This, obviously, is New England Patriots quarterback Tom Brady, walking with impeccably sweatered girlfriend Gisele Bundchen. I do not know where or when this picture was shot, but it was jammed into the blogosphere sometime in December (I saw it on a site called The Big Lead, which subsequently compared Brady to John F. Kennedy Jr.). Much like the cover image from "The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan," the photo's spontaneous power to stupefy springs from its unrehearsed contradictions: The expression on Brady's face can be simultaneously taken as confidence, annoyance or indifference. Gisele holds his hand, but she also clutches her bag and looks away; were this an oil painting, her turtleneck would imply insecurity. Her hair is responding brilliantly. I can't imagine what she's thinking, though I assume it is something paradoxically sad. Their strides are synchronized, but they lean in opposing directions. Brady is dressed casually, but his scarf is expertly tied, his shoes are unbelievably white and, for some reason, he's casually sporting a chain. He looks cool, and he looks famous but, more than anything else, he looks perfect. He looks like a perfect human living a perfect life, effortlessly incarnating the relentless perfectitude of the football team he has led to precipice of a perfect season.
It is not just that the Patriots have not lost any games; it is that they seem incapable of being a team that loses. At no point has their 18-0 run felt unnatural or unreasonable, just as there is no element of this photo that makes Tom Brady seem anything less than a man who is supposed to date Brazilian supermodels without any hint of awkwardness or guile or self-adulation. This is normal. For Tom Brady, being perfect is normal.
Which raises a question:
Does this make you like him more, or make you like him less?
Which raises a question:
Does this make you like him more, or make you like him less?
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