that my type is too narrow and that all the boys I find attractive look like the guy I was obsessed with in the 7th grade. This is a classic case of the chicken and the egg: my mother believes I’m attracted to these guys in order to work through my feelings of inadequacy from middle school and I believe I’m attracted to them because they are (were in the case of the 7th grader) all hot. My type is not so specific or bizarre that it would imply I’m seeking to reenact my pre adolescent eroticism. Here is a loose example of what I’m talking about:
I agree that I might place too much emphasis on physical appearance, which has resulted in me dating some pretty questionable but super fine men. Because of this, I’ve started to pathologize my own tastes, dissecting and analyzing the trajectories of my attraction. I sort of ran on the assumption that men I’m inclined to sleep with are Bad, my lusty wires being crossed or compelled by the Devil or something, and men that I do not under any circumstance want to bang are Good. The Bad will lead me towards binge eating and eventual death while the Good will restore me to affluence, farmer’s markets and mature and selfless love. It just can’t be right, though, that I must sacrifice attraction in order to gain a guy who makes me laugh. I want both.
Mom tells me that attraction can increase or decrease through exposure. I’ve tried that. A lot. It has never, ever proven true for me. She says, it’s just coffee. You don’t have to sleep with them. They aren’t morbidly obese or anything.
Since when did not being morbidly obese become my only standard? I understand the sentiment, Mom, and I do think beauty without kindness is a deal breaker. Yet for me personally, I’ve accepted that the depths of my romantic inclinations are unfathomable and that to interfere with the stirrings of my heart is contrary to the dating process and, frankly, my hopes for love.
1 day ago
•
1 note
and I’ve started internet dating and wearing a bathrobe around the house.
2 days ago
•
2 notes
The truth is that at some point in life, certain middle aged women start dressing monochromatically—including hair dye and purses. Do they one morning decide that those fun purple socks would look nice paired with a purple blouse? And then does the purple on both ends bleed together through purple pants? Why not top it off with a purple polar fleece? they might wonder. Are they then obliged to buy only purple clothes and accessories because they’ve committed and red or green would just look weird?
Or is it a specific mania that occurs during midlife? Is it only in the Pacific Northwest? Is it an illness indigenous to a woman’s own psyche or spread from one person to another? Does the all-blue woman relate to the all-purples or is she more alienated from them than a casual purple wearer? Why have I never seen an all-green before?
There are myriad ways to let oneself go but here in Seattle we are continuing to be innovators in the field.
1 week ago
•
1 note
