Whenever I’m looking for ridiculous cargo shorts and fake rugby sweaters that say “Abercrombie & Fitch” all over them, I go to Abercrombie & Fitch. And whenever I go there, I’m surrounded by enough shirtless men and sculpted abs to sometimes get confused, thinking I died and somehow ended up in Gay Heaven. But maybe I’ve been approaching things wrong the whole time by feeling vaguely creeped out by all this male toplessness whereas, like the pranksters at Improv Everywhere, I should ‘ve embraced this paragon of partial nudity and did my shirt shopping sans shirt.
