For those of you who know Tanner (shoutout to our Palm Springs Buff friends!), you know he's got an interesting way about him. He's, like, just, you know, different. (Maybe gingers are just like that? I dunno.)
Tan-Tan is generally a picture of composed professionalism, a beige cardigan away from being a certified zen master. But as we all know, appearances can be deceiving, and even the most collected cucumbers can find themselves in a pickle. And oh, what a pickle Tanner found himself in at the gym with us in West Hollywood.
See, in addition to being Buff Boys, we're also models. We're managed by the owner of our parent company. So, part of our job -- for both Buff and as models -- is hitting the gym. Yes, part of our job is going to the gym. (Bluntly: we're paid to workout.)
While we often go as a group in the afternoons, there are times when, depending on schedules, we split up and go on our own. Gabe was one lucky son of a bitch when he witnessed the delicious awkwardness that happened to Tan the day in question for this gossip column.
Our story unfolds at the hallowed (and often sweaty) halls of our local West Hollywood gym, where Tanner embarked on his usual quest for physical perfection. (He's still got some hills to climb!)
Now, I've seen Tanner at the gym hundreds of times before, and let me just say, his dedication is admirable. He's there religiously, pounding the treadmill with the determination of a salmon swimming upstream. He’s the kind of guy who brings his own precisely measured pre-workout mix in a shaker bottle labeled “Gains Fuel.” You get the picture. He's serious about this Buff... er, stuff.
So, there he was, on the treadmill, earbuds in, lost in the throes of whatever motivational music gets him pumped up. (We're thinking classic Clay Aiken.) Witnesses {{cough - Gabe}} say he was really going for it, a respectable clip somewhere between a brisk walk and a moderate jog. He was, in short, a picture of athletic (ish) prowess.
But here's where the story takes a turn for the… well, let’s just say, the spectacularly embarrassing.
Apparently, somewhere between mile three and whatever track Aiken was belting out, Tan experienced a wardrobe malfunction of epic proportions.
We’re not talking about a ripped seam, people. We’re talking about a situation so mortifying, so universally cringe-worthy, that it’s been the talk of Buff Loft ever since. In fact, it has us asking when Tan plans to workout so we can avoid being seen with him. (Although, we should be finding out so we CAN witness it ourselves... with cameras rolling... because we're good people.)
According to multiple eyewitness accounts (and let me tell you, we know lots of people at that gym and everyone was an eyewitness, whether they wanted to be or not), Tanner’s gym shorts… well, they split. Right down the back.
Now, some might say this is just a minor inconvenience. A small tear, easily overlooked. But sources tell me this was no mere tear. This was a full-blown Grand Canyon-esque chasm, revealing… well, let's just say it offered a more intimate glimpse into Tanner's fitness regime than anyone had bargained for. (Ain't no Happy Bulge undies underneath. And, really, who goes free balling on a treadmill? Really?)
And here's the kicker: Tanner, completely oblivious to the gaping expanse behind him, continued to run. He was so engrossed in his workout (or classic Clay), so focused on achieving peak physical condition, that he was utterly unaware that he was putting on a free show for the entire gym. (Cue the "wise cracks" puns.)
Imagine the scene. The rhythmic thump-thump-thump of the treadmills, the grunts and groans of dedicated weightlifters, the non-workout'ers selfie'ing, the tinny music leaking from earbuds, and then… the collective gasp of the onlookers. Heads swiveled. Conversations ceased. Even the guy bench-pressing what looked like a small car couldn't help but steal a glance.
One particularly observant gym-goer, (it might've been Gabey, it might've not) described the scene as "a slow-motion train wreck you couldn't look away from." Another source reported seeing a woman nearly choke on her protein shake from suppressing laughter.
It wasn't until a brave soul, a woman with the audacity to interrupt Tanner's workout, finally approached him and discreetly pointed to the… situation. Sources say she used the phrase, "I think you might want to check your six."
The look on Tanner's face, I'm told, was a masterpiece of mortification. Imagine the realization dawning on you that you’ve been unwittingly mooning the entire gym. The horror. The shame. The sheer, unadulterated embarrassment. Because, in this gym, the treadmills don't face inward, they're lined up facing the outside windows so runners have their backs to the rest of the room.
Apparently, Tanner's face went from its usual pale-ish ginger'ed hue to a shade of red normally reserved for, well, his hair. He reportedly froze, then slowly and deliberately stopped the treadmill, backing away with the grace of a newborn giraffe.
Eyewitnesses claim he mumbled something about "laundry day" and "faulty stitching" before making a hasty retreat towards the locker room, leaving a trail of bewildered stares and stifled giggles in his wake.
The aftermath, of course, has been glorious. The story spread like wildfire, reaching every corner in WeHo and Palm Springs. Tanner, naturally, has become the subject of endless jokes (how many times has he been told, "Just say no to crack" or "Crack is whack" at this point?), good-natured ribbing and carefully worded inquiries about the structural integrity of his wardrobe.
He's handled it all with admirable (and surprising) grace, even managing to crack a few jokes himself. He’s even considering getting custom-made, reinforced gym shorts, which he jokingly refers to as his “armor.”
The moral of the story?
First of all, wear some goddamn underwear when you're running on a treadmill!
Second, double-check your attire before engaging in strenuous activity.
Third, life is too short to take yourself too seriously. So, the next time you see Tanner, offer him a smile, a knowing wink, and maybe a gift certificate to a tailor.