reactions were there? With that being said, from my perspective this year’s Emmys weren’t too bad, but for some people— those capable of judging the show for the actual show itself— it was awful.

Although ill-equipped to give any real insight on the structure or quality of the show, there were a few things that even a mass-market-moron such as myself couldn’t help but notice, or, at least, things that I once knew, forgot, and then was reminded of. Like a missed call from a student loan debt collector, the Emmys, at times, felt less like an award show and more like a mood altering provoker of bad emotions. In no particular order, I present you with an unranked list, titled, “Relentless Reminders, Brought to You by This Year’s Emmys.”

#1. Seemingly perfect Natasha Leon is still married to this guy:

*Insert unsettling photo of Fred Armisen*

This first reminder is one that I consistently keep forgetting— perhaps because I spend so much time trying to delete it from my brain. There was only one thing that could cast a long shadow along the surrealist-genius that was the Natasha Lyonne led Netflix original, “Russian Doll,” and that was Fred Armisen showing up to every event with the show’s star to constantly remind us that he is in fact still married to her— this year’s Emmys acting as yet another opportunity for that to happen. Don’t get me wrong, with the assistance of Carrie Brownstein, the extremely quotable sketch-comedy show that is Portlandia gifted us with a good amount of tehehes over the years, and to this day I still appreciate Fred’s cameo in the first season of Broad City, but the more time that goes by, the more I realize that there’s just something about this Fred Armisen character that rubs me the wrong way. Never met the guy, but I wholeheartedly believe that someone as special as Natasha deserves something so much more than whatever it is that he’s trying to offer.

#2. People still think it’s a good idea to pay Jenny McCarthy to speak.

I dunno how this one weaseled herself out of cancel culture but somehow she has gone from advising the world on how to prematurely kill itself to hosting E!’s Live From the Red Carpet with what feels like zero pause for social-punishment. Every time she speaks our country loses too many brain cells and although she presented us with several reminders of this while hosting this year’s red carpet, I have to focus on her general unpreparedness when it came to interviewing the respect-worthy, Christina Applegate:

#3. Amy Adams still hasn’t won an Oscar despite being Amy Adams.

Although this was her first Emmy nomination, Amy Adams losing for her performance in HBO’s Sharp Objects is yet another reminder that the Drop Dead Gorgeous actress still hasn’t won an Academy Award either, despite being nominated 6 times. Silver-lining is, however, that the win did go to Michelle Williams, which, in turn, gave light to one of the greatest acceptance speeches of the night.

#4. We’re still all going to die one day.

A host-less affair, each presenter of this year’s Emmys was given a slightly expanded platform in order to create the illusion of transition and structure. This made it feel like there were 50 hosts, but it was Ben Stiller’s time on the stage that felt more morbid than entertaining. It was Stiller’s job to announce the winner of best supporting actor in a comedy series and he did so by honoring deceased comedians Lucille Ball and George Burns, both of who were represented by jarringly realistic wax figures. The camera then panned to a frozen Bob Newhart while Stiller continued the bit, only for the 90-year-old Actor to remind us that, despite being very old, he’s still very much alive. From the perspective of a rapidly aging Millennial who suffers from a great deal of death-anxiety, this sketch just didn’t sit well with me.

#5.Comedians still don’t understand that being offensive isn’t a substitute for comedic talent.

My skin crawls significantly faster when I hear a comic challenge the idea of a more progressive thinking and aware society, especially when they do it with a America needs to learn how to take a joke mentality. I once watched all 4 seasons of “Arrested Development” in one weekend— I know how to take a fucking joke!!! The problem is not about hyper-sensitivity, as much as it’s about comics not wanting to challenge themselves or even just question if they were ever funny to begin with. Sarah Silverman, I’ll admit, has made me chuckle over the years, but the Emmys red carpet was yet another opportunity for her to remind us that she still thinks blatant-intolerance is passable comedy, while she, yet again, compared cancel culture and its effects on the comedic world to the likeness of “righteousness porn.” Do I agree with every move that cancel culture has made? Maybe not. But do I think there are certain comedian-made jokes and tweets that are just completely unjustifiable? Absolutely. It doesn’t help that her words come just a week after the debate surrounding Shane Gillis.

