This is not a joke. World Obesity Day is a thing. It exists. And since 2015 it’s been organised by the World Obesity Federation because, well, why not? If we the peoploids have to stand (or sit) World Toilet Day and International Lost Sock Day then what’s wrong with a big-hearted cuddly campaign emphasising that “obesity is a complex, chronic disease — not a personal failure — requiring collective action to improve care and tackle stigma.”
So with the international theme for 2026 being 8 Billion Reasons to Act On Obesity, stevepafford.com‘s newest guest contributor was inspired by a Facebook post that Steve Pafford guy made a while ago. He — in the shape of New York scribe James Harris — has one or two points to make about a Kiwi gladiator who became a different kind of Maximus. Oh, he likes his movies and musicals does this one.
I am told that lesbians, at a certain point in history, deliberately made themselves less physically attractive (by conventional standards) in order to avoid the attention of men. Dowdy clothes, short haircuts, no makeup.
In the same way, I’ve always suspected that Russell Crowe, after a number of years of being a prominent sexual icon — of being widely desired, famously fit, and much-discussed as a sexual object — simply threw away his beauty by getting fatter and foregoing the gym.
Crowe had proven his talent and range as an actor, and acquired enough money not to worry about the financial consequences of any decline in his career.
It seems to me that the hard work of being attractive, accompanied as it was by a loss of privacy, a rough and intrusive scrutiny, an unending assault of would-be seducers of either sex (many with mixed and questionable motives), became a burden Mr. Crowe felt like laying down.
He had demonstrated and maintained his sexual attractiveness in his youth, and found it brought as many problems as it solved. One such problem was the media storm over his affair with the married Meg Ryan. So, perhaps unconsciously, Mr. Crowe may have made the decision to slacken up, thicken up, and — since age was doing some of the work anyway — try life as a character actor.
I’ll never forget how desirable he was in Romper Stomper and Proof, but that is preserved on film, and Mr. Crowe doesn’t owe it to me to retain his Gladiator allure.
He paid his dues, his waistline is not in conflict with the roles he plays now, his ability to play them is not in doubt, and he can eat what he wants and exercise if and when he likes.
James Harris
