Glen Powell Bares All: The Internet, Thirst, and the Queer Gaze on Hollywood’s Latest Heartthrob

If the phrase “serving cake” has ever needed a visual definition, Glen Powell just delivered it—quite literally—on the silver screen. The internet’s current golden boy, already known for his viral birthday snaps, has sent the queer corners of social media into collective overdrive with his bold towel-dropping scene in the just-released action flick, The Running Man. When that towel gets snatched away, the audience is treated to what can only be described as Hollywood thirst-trap history, and queer Twitter has not been the same since .

“Everyone say thank you, Glen Powell!” became a refrain as fans shared clips, memes, and deeply appreciative commentary across platforms. For a generation raised on the art of the slow-motion underwear reveal, this was both nostalgia and a playful wink to the future. The moment was so electric, some fans wondered if what they were seeing was even real—or simply the fever dream of a fandom that’s been chronically underfed .

Why did this specific scene, in this specific film, hit so hard? For queer audiences, moments like Powell’s reveal are more than just a bit of skin—they’re a pop-cultural event, a flashpoint for desire, humor, and ongoing debates about who gets to be seen, and how. Powell’s physicality, already the subject of much discussion thanks to his recent GQ cover (complete with controversial muscle suit), is being read as both a celebration and a subversion of “masculine competency”—a phrase GQ used to describe his onscreen energy .

But the towel scene is also a rare moment of playful vulnerability. The choreography of the reveal, the cheeky timing, and Powell’s willingness to lean into the spectacle all set the stage for a kind of queer joy—a delight in the gaze, and in the performer’s complicity with it. In a year where Hollywood’s masculinity has often been defined by brooding anti-heroes or deliberately understated leads, Powell’s exuberant display feels almost radical: an invitation to desire, to laugh, and to claim a little bit of cinematic pleasure for ourselves .

It’s no secret that LGBTQ+ audiences have long been tastemakers in the realm of celebrity worship. From classic pinups to the Tumblr era’s GIF culture, the queer gaze has a way of transforming a simple shirtless scene into a cultural phenomenon. Powell’s “cake” moment is the latest in a long line of queer-coded celebrity milestones—think Marky Mark’s Calvin Klein campaign, or the now-iconic pool scene in Call Me By Your Name.

What makes this moment unique is the fervor—and the humor—with which queer fans have responded. X users (formerly known as Twitter) dissected every frame, debated the authenticity of Powell’s physique (prosthetic muscle suit or not?), and riffed on everything from the symmetry of his body to the existential mysteries of his belly button count. “Is this real or AI?” one user asked, while another proclaimed, “I need to get myself this kind of body so I can intimidate everyone around me” .

These reactions aren’t just idle gossip—they’re evidence of a community deeply attuned to the politics of visibility and the pleasures of spectacle. In a landscape where representation still matters, and where the simple act of seeing oneself (or one’s desires) reflected back can be revolutionary, Powell’s towel scene becomes more than a viral moment: it’s a space where queer longing, humor, and critique all coexist.

As anti-LGBTQ+ rhetoric continues to rise in the political sphere and representation battles rage on in entertainment, even a fleeting, thirst-inducing scene can carry a surprising amount of weight. It’s not just about the body on display, but about who gets to display it, who is allowed to look, and whose pleasure is centered in the process.

Powell’s scene lands at a cultural crossroads: queer audiences are no longer content to watch from the margins, nor are they shy about claiming moments of joy, desire, and visibility wherever they appear. The towel drop is both a celebration and a challenge—a reminder that pleasure can be political, and that sometimes the most subversive act is to look, to laugh, and to claim space in the narrative, even when the spotlight lands on someone else .

So as The Running Man hits theaters and Glen Powell’s “cake” continues its reign across timelines, let’s savor the moment. For queer viewers, it’s more than just a quick flash of skin—it’s a communal wink, a knowing nod, and an affirmation that yes, sometimes the world really is watching… and sometimes, it’s watching with us.