Superficial or Decisive?

I am a staunch subscriber to the idea that beauty if in the eye of the beholder. If someone were to ask me my biggest celebrity crushes right now I would say Robert Downey, Jr. and David Bowie; I think the most attractive women in Hollywood are Rachel Weisz and Gwyneth Paltrow. I've had people comment before on how there seems to be a discontinuity in my perception of beauty, and this is because my attraction to someone has very little to do with physical appearance, and almost everything to do with personality and what that entails. (Click here for a more complete entry on what I find attractive.)

Given that, take everything I'm about to tell you with a grain of salt. I've had a request to do a post on what I find attractive on the basest of levels, all ethics and interaction aside.


Onward and forward:

Males: I love men with large eyes. Shining, clear pools that draw you immediately to them without dominating the face. Blue eyes, especially -- I watch shows from the BBC with my family, and -- So. Many. People. Have. Blue. Eyes. Gah! It's like stealing a piece of heaven every time someone looks at the camera. I don't particularly care if a guy shapes his brows, as long as it's not too obvious.

The color of hair doesn't matter nearly as much as the cut, though I have found myself partial to blonds and medium-browns.

I couldn't find very good photos (the one on the top-left is especially crap), but David Bowie has the most gorgeous hair in the world -- just take my word for it.

It's very hard to say what I find handsome in a face, because so much of it has to do with disposition and character. However, I do like strong bone structure -- high cheekbones, squared jaw. A nice smile is certainly attractive, though I've realized that I don't particularly like full lips on a man; average, maybe even a little thin, is very nice. Dimples are adorable. I consider a straight or slightly aquiline nose preferable. Clear skin, of course, is very important, and I love it pale or lightly tanned, which I know sets me far apart from Hollywood's standard of beauty.

I'm not into a built up body on a man. I, like other girls I know, enjoy a lithe and lightly-muscled physique. The chest is most important, then arms, then legs, then abs. I find broad shoulders and tall frame attractive, but that's just because I'm relatively tall myself.

The big question, of course, is body hair. I am a huge supporter of men keeping their body hair, drawing the line at bear-like chest carpets and back hair. As I've mentioned on this blog before, chest hair can be extremely alluring in that I-am-man kind of way.

Females: My views of female beauty differ greatly from that of male. I'm not sure why, but I find very petite women with large eyes, full lips, and understated curves to be very beautiful (in a totally objective way, you understand).

I like dark hazels and dark browns best on women, which is odd because I'm usually adverse to brown eyes on men, and am most attracted to light eye colors. I've also come to appreciate females who have light or medium tans. I definitely prefer brunettes (ignore the weirdness of this statement, please), which is also strange because I like very few shades of brown on men.

In another category altogether, I'm fascinated by African women. I don't really know what, exactly, I find so beautiful about them. I think it has to do with the fact that their features can be so drastically different than the Caucasians I'm used to, and their skin so very dark. I was surprised when I realized this about myself, as I'm only ever attracted to men of European descent.

Obviously, my section of females will be shorter, and I don't make a point of dallying on the rainbow road.


Hope you enjoyed reading my perspective on physical appearance. If you agree or disagree with me I'd love for you to comment, even if you aren't on Blogger -- anonymous commenting is enabled. I find the human form a marvelous work of art, and I love discussing it (in an appreciatively objective way ;-) ).

Ciao.

Let's Face It, Bella Swan: You're Gonna Get Stuck With Eric

I find it tremendously funny how our culture has entered into a mindset for romance. It used to be that two characters who fell in love stood in similar lights in the eyes of society. I've come to realize, however, that this paradigm has shifted: We now create stories in which a mildly pretty, mature, sweet but sarcastic, intelligent girl -- who, though liked well enough by the majority, is no less considered strange -- lands the hero whom all the females desire.

Now, in principle, I don't have a huge problem with this. A writer myself, I understand that sometimes you need to appeal to the strongest base of readers (i.e. insecure teeny-boppers with hopelessly romantic spirits), but it's gotten to the point where I have to wonder: Are you even writing this for an audience anymore? While it's true that fiction (be it in a movie, book, or otherwise) is escapism, and therefore must, by and large, offer appealing scenarios, I think we've come to the point where we've not only surpassed "too much of a good thing," but dragged it into an alley kicking and screaming and brutally beat it to death with a two-by-four just to steal its lunch money.

