Perfect Nude Guys

Perfect Nude Guys
Sergei finds the forceful, fluid grace of the nude male body. His camera captures it forever. Read more below.

Sergei is a photographer, among many other things, based in Michigan. His artistic photography of male nudes has been exhibited in art shows in Seattle, Detroit, Dallas, Rochester, N.Y., and Manchester, Conn., and has been published in the United Kingdom and the United States.
“Combining my passion for photography and admiration of the fine male form, I attempt to capture, in the most artistic way, all that the body has to offer — the beautiful and the mundane, the graceful and the dirty, the spiritual and the profane.”
Find more on his website and Instagram . His beautiful coffee table books are available on Blurb .

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Best Prosthetic, Best Butt, and Best Gay Make Out? We HAVE to stan.
There are awards for a lot of things, and truthfully, the people deserve! Of course Hollywood has its award show circuit, even gay porn has a mini circuit of sorts, localized around one week in January. But you know something we hadn’t ever thought about? An awards show for male nudity on television and film. Thankfully, someone was six years ahead of us.
On Thursday, Mr. Man , the “world’s leading online library” of every male nude scene in the history of film and television, announced the winners of the 6th Annual Manatomy Awards. That award show “shines a spotlight on the past year’s naked male achievements in film and TV.”
“For years, nude scenes were primarily the domain of female actresses,” Phil Henricks of Mr. Man said in a release. “That has been changing as each year there are more scenes and actors to choose from. We are celebrating the fine actors who have the balls (pun intended) to go naked.”
The awards have a whopping 43 categories. Of those, some are new created just for this year’s scenes. For example, Best Locker Room Scene was created because of Euphoria ’s iconic full frontal locker room scene with 21 guys in it. And The Best Bloomin Onion was created to give some love to Orlando Bloom’s butt in Carnival Row .
There’s more than a few other notables. Some of our favorites include Sauvage , which won Best Picture, Ricky Whittle in American Gods who won Best Butt, and Taron Egerton and Richard Madden in Rocketman which won Best Gay Makeout. Tales of the City , the Netflix series won Best TV show, while that scene in season one of Sex Education won Best Prosthetic. They certainly did the work!
The literal best part of it all though: Ryan O'Connell's sex scene with Brian Jordan Alvarez in the Netflix series Special won Best Gay Scene. I'm sorry, but I can't say this loud enough: WE LOVE TO SEE IT!
Best Full Frontal - Jack Reynor in Midsommar
Best Butt - Ricky Whittle in American Gods
Best Gay Scene - Brian Jordan Alvrez and Ryan O’Connell in Special
Biggest Cock - Aaron Taylor Johnson in A Million Little Pieces
Best I Just Blue Myself - Yahya Abdul-Marten II in Watchmen
Best Gay Makeout - Taron Egerton and Richard Madden in Rocketman
Best Uncut Cock - Christophe de Coster in Vida
Best Prosthetic Penis - Connor Swindels in Sex Education
Best Tanline - Chace Crawford in The Boys
Best Superhero Nudity - Joshua Orpin in T itans
Best Furry Friend Frontal - Collin Baja in Tales of the City
Lifetime Skinchievement - Daniel Craig
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What the Perfect Male Body Looks Like Now
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My problems, as they often do, started with Zac Efron. There he was, running around on-screen in Baywatch, a more evolved version of my species, with veins the size of fiber-optic cables and D'Angelo bones that looked like a pair of beachfront cliffs you could build your Malibu dream house on. Next to him flexed The Rock, whose literal Rock-hardness improbably grows with every billion-dollar-grossing flick. I could ignore Dwayne Johnson as a genetic aberration, a six-foot-four mountain of superior genes. But Efron? Outside of his ability to sing, act, and charm his way through awards shows without a shirt on, we were basically the same guy. He was 28 while filming Baywatch. I was 28 while watching it. I was also alarmed. Efron looked like one of those preserved human torsos on display in Bodies…The Exhibition. He looked like Tyler Durden if Tyler Durden had put on a trash bag and trudged across the Sahara for a week. Was this what I was supposed to look like? I have fibrous muscle tissue, too, you know.
