Here’s one photo (for those of you that gaga over him) of Jesus Luz  photographed by Fábio Bartelt for Brazilian fashion magazine ffw.

Madonna’s latest lover has been making his ways around the clubs with a box full of records and an uncanny ability to deflate the jam, deflate it down, while the beat is lumping, deflate it down, just a little more, can’t you see this party sucking.

Coco Perez gets everything before everyone else. Not fair. Jesus in his underwear. Thoughts?

LINK LOVE: Coco Perez

First she was caught giving it up to Gucci for a little charity cash, then she stretched herself out for the big boys at Louis Vuitton, and now it seems Madonna, fashion’s ultimate groupie is giving up the goodies to Dolce & Gabbana.  It must be Jesus fault for staring in their ads but the rumor on the catwalk is that her Madgesties next video, “Celebrate” will be dolled out in head to toe D&G.

I honestly don’t know why all these design houses kill themselves for this granny. Everyone with an eye on fashion knows her only true love is that Jersey douchebag, Ed Hardy.

QUICKLINK: Madonna’s Next Video Is a Dolce & Gabbana Fest

D & G F/W ad campaign. So many models, so many great looks. Can you spy Jesus?

SOURCE: Frillr

Madonna’s boy-bitch Jesus Luz get’s topless for Dolce & Gabbana’s latest ad. With Madonna back to work with Louis Vuitton, seems like both Mr. & Mrs. Aging Pop Star are gonna be working the glossies this season. Actually can’t wait for the Madonna/Louis Vuitton ads. I’m hoping for bunny ears. Please let there be bunny ears. (I like bunnies…)

For a second I was ready to write Jesus Luz off as a overglorified gold digging pool boy who serves no purpose other than to be Madonna’s hot  rebound bitch. Wait, I still feel that way. This editorial proves nothing other than making it obvious that Jesus is only getting covers for being “Madonna’s New Love”. Congrats Jebus, you’re officially the male Amber Rose.

I don’t know what’s more porny — Jesus Luz having his own name tattooed on his back, L’Officiel Hommes calling his spread “Ray of Light,” after the Madonna hit, or the model himself, wiggling around for the camera and contributing very little to the world of modeling.

In any case, someone up there likes him and gave him the cover for issue #16 of the French mag.  He should really get it over with and just resign himself to a life of underwear modeling.

GALLERY: Jesus Luz for L’Officiel Hommes #16.

As if being engaged to Marc Jacobs weren’t awesome enough, Lorenzo Martone celebrated his 30th birthday with 150 of his closest friends at the private nightclub, Avenue, on Tuesday night. Complete with Jesus Luz at the turntables and drinks/entertainment courtesy of Burberry, Jacobs certainly made his man feel special. Cheers Lorenzo and happy birthday! We’re jealous of your fiance, your friends, your parties and your life.

GALLERY: Living Vicariously Through Lorenzo Martone

Thanks W!

Yesterday Amber Rose Twittered this photo — apparently Madonna got all up on her butt at last week’s Met gala.   I just hope this isn’t the “Before” picture of anything that went on later that night.  

And I probably don’t want to know where Jesus Luz is.

Hotties, from left: Jesus Luz, Adam Senn, David Gandy, and Noah Mills.

Hottie (and Madonna’s leading man) Jesus Luz is rumored to be starring in Dolce & Gabbana’s fall campaign. He will be joining  Adam Senn, and David Gandy and Noah Mills, who are technically all nobodies. Proving once again that a pretty face and a hot bod are all you need in this industry.

Alexandra and I are fond of saying that New York events are always “hit or miss.” A hit usually comprises complimentary champagne, a few photographers and at least one or two B-list celebrities (though I’ll often settle for a Tinsley or Fabiola). A miss lacks one or more of these things and are especially disappointing considering the time and effort required to look fabulous: usually at least an hour of preparation and don’t forget that the outfit you wear can never be worn again; it’s finished—you might as well throw it in the trash since the only other place you might get away with wearing it is a cousin’s sweet sixteen in New Jersey. This week could generally be placed in the “miss” category.

Once again, my week began early as Alexandra coaxed me out of my family visit in the boondocks to come back to the city on Sunday under the pretext of finding a suitor. Alexandra’s friend “Chicago” was performing at the Ritz. “It’ll be fun!” she said in her reassuring, sweet voice. “It’ll be good for you go to out and meet new people.” Bah humbug, she hit me at my Achilles Heel and so I agreed. I tried to convince a few more of my friends to come out with us but they lost interest as soon as a specified that I meant “The Ritz”—as in the gay club, not the hotel.

I had never been to The Ritz but I heard that Madonna and Jesus had stopped by during the previous week to dance. “How bad can it be?” I thought. Well, I was in for a surprise. It goes without saying that there was no open bar and I refused to pay for drinks so I sat on the banquette and watched the performances—clearly not meant to be done in a sober state. The show ended when the fat lady sang, literally. Said fat lady stripped off her dress and belted “Don’t Stop Believing” to an audience that had mostly paired off for the night. It seemed to me that the crowd had stopped believing in the performances somewhere after the man singing an opera ballad threw off his trench coat to reveal a pale body suit and ran around the room screaming, “I’ve got no privates.”

