Marko Purišić

Marko Purišić (pronounced roughly Marko Purishich), better known as Baby Lasagna, is the Croatian singer-songwriter and producer who exploded onto the European scene representing Croatia at Eurovision 2024 with “Rim Tim Tagi Dim.” He finished second overall, won the public vote, and became a massive fan favorite.  He was born on 5 July 1995 in Rijeka and grew up in the Istrian town of Umag. As of September 2026 he is 31. Most sources list his height around 177–178 cm (5’10”). After openly talking about previously weighing over 100 kg, he trained heavily (jiu-jitsu and gym) and now sits around 75 kg with a leaner, more defined frame.  The look Marko has a sharp, expressive face that photographs well from every angle. High cheekbones, a straight nose, and a strong jawline give him an angular, slightly androgynous quality that he leans into. His eyes are blue and often described as intense — they can look piercing and focused on stage or warm and mischievous when he smiles. He frequently wears stretched ear gauges and has experimented with light facial hair (a thin mustache or short stubble). His hair is one of his most changeable features. For the Eurovision era it was bleached platinum-blonde, often messy, spiked, or slightly curly on top with faded or shaved sides. He’s since gone through pink and darker phases, but the bleached look remains the most iconic. Combined with his stage makeup (sometimes glitter, eyeliner, or a touch of gold), it creates that “emo Ken doll meets goth rockstar” vibe people keep mentioning.  His body is now athletic rather than bulky — broad enough shoulders from guitar years and training, a slimmer waist, and the kind of lean muscle that looks good both in oversized theatrical sleeves and in a simple T-shirt. On stage he moves with restless energy: hips, shoulders, and those dramatic white puffy sleeves catching the lights while he commands the space.

Head to toe, shirtless Start at the face. Sharp cheekbones, a straight nose, a defined jaw that gets a little more angular when he’s lean. Blue eyes that look almost too direct when he isn’t smiling. The bleached or dyed hair — platinum, pink, dark, whatever phase he’s in — usually short on the sides and a bit messy on top, so when he’s shirtless it frames the neck and the gauges in his ears. Light stubble or a thin mustache sometimes sits on that mouth. It’s a pretty face with a slightly feral edge, the kind that looks even more striking once the clothes are gone because there’s nothing theatrical left to hide behind. The neck is lean, not thick. Shoulders are broader than you’d guess from the baby-faced press smiles — guitar years plus the gym gave him width without turning him into a block. Collarbones show when he’s cut. Chest is athletic rather than massive: enough muscle to have shape, not so much that it reads as bodybuilder. After the cut he carried a tighter midsection; in the photos he later deleted, the abs were visible under good lighting — a real midsection from consistent training, not a permanent competition six-pack. He has said himself that touring softened it again. When he’s training, the waist is narrower than the shoulders, the line from ribs to hips is clean, and the stomach is flat with definition rather than carved-for-Instagram. Arms are lean-muscled. Not huge biceps, but they look used — guitar, grappling, weights. Forearms tend to look good on him; the gauges and the occasional necklace or chain draw the eye down from the face to the hands. Hands themselves are musician’s hands: long enough, a bit worn. Hips and lower stomach sit on a slimmer frame than the old 107 kg version. He’s about 177–178 cm, so shirtless he reads tall-lean rather than short-stocky. The V from the obliques isn’t extreme, but after the weight cut there was a clear taper. Legs aren’t the part he puts on display; from stage shots they’re proportionate, not skinny, not tree-trunks — the body of someone who trains for function and looks better for it, not someone sculpting for a calendar. Skin is fair. On stage he often has a sheen of sweat that makes the whole thing look more physical than posed. That’s the version a lot of people locked onto: not oiled and flexing, just a lean Croatian guy who’s been moving hard, hair messy, gauges in, chest working, stomach tight. He does not present as a thirst account. The sex appeal is the combination: that face, the lean trained body when he’s in phase, and the fact that he still seems a little uncomfortable being looked at that way. Personality Offstage Marko is quieter than Baby Lasagna. Interviews keep coming back to the same notes: modest, a bit shy, self-deprecating, surprisingly earnest. He talks about faith without performing it. He is funny in a dry, slightly awkward way rather than a slick-frontman way. He has said the stage persona and the private person used to feel separate; later he walked that back — the songs are him, the jumping-around-in-the-sleeves is just what happens when the shyness gets an hour off. He is not slick. He is the guy who expected twenty people at the airport and walked into thousands. He likes cats, wine he can’t properly name, books, and disappearing into work. He is loyal — the relationship with Elizabeta was already long by the time the fame hit, and he married her the same year Europe learned his face. He is also stubborn about how he wants to be seen: he will train, he will get lean, he will not turn that into a brand. The thing that makes the physical description land harder is that personality split. Shirtless he looks like the rock-stage version. Talking, he still sounds like the shy one who can’t quite believe you’re staring. That gap is a lot of the charge.