When it comes to personal style and charisma, Marcel Kittel is at the top of the food chain. Only a certain kind of genius admits on live television that the most stressful thing about racing a Grand Tour is having your hair gel confiscated by airport security. He also clearly has a mystical, Samsonesque power to his hair; off comes his helmet and his hair is as perfect as it was during the pre-race interview. The only other person I know who can wear a helmet all day and still have dreamy hair is Kylo Ren, but he obviously uses the power of the Dark Side to cultivate that talent. I don’t know what Marcel’s trick is.
Marcel is also blessed with the sort of devilish good looks that would make you hate him a little bit if he didn’t seem so damn mischievously fun to be around. Besides his perfect blond hair, the rotten little charmer has eyes the color of glacial pools and the sort of smile that makes women’s knees buckle involuntarily; everywhere he goes, women bob around like gas station windsock dancers.
He even makes the Etixx-QuickStep team kit look good, which is quite the accomplishment given that the only thing uglier than the Etixx-QuickStep team kit is the Astana team kit. Ain’t nobody can make that turquoise strip look good so long as Mario Cipollini doesn’t come out of retirement just to give it the old college try.
No matter how good you are at looking good, some things simply can’t be done because some things – like, say, wearing an all-red spandex onesie, makes you look like you are smuggling satsumas from the Netherlands into Italy.
So kids, listen to Keeper Frank: say no to drugs and don’t try to pull off the all-red onesie; leave that to the professionals. Actually, no. Don’t leave it to the professionals, either. Let’s not leave it to anyone. Please stop. Everyone. No more onesies in any color other than black. Please. For the children.