Where is my cabin boy?
Behold fashion icon Giorgio Armani in a Speedo on a Spanish beach. Check out that gloriously deep and even tan, the chiseled legs and buttocks. Scan up to that snow white hair. Mr. Armani is 72. He wears it well, but still, 72. Put some pants on, sir. It's like seeing your grandmother in a hot pink thong.
Unlike Grandma in the whaletail, however, Armani pulls it off. Instead of looking like a delusional queen, he comes off as dashing and virile and just, totally spry. He looks to be amazingly fit and totally hairless from the neck down. That last part is totally disturbing.
Armani has always been one of my favorite designers. His stunning and elegant pieces have graced the skin and bones of Hollywood's elite for years. His day and eveningwear creations are always in a league of their own. One of the few great couture houses still in existence, Armani makes one wonder what will happen when all the old masters are gone. The shoes of giants like Armani, Versace and Halston may never be filled again.
