![]() ![]() Wilde, who has spent her nearly two-decade-long acting career as an object of male veneration, knows a thing or two about the rewards, and the risks, of being subjected to a prurient, if admiring, gaze. “This is how we want them,” Wilde deadpans from her perch on a mustard-colored velvet sofa. Male butts, to be exact: smooth and shapely and dripping with water as the men they belong to emerge from a swimming pool in the black-and-white photograph that is on the wall of her sunny living room. It’s a shining late September morning in Los Angeles and Olivia Wilde is sitting, cross-legged, in front of a bunch of bare butts.
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