NO! DOES NOT COMPUTE!

It seems to me that no self-respecting artist would continue to play on such a vaguely grating cliche unless they themselves have a personal investment in the story.

There's a fine line between unrealistic and fantasy escapism. One thing I've come to realize in my years of reading and writing is that authors are supposed to appeal to emotions, not (necessarily) situations. Simply put, you want the characters to act like real people even if they aren't in the same positions as them. (Your heroine is a rock star-by-day, vampire-by-night, polyglot psychoanalyst studying for her Master's at Cambridge? Fine, but does she eat a bowl of ice cream and cry over 10 Things I Hate About You when her boyfriend dumps her? Lovely, moving on.)

Let's be frank(er) for a moment: There is no way, in this world or the next, that a passably attractive, kind, academically-minded girl with an affinity for Native American tribal masks is going to wind up dating the quarterback, so let's stop pretending. There's sympathetic and there's insulting, and continuously shoving this plot down our throats consistently falls into the latter.

What I've come to believe is that, as very clearly illustrated in books such as Twilight, the writer places him- or herself into the story as the protagonist, and we're pulled through all the experiences and fantasies that could never be lived out in the real world. If this is the case: Come on people, this is pathetic. We're supposed to keep insecure delusions locked up with the princess owns form our fifth birthday.

Yes, yes -- Edward only ignored Bella because he was badly in love with her. Heheh, that's right -- right. The football captain just loved Stepheni e -- he was madly, possessively, dangerously in love with her! That's why he always glared at her in biology . . . *le sob*

How it would really go:

DaBo says: Don't believe the lies. Hot people date hot people, ugly people date ugly people, and never the twain shall meet.

Mariah stared at him through the hazy glow of the setting sun. Everything seemed perfect, somehow, despite what she had been feeling earlier. The fluid pull of his muscles as he ran, the hard look of content concentration on his face . . . she hardly knew him, and yet, she felt like everything important had already been revealed to her. AP History with Anthony had shown Mariah that jocks could have brains. She was m omentarily distracted as he ran a hand through his glistening raven hair. It was unfair, she mused, that someone should be blessed with such a heady meld of body and mind such as he.

Tentatively, Mariah stood from her spot on the bleachers and walked toward the parking lot, careful to be quiet. She wasn't sure she could live down having Anthony catch her watching him.

"Hey, wait up!"

Mariah froze, her breath leaving her in a whoosh of trepidation and excitement. That voice -- his voice. She turned slowly, heart skipping a beat as she locked eyes with him -- brown on green. His full lips pulled apart to reveal a beautifully lopsided smile.

"Aren't you in history with me?"

She nodded wordlessly, the ability to speak running off with her racing heart. He stepped closer now, and she could smell the earth and sweat on him, mixing seamlessly with his innate masculinity.

Her back was against the wall now, his face mere inches from hers. She clutched her books tightly to her chest, lips parted and eyes heavy as her breath came in rapid spurts.

"Mariah, right, I knew I knew you! We're doing that assignment together, yeah?"

Her eyes flew open, blinking rapidly as she tried to process why his lips hadn't connected with hers yet.

"Right, right. Hey, look, I promised my girlfriend that I'd take her out tonight, but I can't if I have to do that paper thing, so I was wondering if maybe you could do my part for me, yeah? I don't wanna make my angel mad." He flashed another diamond-dusted grin.

"Guh-I-ummmm . . ."

"Sweet! Thank you so much!"

"Buh . . . wah -- no?" She tried to form a coherent sentence as her eyes assessed his retreating form.

"Catch ya later, bookworm!"

"Wait! No, I can't do that! I have piano --" Her exclamations were cut short as the passing cheerleading squad knocked her down, kicking her into the wall in their oblivious excitement and haste.

The darkness closed in as shouts of "Two, four, six, eight, who do we appreciate?!" drew tears from her eyes.