D'you reckon he goes home after a long day of trying to be a sex symbol, and then sits there next to the wardrobe stroking his collection of autumnal hued chinos that his publicist has forbidden him from wearing in public, and then cries.
I'd probably quite fancy him if I saw him in his natural habitat doing geocaching or in a student union bar.
He just can't quite carry of the Hollywood star thing. I feel a bit embarrassed for him really.