Glenderful's Shit List: JFK Jr.

Buckle up, besties, it’s Glen Loveland, and oday, we’re yeeting the usual Glenderful’s Shit List format and diving deep into the archives for a legend who didn’t just make the list—he birthed it. We’re talking John F. Kennedy Jr., the ultimate slay king whose vibe was so potent it’s got me feral, frothing, and ready to risk it all. This man was serving main character energy before we even had a TikTok algorithm to stan.

The Glow-Up That Broke the Internet (Before the Internet)

Picture this: a six-foot Greek god, carved from marble and dripping in sweat-soaked, sun-kissed glory. JFK Jr.’s body? A whole-ass vibe check. That chiseled chest, those sculpted arms, the way his abs flexed when he hopped on a bike or sprawled shirtless in Central Park—gagged. The camera didn’t just love him; it was obsessed, zooming in on every curve, every corner, every bead of sweat like it was filming porn for the gods. His jawline? Lethal. His eyes? A smoldering dare that screamed, “You can’t handle this.” And don’t even get me started on the hair—damp from the ocean, sand clinging to his skin like it knew it was privileged. People crowned him Sexiest Man Alive, and honestly? They were lowballing it. This man was raw, reckless, erotic chaos—a walking thirst trap who made you wanna bark.

Binging American Prince on CNN (dropped August 9, 2025, three 43-minute episodes of pure fire) dragged me right back to my DC days as a congressional staffer. I was a George magazine stan from jump—subscribed the second it hit stands in ’95. Jackie O., his mom, was my queen; I devoured every biography on her chic, classy ass. But when I heard his plane went missing that humid August day in ’99, while I was apartment hunting, it gutted me. JFK Jr. isn’t just a vibe—he’s personal.

The Tea: Who Was This King?

Born in 1960, right after his dad’s presidential win, “John-John” grew up with the world’s eyes on him. Post-JFK’s assassination in ’63, he carried the weight of a nation’s dreams while dodging paparazzi like a pro. He wasn’t just Kennedy royalty; he was a rebel carving his own lane. George magazine? A total serve—politics, culture, and celebrity mashed up with a tagline (“Not politics as usual”) that was giving visionary. Cindy Crawford in a George Washington wig? Iconic. He saw the future—Trump’s reality-TV presidency was basically JFK Jr.’s playbook, minus the class.

His love story with Carolyn Bessette? A slay so intense it had the tabloids spiraling. Their chemistry was electric, but the media’s obsession was toxic. And that plane crash in July ’99, taking him, Carolyn, and her sister Lauren? A tragedy that froze him in time—forever young, forever untouchable.

Why He’s Got Me Acting Unwise

Let’s keep it 100: JFK Jr.’s hotness wasn’t just skin-deep. He had it—that chaotic, magnetic aura that made you wanna throw your morals out the window. He’d walk into a room, and the air would shift, like gravity was begging for his attention. His style? Timeless—crisp, clean, Jackie-level chic, but with a rugged edge that screamed, “I could ruin you.” Polite but never fake, curious but never try-hard, he was the gentleman you’d simp for and respect. Sailing, running, living like every move was a flex—this man was a whole mood.

His smarts? Next level. George wasn’t just a magazine; it was a middle finger to boring politics, predicting the clout-chasing, persona-driven world we live in now. He knew narrative > policy, and charisma > everything. And the way he carried his family’s legacy while still being him? That’s the kind of duality that makes me wanna climb him like a jungle gym.

The Verdict: A Ghost Who Still Slaps

JFK Jr. didn’t just have it—he was it. A myth, a movement, a man who made perfection look effortless and dangerous. The sadness of losing him at 38 only amps up the legend—frozen in time, no filter needed. He’s not just on my Shit List; he’s the blueprint. Every shirtless pic, every candid smirk, every bold move has me down bad, ready to yeet my dignity for a chance to be his shadow.

So, if you’re not hip to JFK Jr. yet, get in line. Stream American Prince. Flip through George archives. Stan the man who invented serving cunty before it was a hashtag. John F. Kennedy Jr., you’re my forever king, and I’m out here howling for you. No crumbs, just pure mania!