In the bowels, or perhaps the smaller intestine of Oxford Circus Underground, there’s a corridor with two massive murals facing each other. They both feature Ryan Reynolds in a repeating image, un-smiling, brow up-furrowed, advertising a brand of male aftershave or cologne or animal musk or something. I don’t know if he’s a nice person in real life, but the posters are a gauntlet of douchiness that I have to walk almost daily. Worse, the copywriters have ascribed to him empty-headed aphorisms like – “make the night yours” and “I don’t expect success, I prepare for it.” RyRy, do you cringe at these the way I do? How much was your dignity worth?