Not only did Olivia Wilde name her son “Otis”, but he’s stuck on her tit like a pastie all the time, ensuring he will one day grow up a psychosexual sociopath who makes lamps out of women’s skin.
“Being shot with Otis is so perfect because any portrait of me right now isn’t complete without my identity as a mother being a part of that. Breast-feeding is the most natural thing. I don’t know, now it feels like Otis should always be on my breast. It felt like we were capturing that multifaceted woman we’ve been discussing—that we know we can be. You can be someone who is at once maternal and professional and sexy and self-possessed. [But] I mean, I certainly don’t really look like that when I’m [typically] breast-feeding. And there’s usually a diaper involved.”
Everything happens for a reason, and Otis was born to make Olivia Wilde’s rack bigger, so I thank him for his contribution to society. I also realize I’m hating on a newborn, so I’ll see myself out. Hey, at least I’m not using him as a human shield. Perspective.
