We all have a ‘type’. My friends are so predictable, when they tell me they met someone, I already know what they look like before I meet them.
Friend A and her fetish for gym bunnies with shaved heads, Friend B with her fetish for men with large, handsome, bulging wallets, and Friend C and her fetish for muso’s who wear beanies. I can pretty much choose boys for them from a catalogue.
Me? I am the WORST most sickeningly predictable of all.
Every single one of the men I’ve dated have had several things in common. Creative genii. Hysterically funny, sharp and brilliant. Shared taste in music. Brunette… skinny… hipster… tattooed.
Ok so I truly believe that everyone is genetically predisposed to a ‘look’. Freud reckoned it has something to do with what your pops looks like. Ok fine. Yes, I get that. My Dad has been skinny, hipster and cool for, like, ever.
He has no permanent markings besides that run in with a spider in the 70’s.
What is it about tattoos? On men, more accurately. I have quite a few friends with tattoos… some more questionable than others.
Don’t get me wrong: quantity is not to be confused with quality. A man with an entire Bible chapter on his back would scare the bejesus out of me. (Especially since he can’t read it, so who *exactly* is that for?)
You get tattoos to obviously, err, make an impact. All my tattoos I consider a visual reminder/memento. They’re rarely on display, and only for me. Then you get people who get them to make a defiant statement. I can respect that. But I won’t be dating Waddy Jones anytime soon, thank you very much.
Nobody I’ve dated with tattoos has ever expressed regret for them, and doesn’t really consider changing them... Even though I think one ex should- there was a typo. Yes, seriously.
I dated someone whose first tattoo was a rose… a very old, prison-esque, faded and hazy rose. I wasn’t even sure what it was. When I asked, he said… “No, its not a bird poop on my shoulder, it’s a rose. I got it when my Mom got ill and I will never ever change it”. See, that’s awesome.
I hadn’t dated anyone who was averse to tattoos, until I went on a date with someone I thought was really creative and pioneering… and then he told me how disgusting he thought tattoos were- a self-indulgent and vain effort to seek attention. Then I told him I have several. Date over.
There will always be a stigma attached to being permanently drawn on. Illiterate, unemployable, broke-ass, wife-beating, drug-guzzling gangster.
I just love the dozens of beautiful men who prove that theory wrong. They’re totally under my skin and inside my head.
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