#7. People still think The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel is a good show worthy of world domination.

Got to be honest, I’ve never seen an episode of this show and I probably never will, but I have seen a lot of ads and although fully aware of the repercussions that stem from the premature judgement of things, this show just seems like another Big Bang Theory-esque train that I would rather get run over by then ride along with. With well received newcomers such as Fleabag, this year TMMM didn’t sweep as much as they usually do, but I am, for reasons that are unclear to me, still bothered that they are getting any cleaning done at all.

#8. Veep is still over.

There are some shows so perfectly crafted that when they reach their conclusion you are met more with satisfaction than you are with sadness, shows that are so perfectly wrapped up that you are completely content with their resolution, take Fleabag for example, but then there are other shows so great that despite as many seasons that it has gifted you with, you still feel a selfish need for it to give you more— because you know that it is capable of doing so. With this year’s justified competition, better known as was Fleabag, the Julia Louis-Dreyfus led Veep didn’t have an opportunity to take home any awards Sunday night, but that didn’t stop the Emmy’s from constantly reminding us that the the seemingly-immortal show was, in fact, officially over.

#9. Catherine O’Hara is still a wildly underrated actor who deserves the EGOT at this point, never mind an Emmy.

Watch Schitt’s Creek seasons 1-5 if you already haven’t, and if you have, watch them again.

In short, this one speaks for itself.

#10. I am still a stunted youth who watches shows like, “The Hills: New Beginnings.”

I’ve never seen an episode of Game of Thrones and I’m not quite sure what an “Ozark” is, but I did binge The Hills: New Beginnings last weekend and it is with a realized-juxtaposition like this that I am forced to accept the fact that my intellectual standards are still comparable to those of a poorly-raised 12-year-old. I can tell you that Heidi and Spencer are still going strong and that Mischa Barton made a surprisingly successful transition into the world of reality TV, but ask me to tell you one specific thing about the critically acclaimed Chernobyl and I will fail you miserably.

And that was this year’s Emmys in a nutshell. What relentless reminders did the award ceremony curse you with? Comment below!

Taylor Swift Cements Foray Into Foreskin with New Track, “London Boy.”

london boy 2
Dimitrios Kambouris / Getty Images for Victoria’s Secret


September 18th, 2019
By Nick Byrne


Ah, London: One of the greatest tourist destinations throughout all of Europe, if not the world— the land of songbook inspiring monuments, breathtakingly designed royal palaces, and a foreskin bearing male population aggregated at over 85%. Ah, Taylor Swift: One of the greatest artists of our time— an 8-foot-tall-Pennsylvanian-bred-pop-country-superstar with recently acquired stakes in the on-going fight for queer equality and all things rainbow. Could this be a match made in pop music heaven? If religion were real and if God had nothing better to do than make geography-based counterparts to go alongside polarizing pop stars, then perhaps, but in its simplest of forms: it’s the recipe for a really great song with an even greater message.

It’s been a character arc of a year for the “everyone loves her, everyone hates her,” country turned synth-master pop star. From publicly endorsing democratic candidate Phil Bredesen for senate while simultaneously slamming his Republican opponent, mega-conservative congresswoman Marsha Blackburn, to crossing Katy Perry’s name off of her “I hate you forever” hit list, it feels as though a newly liberated Taylor has finally emerged from the ashes of her own Reputation, and with that liberation comes a sense of social altruism.

While we all lie awake at night doused in the fuzzy warmth of our cotton-candy-tie-dye-Lover-themed-merch, obsessively coding through the latest lyrical labyrinth that is “TS7”, it’s impossible to ignore the masqueraded message of one track in particular, Track 11, better known as, “London Boy.” Dealing with a wordsmith mastermind who loves hidden messages and double-sided lyrics, going into TS7 is much like a symbology obsessed Tom Hanks heading into the Louvre to solve a murder mystery, you need to realize that nothing is what it seems and everything is subject to double, if not triple, entendre. 

