May Carlos Alcaraz remain uncool
Forever and ever, Amen.
A few days after the US Open final, I woke up, opened Instagram almost immediately because I like to persecute my nervous system, saw some images and wondered: is Carlos Alcaraz inching toward a cooler version of himself?
I have never before had this thought, the one about Carlos’ propensity for cool; his cool rising. That’s because in my innermost soul, I know Carlos is not destined for cool. Any steps toward cool he takes can be credited to happy accidents; unsustainable and without follow up. So, naturally, the thought was squashed as quickly as it materialized.
Is accidental swag still… swag, though?
The quandary has now been well-documented, but happy accident is exactly how our boy’s shaved head came to be. Bro’s bro, Alvaro Alcaraz—not only not his famed barber, Víctor Martínez, but not a barber at all—messed up his trim, so they stripped the dome down to the studs. Its unveiling drew mixed reviews. And mine? Fast, I thought. Hard. His full head of hair hummed a healthy song—but was it not heavy with regrets from finals lost??! The baggage was cut out like an adulterous ex, and in its place stood something reminiscent of the hot felon if you squinted, but no, actually, absolutely not at all—though the shave down eventually became symbolic of his US Open victory. But remember, this look was very unintentional. Which is different to nonchalant; one of the building blocks of cool. Some of the swaggiest people are elderly grandparents in Chinatown, and they all know exactly what the fuck they’re doing.
To bring it back: Carlos then celebrated winning the USO by very intentionally going blonde. We then had this video and this image to contend with:
He is a shirtless vision; glazed in sweat; Hailey Bieber’s skincare philosophy writ large; an icy blonde halo taking him higher. Or, he appears to be wearing a diaper, according to other less flattering accounts. Either way, my brain cajoles me to link this new Carlos with a sense of reckless abandon. With the reckless abandon of, say, Marshall Mathers.
But then! I remember this video exists:
Feel with me the fear in our protagonist’s eyes as he counts himself in, and then show me something less cool.
Another reason cool shall not become him:
Every time he’s *romantically connected* with someone, we scoff
Who among us doubted the rumor that Carlos was dating Emma Radacanu, a woman of charisma and poise? Or the one about him currently dating Hulu star, Brooks Nader (trading dates with his opp, Jannik Sinner) a woman who is in the top 1% of people who are hot in a templatized way? All of us doubted those, silly! When I polled my Instagram homies about whether or not Carlos is sexually active, here’s where we landed:
This close-to 50/50 outcome is of course remarkable when we consider this is a 22 year-old man at the untouchable top of a globally beloved sport. Jack Draper, just a year older and infinitely more rizzed up, would receive a 100% sexually active score, no problem. Reilly Opelka—a man of unreasonable height (6’11”), who used to (and maybe does still) hit the gym in Rick Owens according to GQ’s Sam Hine—would never be thrust into my savage polling ring.
Carlos is obviously sexually active. Sex is being had, though we have no insights into the quality. In any case, a source close to his agent asserts he is very (visually) familiar with the female body:
Carlos didn’t convincingly pass the virgin test because of the other rumors about him; the TRUE ones that paint him as the nicest guy on earth. Here are just a few Subreddits, mostly involving the keywords ‘smile’ and ‘lovely’:
“Carlos holding doors and sharing smiles with every AO staff member he meets”
“Carlos Alcaraz's lovely interaction with the lemonade stand kid at his press conference”
“Alcaraz's lovely reaction as he watches a lady go crazy with joy after getting a selfie with him. "It makes my day, to be honest"
“Carlos Alcaraz thanking and greeting each of the ball kids”
“I absolutely love how genuinely kind and good-hearted Carlos Alcaraz is, his sportsmanship and how affectionate he always is with his rivals even after tough losses. Never change Carlitos!”
His smile is just that pure
Carlos made his main draw professional debut at age 16; a boy with big dreams. Now he stands before us; a man who’s realized many of them, and so, must set more and more sophisticated goals for himself. But his smile? It remains boyish; open—and irrationally so, given his repute. Not open as in agape, though there’s some of that too—but sincere, and entirely without pretense.
The architecture of Carlos’ mouth; the manner in which his teeth cooperate into an unrestrained smile—one that also happens to marginally over-index on gum—and eyes that fully commit, reveal a man who is not destined for cool. Sometimes, his smile is such a smile that it appears a caricature of one. His purity is diametrically opposed to (ugh, if I must) Ben Shelton’s. Both are showmen, but only one’s modalities feel smarmy—not unlike drawing thumb to nose and wiggling four fingers. Carlos can put his hand to ear and we’ll cheer, irrespective of national allegiances. But his game, a thoroughly honed grab-bag of tricks, is all the cheek we need from him.
(I feel compelled to clarify that I don’t dislike Ben Shelton in that he at least makes people feel things.)
To bring it back to ordinary people, this newsletter’s raison d'être
Unbelievable tennis aside, Carlos represents the everyman. (You might argue that Sinner does, too; the working-class upbringing and all—but no, the man’s bone structure is haunting, and Gucci suits him a little too well.)
Carlos is the clumsy Instagrammer, the goofy emoter, the generous interviewer, the easy crier, the chance celebrity. He wears Nike on court, and keeps Louis Vuitton waiting in the wings. He is someone’s designated driver, probably.
May he never change.
I enjoyed the trailer for Islands (starring Sam Riley who played Joy Division’s Ian Curtis in Control). Not quite a tennis movie, it follows the life of a washed-up coach. Lots of hangovers and relatable dirtbag moments.
This is the dumbest shit ever but after a lifetime of hat resistance, I recently started wearing one and now I can—yep, you guessed it—see the ball better. Hats work, and my last broken string was in the MIDDLE of my racquet, not up top like usual. It is annoying to be me.
Would you buy a $120 tennis mirror(?) “for those who reflect before they move?”
Love this