He may have been many people's teen idol of choice in the late 1970s, but I confess that I never exactly went insane over Leif Garrett. He was awfully pretty and all, and goodness knows that he was never afraid to put himself on display, but he was missing something, some vital pop that would have put him in the top tier of boys I lusted over.
Put it this way: he is in The Outsiders, a movie that I watched practically daily for a six month period, and I never minded much when his character was killed at the end of the first act, and not just because he was good at portraying asshat soc Bob, but because, meh, who cares about Leif Garrett when you've got the likes of Rob Lowe, Matt Dillon, Ralph Macchio, and my ultimate 80s dreamboat C. Thomas Howell? But, as I said before, he was super pretty, and if his music, acting, and personality never set my soul on fire, if I happened to see a picture of him on the cover of a magazine wearing nothing but teeny running shorts, there was a good chance that I might hold that image in my mind for quiet time later that evening. I certainly paid attention when he spent nearly all of Peter Lundy and the Medicine Hat Stallion with his blousy shirt unbuttoned to the naval.