Mind the Gap
I would like to take this opportunity to discuss preferences, attractions and “types.” I think it’s safe to say that most of us do have a “type,” a pattern of qualities that you find most appealing in the people you are most attracted to. Now, it is worth noting that I think that a lot of people also are open-minded not the limit themselves to judging others on whether or not they embody a pre-determined list of “must-haves,” but at any rate, it is always interesting to notice the pattern when it exists.
Specifically, I’d like to discuss physical types. I never judge a book by its cover. This is the reason that I have fallen for a wide spectrum of men who couldn’t look any more different, but if I were forced to choose and define my favorite look? After years of fighting the inevitable and convincing myself that my “type” might be a tall, dark handsome man in a suit, I have a confession. My dream man? He actually would look something like this:
Crazy hair? Check. Tattoos? Check. Edge, mystery and intrigue? Check, check and check! I can try to pretend that I don’t find the grungy rock star look devastatingly gorgeous, but a leopard-printed scarf cannot change its spots! I know what you’re thinking. Why would you ever need to pretend otherwise? It should be completely ok to like what you like. Some people like sports. Some people like taxidermy. We all have our preferences. But here’s where it gets tricky. Guys like that? Well, they typically go for girls like this:
I guess this post isn’t really about my love of sweaty rock stars. And it is definitely not about me trying to contort myself into Zooey Deschanel or rock star arm candy. It’s really about the sudden realization that somewhere along the last decade I woke up a complete Yuppie. Maybe it was a gradual transformation, but I do remember a time when I was the grungy rock kid (remember JNCO jeans? Oh lawd, I sure do. Ball-chain bracelets? You betcha!) I had rock star dreams. I was going to rage against the machine. Slowly, but surely, I went from your typical grunge kid to this:
That’s me…..in my former Park avenue office…in a suit. I don’t work there anymore, but I do work in a small cubicle in the middle section of the 12th floor of a corporate office building (lovingly referred to by me as the prison section for its proximity to zero windows). I am a cog in the very machine I was destined to rage against! I even own two pairs of Sperrys (who am I???). The 16 year old version of myself would call me a sell-out and then go cry in her room adorned with shirtless Jim Morrison and Led Zeppelin posters. But I love my job, and while I’ve slowly come to grips with my Yuppie conversion, my love of sweaty rock stars will likely never go away. I’m ok with that. I’ll just not-so-secretly hope that I cross paths with a fella who will help me bridge the gap.
Maybe it’s time for me to get that 2nd tattoo.