As LOVE magazine releases its seventh annual Love Calendar (a series of short, handsomely shot, provocative clips starring Hollywood A-listers celebrating their own womanhood), we at CONVICTS were wondering what the Love Calendar would look like were it to feature men. Fortunately I didn’t have to imagine, because these clips are on permanently-open tabs in my brain. Behold the 2017 Advent Calendar: a psycho-erotic celebration of men.

scene ONE, a ritzy hotel

A well-established director conducts a meeting with a promising young actress and does not request to masturbate in front of her.
End scene.

scene TWO, a party

All the men featured in the Hot Dudes Reading instagram account host a soiree in honor of the women who have dutifully liked their pics all year. Unfortunately, none of said women could make it, except for me. I invite a few of my closest friends (specifically the ones who, in 2017, uploaded only flattering pictures of me and none where I look like Gollum from Lord of the Rings). We are all outnumbered by tall, radically literate, men. All are single. None are wearing shirts.
End scene.

scene THREE, a podium and a cheering crowd

Channing Tatum, Farhan Akhtar and Joe Biden-Circa-His-College-Years all vow to not wear shirts until Trump is impeached.
End scene.

scene FOUR, the white house

Donald Trump admits that he is wildly unqualified for the job and graciously steps down. Hugh Grant is our new president, because of his Harry Potter speech in Love Actually, and because these days anybody can be. He still looks EXACTLY the same as he did in 2001. I am his assistant, whom soon he realizes he is in love with, and whom he makes out with vigorously at a local school concert, during an impressive cover of Mariah Carey’s smash hit All I Want For Christmas. He smells of sandalwood and ambition (it is a scratch and sniff calendar). Because Trump wasn’t technically impeached, Channing Tatum, Farhan Akhtar, and Joe Biden-Circa-His-College-Years find no reason to put their shirts back on.
End scene.

scene FIVE, a bedroom

Joe Biden-Circa-His-College-Years and I are sending each other respectful (yet risque!) texts.
I text him at 9.23 and he replies at 9.22, using full sentences and properly-executed semicolons. All innuendo is subtle, clever and allusive. All the words are spelt correctly. He does not ask for nudes. I send them anyway.
End scene.

scene SIX, a new york city street

An unaccompanied female walks past a construction site, the working men nudge each other and clear their throats, preparing to call out obscenities.
‘Wait!’, says one to the other, ‘I heard about simple rule for catcalling: if we wouldn’t want a man to say it to us in prison, women probably don’t want us to say it to them on a street.’
‘Good grief, you’re right,” another replies ‘If I was in prison, I certainly wouldn’t want men making kissing sounds or purring what you doinnnnn baby or heyyyyy mami at me. Perhaps sexually-tinted greetings do make women feel uncomfortable. Let’s not do it to any woman, anymore.’
The woman passes, undisturbed.
End scene.

scene SEVEN, a bedroom 

Jake Gyllenhaal circa Love and Other Drugs is naked and post-coitally reading aloud to me his favourite bits of Eve Babitz’ Slow Days Fast Company (which I recommended). Contrary to Wikipedia, he is in fact much taller than me, and sometimes just picks me up in the you’re-a-bird-I’m-a-bird way because he just feels like it and because I’m not even heavy to him.
End scene.

scene EIGHT, a crowded train on the l line

A young manspreader on the subway immediately self corrects, and rearranges himself to take up just one seat, apologizing to fellow passengers. An elderly man boards the train, the young man immediately stands up and offers his place. The man also looks like Alex Pettyfer and is not wearing a shirt.  
End scene.

scene NINe, a hospital

I awake from a mild concussion and realize that I am married to Alain de Botton but he looks exactly like Chris Hemsworth.
End scene.

scene TEN, a commercial kitchen

Chris Pine and I are taking a pasta-making class. He demands that I eat more, and not be afraid of carbohydrates because he’s attracted to my brain and not just my body. He insists we reenact the Lady and the Tramp pasta / kissing / blushing scene with our freshly boiled linguine, which I do – not because I take orders from men, but because it’s a good idea.
End scene.  

scene ELEVEN, an office

A woman is offering her opinion in a boardroom. Not a single man speaks over her.
End scene.

scene TWELVE, the ocean

The Titanic is sinking. Rose (played by me) and Jack (played by young Leo) are in the water. Rose is balancing on a floating door, and realizes — swifty — that there is room for Jack too. She shuffles over, and they arrange themselves in a way that allows their combined weight to be distributed evenly. The makeshift door-raft remains buoyant, and soon a lifeboat appears on the horizon. Everyone lives. Jack was not wearing a shirt the entire time because he gave it to Rose (me) to keep her (me) warm.
End scene.

scene THIRTEEN, a courtroom 

A man charged of sexual assault does not use the phrase “I have a mother and sisters” in his defense.
End scene.

scene FOURTEEN, the white house

A new female president, is sworn in (Hugh Grant quickly realized he wasn’t qualified for the job, and didn’t want to let his ego interfere with the welfare of a nation). Nobody references her being bossy, cold, or childless. (Hugh Grant and I are also still in love and he often recreates the “Jump for your Love” dance scene from Love Actually for me, except he doesn’t wear a shirt. Afterwards we hold long and balanced discussions about how men can champion their female colleagues in the workplace.)
End scene.

scene FIFTEEN, a crowded auditorium

Louis Theroux announces a global talking tour. Tickets are free for women, because of the gender pay gap. He apologizes for setting an unrealistic standard for the breadth of male empathy.
End scene.


Two young lovers venture home together, and are kissing on a bed.
The young man realizes his female companion has fallen asleep, and probably doesn’t want to have sex with him anymore. He stops touching her body to “check” if she’s awake, and puts blanket over her. He then goes to sleep too, occupying a portion of the bed that is reasonable. He also does not snore. He also looks like Liam Neeson’s hot AF son Micheál Neeson. In the morning, they kiss, have sex that is both fantastic and consensual, and then go out for breakfast. She insists that they split the bill, because she is capable of it, and because it is fair.
End scene.


Alan Rickman is alive.
End scene.


A timelapse of a man and a woman are having fun, playful sex when they decide to take photos of each other naked. Even after they break up they do not share the photos with anyone.
End scene.


Dev Patel is confidently holding a small baby and chatting candidly to his hot friends about why tampons should not be taxed as a luxury item. All the sprinklers come on at once and drench Dev Patel, who is wearing a very light cotton tee because it is summer, and who laughs it off and doesn’t mind because he’s Dev Patel.
End scene.


A flock of athletes congregate. None are wearing clothes. One makes a vaguely-sexist remark but Pierce Brosnan circa-Mrs. Doubtfire interjects. They all regroup, self-correct, and then brainstorm techniques for giving women better oral sex. Pierce Brosnan has many tips. Everyone takes actual notes.
End scene.


Justin Trudeau live streaming from a steaming natural spa about why ghosting is cowardly.
End scene.

TWENTY TWO, a crowded subway carriage

A woman boards. Not a single man, not even those with compromised spacial-awareness, touch her body without her permission.
End scene

scene TWENTY-THREE, a boardroom at instagram hq

A group of people gather around and conclude that (Dev Patel notwithstanding) the male nipple is far more offensive than the female nipple. The nipple female is freed. There is a shirtless party to celebrate. All of the men look like Neville Longbottom after he got hot and all of the women are me.
End scene.

scene TWENTY-FOUR, an office in greenpoint, nyc

A female writer submits an op-ed, and is only lightly edited by her male co-workers for possible grammatical oversights, and not for potentially-sassy overtones.
End scene.


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