At first listen, “London Boy” is a straightforward ode to English actor Joe Alwyn, a man who, statistically speaking, has an 85% chance of being uncircumcised, a man who has also been lured into romantic captivity by Taylor Swift and her spell-binding ways for the last two or so years. To the unseasoned listener, Joe is her London boy and the song is simply documenting all of the things she loves to do with him while visiting him across the pond, but us true stans know that it’s more than that—you always have to read between the many layered lines of a Taylor Swift song to get to the real icing— because us true stans know that it’s about Joe’s foreskin, or, less specifically, foreskin in general.

With her impressively robust list of past lovers, made up largely of across the pond A-listers such as, Harry Styles (most probably uncircumcised), Tom Hiddleston (definitely uncircumcised), Calvin Harris (absolutely uncircumcised and also probably extremely well hung), and lest we not forget the rumored romance of Eddie Redmayne (another snake-skinned-bearing suspect), mixed with the fact that she is not only dating yet another—presumably— uncut man, but writing a song based on the foreskin-proud city that said man resides in, one can suspect that Taylor not only loves foreskin, but that she fetishizes it, cementing all former theories and suspicions.

After an interesting sound bite provided by an Idris Elba interview, Taylor commences the tune with the following verse:

“I love my hometown as much as Motown, I love SoCal
And you know I love Springsteen, faded blue jeans, Tennessee whiskey
But something happened, I heard him laughing
I saw the dimples first and then I heard the accent
They say home is where the heart is
But that’s not where mine lives.”

So basically this is a six-line soliloquy highlighting Swift’s extreme adoration for the European-tradition of keeping their gentlemen unsnipped (Joe’s “dimples” and “accent” acting as direct symbolism for his foreskin) and juxtaposing that level of adoration against a fading adoration for less exciting, yet more American-friendly things, things such as: faded blue jeans and Bruce Springsteen. The song carries on in a similar fashion, with Swift talk-singing cheekily while name-dropping picturesque-sounding English-based tourist attractions, each of which can be seen as an innuendo for Joe’s English hooded wonder. That being cemented with Swift confessing in the chorus of the song, “… so I guess all of the rumors are true.” The rumors being, of course, that she can’t get enough of uncircumcised men.

With her recent strides in using her platform for good rather than egotism (Swift has recently faced great flak from the evil right wing after her VMA acceptance speech where she demanded that the equality act be recognized by the senate after her music video prompted over 500,000 signatures) we are experiencing a much more palatable version of Taylor these days. No longer milking the self-referential irony of not actually being self aware at all, Taylor has, for the most part, branched out from self-indulgence and joined us in the fight against the dystopian satanic nightmare that is our current legislation, while still giving us some really great songs to bop along to. And for her latest act of progressivism, she is now normalizing, if not celebrating, the natural and beautiful state of the uncircumcised man, all the while bashing American-produced stigmas around the once-taboo topic.

Taylor 7.0 has once again surprised me, made like R.L. Stein and given me goosebumps even, surpassed my very low expectations, because she has, yet again, done something pretty cool. Is it as important as fighting for human rights? Maybe not. But it’s important nonetheless, because all too often mainstream society unfairly ridicules the uncircumcised, and there is no cause, too big or too small, for Taylor to take on these days, because the new, new Taylor is anything but conventional. She’s a Trailer Park livin’, gay rights clamoring, won’t take shit from no man (see D.J. David Mueller story) social justice warrior— and I love her all the more for it.

What’s next for this new, new version of Taylor, you might be asking yourself during an insomniatic episode at 3 in the morning while screaming into your pillow because existential panic is now affiliated with all three of your most dominant personalities— only time will tell, but don’t be surprised if she’s already ripped the trousers off of Benedict Cumberbatch by the time TS8 rolls around.