What makes you attractive to a guy? Whole sections of bookstores are dedicated to answering this. Be independent. Be interesting. Be sexy. Be feminine?
In the basement of the college library Travis and I (names are changed to protect the innocent) discussed the idea of attraction.
I asked the question most females long to. “What kind of girl do you like?” I had no ulterior motive. I was not silently comparing myself to his list in the hopes he loves me. I was genuinely curious.
He looked off for a few moments. “She has to be cute. Not hot.”
He made a noncommital head nod. “If she’s dumb she gets annoying.”
“What about her boobs?”
He smirked. “She has to have nice boobs. Not too big. Not too small.”
“Maybe that’s why I can’t get a date. My boobs aren’t big enough!” I laughed. I made no secret of my cynicism; I thought she had to have boobs that touched the wall before her nose did in order for a guy to even look at her.
He cocked his head, ”That’s not what it is.”
I arched an eyebrow. This conversation had taken an interesting turn. “Oh really? Feel like explaining?”
He leaned forward and rested his arms on the small, round, glass table. ”You like to be in control. When you walk into a situation you have a plan. Guys we’re doing this, then this, then this.” He made small karate chops onto the table as he said each ‘this.’ ”You gotta relax, just chill out.”
This is was new to me. ”What about Trish at the party the other night? She couldn’t stand up.” I had dutifully stayed with her to make sure she could get back.
He shrugged. “If you had whispered to one of us that you were taking her home, fine. But you made a big deal of watching her. It looks like you want attention.”
I am in theater. This was not the first time someone had accused me of being dramatic. But he was the first to connect it to my short dating history. Any time I had asked people about this, they skirted around the issue. They didn’t want to say something that would sting. Sticks and stones, bitches.
His eyebrows knit together. No doubt he was going down the mental checklist of things you’re never supposed to say to a girl, comparing it to what he was about to tell me.
“Well,” he began, “you’re too masculine.”
I’m 5’5″ with B cups and shoulder length brown hair. He was going to have to explain that. “You like control and-”
“Let me guess, I swear a lot. I remind you of…..you.”
He nodded, “Try being touchy feely. Stroke his arm if he says something funny. Don’t be so harsh when you use sarcasm.” He paused. “You don’t care what people think. That’s amazing. But try and relax.”
I wanted to bury my head into my grey button down jacket. I heard the faint echoes of a high school boyfriend. I am no longer attracted to you. What was wrong with me! Was I doomed to be a dog-lady (I’ve never had a thing for cats) because I refused to stick to the coquettish script?
I began plotting. College is a time for experimentation and learning. Let’s see how much I can learn.
I leaned back in the wooden chair and lay my feet on the table. “Wanna make a bet?” He looked confused. What could I possibly bet on?
“I do the whole femininity thing for a week. Sunday to Saturday. Hair, makeup, heels, personality. I won’t swear. I’ll be flirty. Twenty bucks says it’ll work.”
His face broke into a grin; his eyes crinkled shut with laughter. “I gotta see this! Twenty bucks to see this work.” He pointed to both of us, “Whoever gets a hookup first, wins.”
To each one of my friends the story is recounted to, they share his reaction. They want to see my transformation. I am nervous and afraid. Afraid of getting rejected. Afraid of psychoanalyzing each facet of my personality with the hope I can pinpoint the one that once removed, will make me desirable. Doesn’t mean I won’t do it.
I will record my journey here. All the dirty, shocking details. Are you ready?