It is, demonstrably, possible to be this cool. I mean, we’re looking at it. Marcello Mastroianni is right there in front of you, being this cool. But since it’s not possible for anyone else to be this cool, it’s certainly impossible for anyone to be any cooler. It’s science, or math, or something.

I mean, Marcello is in La Dolce Vita, being so cool that even he can’t stand himself. Then he stands in front of a giant billboard image of himself being himself, which is like cool squared, or cubed. I never was good with those numbers you had to type by grabbing the roller on the typewriter by the knurled knob on the end of the carriage and setting it halfway between two lines. I’m not that cool.

Marcello is no doubt exuding his own hair gel. Nothing that comes from the store could possibly match it. Cool sunglasses, natch. I’ll bet he was wearing sunglasses when he was born. That must have hurt Mama Mastroianni, but sacrifices must be made for people this cool.

He’s not cold, however. An ex-wife’s lawyer is cold. He is also occasionally slicker than a greased weasel, as well as being cool. How else do you explain this?

Not only is he able to get Raquel Welch to dance on the table for him, he also gets her to swing her arms while she does it.

Now that’s pretty cool.