In case you haven't figured it out from my profile, I love Diego Luna. He's gorgeous, talented, intelligent, charming, and a good dresser to boot. His ventures range from Mexican indie films and stage plays to ads, restaurants (he has a coffee bar and sushi restaurant in Mexico City), a production company with longtime friend Gael Garcia Bernal, and a foray into directing with the debut of his critically acclaimed documentary about a champion Mexican boxer. Although he's probably most famous to North Americans as one of the teens in Y Tu Mama Tambien, or as Patrick Swayze's successor in Dirty Dancing: Havana Nights, I've found that most people I talk to don't know who he is until they get to know me and are inundated by my obsession. As dorky as this sounds, the fact that few people I know can recognize his name makes him seem all the cooler as a celebrity crush.
His status as a style icon made him a natural choice for Zegna's sportswear campaign a while ago. Whenever I see candid photos of him or shots from a film festival red carpet, I'm struck by how he manages to epitomize tailored elegance and the sort of groomed Latin masculinity I see in clubs that Mexicans frequent--you know, the type of dark-haired, dark-eyed guy who puts a bit of gel in his hair, leaves the top buttons of his dress shirt unbuttoned, wears a bit of cologne, and has a pack of cigarettes and a lighter hidden in an inside coat pocket.
If any of my friends are reading this, I know, I know...for me his appeal boils down to two things: puppy-dog eyes and that cute Mexican accent.