Who’s hot for a buff Borat? Well, I’m certainly not

The results adorn the cover of Men’s Fitness: Baron Cohen gripping 30kg dumbbells, arm veins bulging like overcooked linguine, tanned skin glistening like a baby-lotion fever dream. Add a tool belt and he could be a plumber hellbent on unclogging pipes in a low-budget porn movie. All very impressive, but I find myself recoiling. Are women supposed to like this? Who’s hot for Borat’s creepy gym bod?

Obviously, it’s for a role; and Baron Cohen, divorced from Isla Fisher last year, joked about “hard launching my midlife crisis”. And there will be women who like it. For others, generally, these bodies (hetero-division) are red flags refashioned in sculpted flesh. They scream “narcissist”, “control freak”, “thinks Andrew Tate has a point” – all the bad things.

Sometimes, looking at uber-buff men, I don’t see strength, I see a specific scary brand of emotional weakness. Though with Baron Cohen, I just miss Borat’s beta-male cheap suits – and even his appalling mankini.

Is the try-hard gym bod a manifestation of masculinity in crisis? There’ve been enough studies about most women preferring the less intense “dad bod”. The jury is still out on whether these hardbody glow-ups are for women, or about some other psychodrama entirely.

Have any of those hyperventilating met any young people? Were they ever young themselves? In my day it was known as the “death stare”, and glowering at those encroaching on your personal space was part of the youth deal, especially when toiling for minimum wage. Then, as presumably now, the stare served as a soundless safety valve, saying everything the mouth dare not: “Wow, someone really wants their bread basket”; “Truly, my heart breaks at your cutlery being smeared”. “Manager, schmanager!”.

Compared with teen-waitress me, gen Z sound positively darling. Charmless glaring in the young isn’t a new problem; it isn’t even a problem, it’s a human right.

It’s unclear if it’s for PR larks – a tantalising showmance – or for real. Regardless, I instantly disapproved of them as a celebrity couple. They didn’t look right together. I had concerns. Then, a small miracle occurred: I remembered it was none of my business.

Why do I have opinions about celebrity couples? I don’t interfere with regular relationships: “You need to split up”. Nor am I alone in this hyper-intrusion. Behold poor Kylie Jenner: trying to navigate her romance with Timothée Chalamet against a non-stop barrage of negativity and scorn (general gist: “A mere Kardashian with a real actor?”). Who are we to turn down thumbs like Roman emperors on the romantic choices of others – has celebrity culture seeped so deep into our souls, we have gone mad with the power?

Photograph by Jesse Grant/WireImage