The first time I saw Tim Easton, I was at that critical age in a young girl’s life when your conception of masculinity and attraction is just starting to crystallize. There he was, in the Macy’s of our local suburban mall. Backlit and eight feet tall on the wall of the men’s Ralph Lauren department. Gazing up, my retinas stinging from the fluorescent display while my mother picked out button down shirts for my father and grandfather, I decided: that’s a man.
They say…