I'd spent enough time sitting through Oscar-bait movies like J. Edgar and Django Unchained, and I was utterly uninterested of any of their hypermasculine characters stripped of nuance. It felt goofy, too, that the star of these movies was so totally unglamorous in real life.
I kind of like Leonardo DiCaprio, but I also kind of can't stand him (I don't trust anyone that thirsty for an Oscar). He works with my favourite director (Martin Scorsese) a lot — Leo is also the patron saint of frat boys with average taste in cinema (of which I know many) — so I've seen quite a few of his movies. It's like the opposite of a meet-cute: sitting through Blood Diamond or Catch Me If You Can, I realised how often I've seen him snapped in photos wearing cargo shorts.
For all his ups (The Departed) and downs (his e-cigs), I know basically one true thing about Leo: Even though he dates people taller and prettier than me, the real love story of his life is how much he adores his cargo shorts. The heart wants what it wants.
I, like most sentient beings, don't like cargo shorts. Their whole purpose is to demonstrate that you have so many important things, it's necessary to carry some of those important things on your thighs or near your knees. This doesn't make any sense to me, but, apparently it makes a lot of sense to him. (Then again, so did The Revenant — another thing we disagree on.)
Don't be fooled: This is a love story unlike one you've ever read before.