Because we refused to end the night on that note, we made our way to the Greenhouse for Vandam Sundays, the weekly blowout gay party hosted by Kenny Kenny that’s reminiscent of an acid-trip. Besides the usual drag suspects in eye-popping makeup, there was also a girl on five-foot stilts swinging her purse around as she stomped to the music. Mary-Kate Olson was inexplicably downstairs dancing but had left before we could catch a glimpse of the mythical creature.

The next day was comparably more staid: the 25th Anniversary of the Wellington Hair Spa. Organized by PR Noir diva Danita King, the event featured complimentary wine by Bouké but most importantly there were enough hors d’oeuvres to get one’s fill for dinner. Hey, it’s a recession.

If I hadn’t been invited to any parties, I might have missed the fact that Tuesday was Saint Patrick’s Day all together. I was greatly looking forward to that night’s ACRIA benefit at the chic Soho House thrown by promoter-legend Patrick Duffy. The party was a late starter (all the bold-faced names were at the Valentino Film premiere) and there was no open-bar. Alexandra put it best when she said, “I feel like we’ve been duped.” Well, technically we had been Duffy-ed. Most exciting for me, I spoke with Ken Doll incarnation Leif Stacey who walked the Barbie Show during New York Fashion Week.

As no Saint Patrick’s Day is complete without society saint Patrick McMullan, we attempted to head over to PMc’s annual party, appropriately held this year at Greenhouse. By the time we had arrived, which was about an hour after the start time, the place was over-capacity and we were told we’d have to wait in line. Madonna doesn’t do lines and neither do we so we skedaddled like two Leprechauns.

I wasn’t in the mood to make another trip back to Greenhouse the next day for Wednesday’s Nylon/Bodhi Bags party so I didn’t resurface until Thursday for the Saks/FIT Gala. Held at the glamorous Cipriani’s Midtown, I knew I had to take it up a notch for the step and repeat so I stopped by Versani to borrow some bling. Guests included Teen Vogue’s Amy Astley, IMG’s Fern Mallis and other industry heavy-weights. The event, which included champagne, lavish hors d’oeuvres and photographers would have definitely been categorized as a “hit” had we actually had a seat for the sit-down dinner. In my quasi-press capacity, we were only invited for the cocktail hour. As such, I technically can’t report on how Mayor Bloomberg supposedly presented an award since I was not there to witness.

Alexandra and I were dressed to the nines and we refused to go home before 9PM and cry into a bowl of Lucky Charms so instead we dropped in on the Bowery Hotel for the Festa Brasileira event hosted by the Nature Conservancy Young Professionals Group. Lucky for us, the champagne and hors d’oeuvres continued there and we even managed to get photographed. It was a perfect and classy way to end the evening.

It was back to the Bowery on Friday night for the Layla Love benefit, which was raising money for blindness treatment of the photojournalist. If the Bowery Hotel represents the new glossy Manhattan, then the Collective Hardware space at 169 Bowery represents the vestigial, gritty Bowery of yore. I thought we might be mugged at any moment or at least see the ghost of Sid Vicious as we mulled around the industrial space, though neither incident occurred. Instead, we waited around for something to happen but left before the scheduled runway show at 10PM.

Even during a week of misses, it’s impossible not to reflect on how lucky we are to attend all these glamorous functions. It’s easy to forget that there are people who actually pay for alcohol—now that’s a crazy concept.

Adrien Field

Madonna hit up The Kabbalah Center in NYC Saturday with Jesus Luz and other kiddies in tow.

I guess now that she and Guy Ritchie are officially split, there’s no shame in the photogs catching you with another man. Or dressed like Carrie’ Bradshaw’s grandmother.

What material / creature is her jacket, forreals? I think I should really consider making a blog called “Not Everyone is An Olsen.” This is another failed Mary-Kate.

Photo from Gossip Girls.

Madonna fave Steven Klein shot her for the March 2009 issue of W Magazine.

The much-talked-about 46-page editorial, “Blame it on Rio,” co-stars Madonna’s special friend Jesus Luz.

GALLERY: Madonna for W Magazine.

Steven Klein shot Madonna (and Jesus Luz) for the May 2009 issue of W magazine. A couple preliminary photos have leaked, so I wouldn’t be surprised if they move her cover story up a couple months.

Images from Style Frizz.

Correct me if I am wrong, but there is something terribly disturbing about celebrities who correct their unsuccessful past relationships by robbing the cradle. Madonna, like many others, has had her fair share of spotlight boyfriends and breakups, but I certainly hoped she wouldn’t fall into the Demi Moore trap of dating boys who should be doing keg stands at their respective college’s frat house. Apparently the celebrity world is a world where age is not an issue. Madonna is 50 and her new Brazilian model man candy Jesus Luz is 20. Easy math here. She was married to Sean Penn with a successful career when this kid was running around in diapers!

By all means, Madonna, he is quite the looker…if you can still attract sexy, foreign models even with your age, track record, wrinkles and menopausal symptoms riding on your back, all the power to you! However, if this is a mid-life crisis relationship for the tabloids, I would crucify what you have going with Jesus before the holy trinity spites your ass! 

Thanks NY Mag!