What can Angelo Zomegnan–the cruel impresario behind Giro d’Italia–do to crush grown men annealed by beyond-rigorous training? This year’s Giro has more Cat 1 climbs than Cat 4s. Then, there are endless transfers between stages as a whimper-inducing cherry on top of a suffer sundae. But these aren’t the worst professional cyclists have to endure: Giro d’Italia makes men climb snowy peaks and descend precarious roads, all for the privilege of wearing a pink shirt. The maglia rosa takes its color from the pink pages of Gazzetta dello Sport, the race’s longstanding sponsor, but who dirties their fingers on newsprint these days? Why not, say, have a manly leader’s jersey in olive drab of the Alpini, who added a guns-n-jets substance to the levity of team presentations full of bright spandex and leggy ladies?

According to Dr. Keith Alblow, esteemed psychology expert of the fair and balanced Fox News Network, forcing a male human to wear pink is “psychological sterilization” that can “exact a psychological penalty” upon individuals and “throw our species into real psychological turmoil.” (Clearly, he’s a qualified expert because every trauma is attached to the adjective “psychological.”) Giro d’Italia, I love you, but what are you doing to the professional peloton? To humanity? You are turning us into pink-worshipping, mentally sterilized weaklings! When we look at the world through rose-colored glasses, we gaze upon the end of the human race. (See what I did here? I’m not a psychologist so I use different words that aren’t sciency to mean “psychological”!) We may as well throw ourselves into the molten magma of Mount Etna to perish in a dignified manner.

To soften the psychological penalty of wearing pink, Giro d’Italia invited the Italian design duo Dolce & Gabbana to design the maglia rosa for their 2009 centenary race. Yes, the D&G of fake designer sunglasses at discount shoe store fame; the very same Dolce & Gabbana name-checked by respected musicians like the Black Eyed Peas and Lady Gaga. Italy’s fashion pantheon includes the impeccable tailoring of Armani, drama and glamour of Valentino, brainy sex appeal of Prada, and the bubble economy excess of the Gianni-era Versace. Domenico Dolce and Stefano Gabbana fit into neither directional fashion pushing trends forward nor a timeless classic with a permanent place in the fashion vocabulary. Their bread and butter (ugh, so fattening!) is interpreting what already exists, then slapping on a Dolce&Gabbana label and an inflated pricetag. While this materialistic approach may appeal to the vanity of folks who like crazy expensive bikes but hate to train, would it connect with the grizzled oldies who do indeed still stain their fingers with Gazzetta dello Sport and their shirts with coffee or red wine?

There really isn’t much a designer can do with a leader’s jersey: it’s basically coveted ad space on a skinny human body and its color is dictated by tradition. A little tweak here and there is all one can add to leave one’s own mark. Dolce & Gabbana edition maglia rosa does this quite literally by emblazoning the collar with their logo. Other than that, notable characteristics on this maglia rosa are unremarkable: a tricolore trim on the collar as well as down the side panel and the white cuffs on the sleeve. Without the sponsor logo patch of the race leader’s team, this pink jersey is remarkably sleek and minimal, considering two of Dolce & Gabbana calling cards are leopard print and floral, sometimes together in a Voltron of a print. 

While Mark Cavendish rued that the 2011 maglia rosa was not designed by Dolce & Gabbana, this year’s jersey looks way more sporty with better details than the 2009 jersey. I love the faux raglan look of the sleeves with the white panel and the red trim on the cuffs and hem. They add just enough to elevate the jersey from looking plain like the D&G version. I also like that they didn’t go with the tricolor trim that gets lost in a sea of logos, but used bold green, white and red panes mimicking the Italian flag on the collar. The only awkward addition to the 2011 jersey is the long, narrow tricolore strip, rising from the hem to the belly, that represents the 150th anniversary of Italy’s unification. A strip from the crotch to belly is appropriate to celebrate Brazil’s national founding, but for Italy? No way. If you think the Brazil reference is historical or political, I congratulate you for not looking at naked girl pics in the past decade or so. (If you will, please, Google image search “Brazilian landing strip” with safe search off to know what I’m talking about.)

2011 Giro d’Italia tagline is “Fight for Pink”–a double-entendre prospect that would make Dr. Alblow see pink and keel over with an aneurysm. As much hilarity was had with a guy named Pieter Weening riding in the pink for a few days, this year’s Giro has proven grown men racing bicycles for the privilege of wearing pink is by no means the sign of end times: bravado, grinta, triste–it was all there. The Giro and the entire sport was dealt a tremendous blow with Wouter Weylandt’s death, but the peloton endured the tragedy with dignity, fortitude and tenderness; then, raced themselves inside out. While the actual fight for pink may be settled by the CAS, it didn’t discourage contenders from trying their hand. Christophe Le Mevel tried to trade up his 3rd place on the GC for the maglia rosa by gambling on a breakaway. Vincenzo Nibali alternated breathtakingly exquisite descents with the agony of pedaling squares on the ascents to chase and snatch precious seconds–I don’t think Dr. Ferrari can inject that kind of scrap dog tenacity. Where’s the psychological sterilization and the psychological penalty? If anything, the Giro pink evokes some of the best human moments I’ll savor all year. So dress head to toe in pink and ride a damn pink bike, I say! But, please, if you dare throw a punch, put some snap into your wrist. Wearing pink doesn’t make one less of a man, but being photographed with a flaccid jab? Psychological penalty! (I’m talking to you, Robbie Hunter.)