I think it’s worth addressing here the overwhelming, uncompromising unsexiness of Mick Jagger. I mean, really. Even in his heyday the man looked like a bizarre alien-human hybrid of questionable gender and, as we all know, now looks like a a gypsy’s shrunken head. Like Skeletor crossed with Billy Ray Cyrus crossed with Kate Moss. Like Aron Ralston if he had never cut off his arm and stayed there to die. Like someone whose own face is violently rejecting their hair. There is so very little sexy about this man that, on a list of World’s Sexiest Frontmen, I’d place him several places below 1980s Cher.