I spoke to Gunnar Peterson, trainer of Hollywood bods, to find out if there was an answer to what a half-naked dude should look like. He explained that such a pared-down manscape is the new aesthetic among his clients. “It used to be, men wanted abs and maybe arms,” he said. “Now, really, it's almost like they don't care about adding anything; they just want to see what they have.” Peterson says that it comes down to “overall leanness”—erasing your body fat to see what muscles might have been hiding underneath, but “not so big that you can't run to your car if it starts raining.” He calls it the “capable” body. Capable, mostly, of making you feel bad about yourself.
Listen, I'm glad that men are moving away from the dated, Arnie-inspired “bigger arms make a better man” notion of physical masculinity. I, too, am for guys being able to scratch their backs. It used to be that I—and every other relatively in-shape guy—was about ten pounds and four or five abs away from the hard-body gold standards of my teenage years: Abercrombie & Fitch models; a young Ryan Reynolds in Van Wilder; Usher in his “U Got It Bad” video; or, if I was being really ambitious, Get Rich or Die Tryin' 50 Cent, swole king of the early 2000s. It'd require a diet overhaul and trading couch time for gym time, but with enough dedication, those bodies were attainable. I could imagine a moment in which I had crunched and curled my way to torso glory.
But as I've gotten older and managed to shed some fat, so many other very famous guys have shed more of it, raising the bar on Peterson's “less is more” ideal. Ryan Reynolds went from in-shape college slacker in Van Wilder to sculpted vampire murderer in Blade: Trinity to a perma-flexed antihero in Deadpool. With each successive iteration of Wolverine, Hugh Jackman looks like he's trimmed so much body fat that by 2017's Logan his torso could irrigate farmland in the San Joaquin Valley.
This hasn't been just a superhero phenomenon. Instagram should really be renamed #Fitstagram, packed as it is with men whose body-fat percentage is equal to the milk-fat percentage in my refrigerator. Each season, the Henley-sporting bros cast by The Bachelorette get more and more shrink-wrapped in their own skin. Baywatch ’s Efron is merely the most singular distillation of this pathology: The High School Musical pretty boy I came of age with has turned into a walking set of pan-roasted sinews.
Something that made me feel both better and worse: “Unless you are independently wealthy and have no job and can devote everything you have to preparing— and you're a genetic freak—there's a very, very slim chance that you will ever look like that,” said Peterson. Freeing, sure. But then, if these bodies are the new ideal, and I'm already doomed to fail…what should I be aiming for? I know I'm not alone in wondering.
I've tried turning to those who have rejected their own Efron-ification for inspiration. I've appreciated the self-love of the dadbod moment. Witnessed friends fill my social-media feed with their contorted yogi limbs and #namastes. I'm not even sure American GOAT Tom Brady looks good with his shirt off, but I respect his concern with remaining ageless and pliable. These alternatives all look achievable and—perhaps more important—healthy!
But body positivity and rational exercise regimens are no antidote for vanity. My brain knows the Efron Bod is bad, but the dumpy middle schooler inside me wants to be running shirtless on the beach with all the movie-star guys, goddammit. No matter how I reason with myself about attainability or wellness, I'm served a constant diet of dudes on impossible diets.
The only trick I've found to finding some peace in the current landscape of men's fitness is accepting the tension of living inside that onslaught, to be self-aware enough as I age to accurately locate myself on the seesaw of health and vanity. See the abs, want the abs, then let that desire roll off me like water off Efron's smooth, rippling torso. Exercise often, but in a way that finds some balance. Make sure I actually enjoy working out. For me, it's a combination of hot yoga, running, and lifting, and constantly overselling the lifting part.
I realize that at some point, no matter how well I'm doing or how great I feel, I'm going to tap on Instagram, or watch Ronaldo strip after a goal, and see a set of muscles I didn't know I didn't have but desperately want. And then I'm going to think of Peterson's words about the “capable” body and remember that, in the ways I need to be, I already am capable—just not of doing the shirtless, American Ninja Warrior –style lifeguarding at which Zac Efron excels. Which is fine. Because no one is paying me millions of dollars to. And because I'm certainly not taking off my shirt.
This story originally appeared in the March 2018 issue with the title "What Kind of Perfect Body Am I Supposed to Be Jealous of Now?"
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