bods

IF Leonardo DiCaprio, a man who seems to have dated half the Victoria’s Secret catalogue, can’t whip his shirt off on a Hawaiian beach without critics likening him to a beached whale, what hope is there for the rest of us blokes?

The recent photos of Leo catching some rays sparked a frenzy of online trolling, with keyboard warriors gleefully pointing out that the actor – shock horror – no longer possesses the boyish physique he sported 30 years ago on the bow of the Titanic.

Apparently, we are now fair game and it’s open season on the male waistline. 

Leo’s holiday flab, the internet decided, was public property, ripe for mockery. 

They disparagingly call it the “Dad Bod” – even though Leo, as far as we know, has yet to produce any sprogs. 

It’s a term delivered with a patronising smirk, conjuring images of a bloke whose primary exercise consists of walking to the fridge between repeats of Top Gear.

But let’s pause for a second and reverse it. Would any sane person ever dream of pointing a camera at a woman on a beach and laughing at her “Mum Bod”?

You’d be cancelled in an instant with feminists queuing up to condemn you. 

Yet, when it comes to blokes, it seems the rules against bodyshaming don’t apply. 

Now, I’ll acknowledge the elephant in the room, women have put up with relentless, toxic body scrutiny for decades. 

But it’s the women in my life who have been most gleeful when scrutinising poor Leo.

It’s only fair they argue, after all 51-year-old Leo isn’t shy at letting his own preferences be known, dating a string of twenty-somethings who look like they’ve never consumed a carb in their short lives.

But underneath the jokes about Leo’s paunch, there is a serious side to all of this.

The pressure to look like a muscle bound Marvel actor is driving ordinary blokes to desperate measures – and contributing to poor male mental health.

Gym memberships are skyrocketing, not just because men suddenly care about their cardiovascular health, but because they are chasing the Hollywood aesthetic.

We are witnessing an epidemic of normal blokes turning to unregulated peptides and sometimes illegal supplements, desperately trying to keep up with the unachievable, steroid-assisted standards plastered across their Instagram feeds.

I’ll hold my hands up and confess I am one of the millions who has tried the fat jabs.

After years of miserable yo-yo dieting, I would always end exactly back where I started, so I finally caved and got on the Mounjaro.

The pharmaceutical quick fix certainly worked, helping me to lose a couple of stone within six months despite the dreaded side effects.

But despite my smaller frame – and annoyingly pricey new wardrobe to match – I still have to contend with the toxic pressure of the perfect body burrowed in my own brain.

And I’m far from the only one. Just look at the male celebs who are supposedly at the top of the food chain. 

Pop icon Robbie Williams has been open about his own torturous battle with his weight and his use of fat jabs, telling fans: “I could write a book about self loathing where my body image is concerned, like pure self hatred.

“The struggle is real. The sadness is shocking. I’ve had it all my life. And it won’t abate.”

James Corden has faced abuse from those obsessed with his waistline, even channelling his frustration with the industry into Nessa and Smith’s love story in Gavin & Stacey. 

He once said: “If an alien came back and they had to take a reading on planet Earth by just watching films or TV, they would imagine that if you are chubby or fat or big, you never really fall in love, you never have sex. Certainly no-one really ever finds you attractive.”

Even the supposed “hunks” are miserable. While Jason Momoa has shrugged off “Dad Bod” criticism, Zac Efron has spoken out about the severe dehydration and “pretty bad depression” he suffered to get his Baywatch body.

While Chris Pratt had to ditch his Parks & Rec “dad bod” to break Hollywood as the ripped Star-Lord in Guardians of the Galaxy.

But then found himself criticised for being too thin, forcing him to warn critics to back off: “Just because I am a male doesn’t mean I’m impervious to your whispers. Body shaming hurts.”

So it’s little wonder that the next generation of young men are endlessly preening themselves in the mirror. 

They call it looksmaxxing, a dystopian online cult where young lads obsess over every facet of their appearance to fit a very specific alien-like visage.

We have genuinely reached a point where an influencer known as Clavicular, literally smacks himself in the face with a hammer in a bid to attempt to reshape his jawline, and is watched in this mindboggling process by millions of impressionable youngsters. 

We have created a world where teenage boys are learning that blunt-force facial trauma is preferable to looking like a normal human being.

It’s time to call time on the madness.

If the price of a Hollywood physique is a lifetime of misery, macros counting, and taking a hammer to your own cheekbones, you can count me out.

Let’s leave Leo to enjoy his Hawaiian holiday in peace, and please give us blokes a bloody break too.