It doesn’t walk like a duck. Or talk like a duck. Or even look like a duck.

Yesterday I read this article online entitled Lady looks like a dude: Female model goes male to get more jobs.

What?

Look. I’m all about equality.

But come on.

Who the hell is hiring this chick?

When did Justin Bieber’s long lost twin brother become the ideal male?

Male model?

I don’t think so.

Maybe Hilary Swank in Boys Don’t Cry.

But male model?

Um,

no.

Wearing a flannel shirt does not make you  a male model.

I mean, if that’s all it takes, then I was Gabriel Aubry for all four years of high school.

If you are going to be a male model,

you need to have more hair on your face than I do.

You need some muscle.

I need to be able to fantasize about you sweeping me up off my feet.

Without the assistance of heavy equipment.

Or a spotter.

I need to know that if I climbed on top of you in the bedroom, I would not cut off your air supply, or the circulation to your lower extremities.

I need to know that in an arm wrestling contest,

I would not be able to kick your ass.

And snap your skinny arm.

I need to know that your jeans would be too big for me.

Not impossible to button.

And if you are going to call yourself a male model,

I need to know that if I need a tampon,

I will not be able to find one in your closet.

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