Men always talk about “their type”. As in: “that woman was just my type”. Now a “type”, I suppose, is a certain group of attributes that a man finds attractive in a woman (and vice versa): a certain hair and eye colour, height, build and so on. Type can also include personality traits – sense of humour, interests, taste in movies – in fact all those things that make us so varied as people.
Now I discovered quite a few years ago that it doesn’t matter what “type” I have, because the women I end up getting are always the ones who pick me. That’s how it is – my type is whoever will have me. The woman chooses me, and I can say yes or no, but it’s not really up to me at all. I can make an effort for her to notice me, and be a charming bastard, but in the end she’s holding all the cards.
I suspect that’s how it is for most men, at least for the men like me. And by men like me I mean men in the physical range of 6-8. I am basing this on the classic 10-scale for physical appearance, where let’s say, Freddy Ljungberg is a 10 and, oh, Andrew Lloyd Webber (the rich bastard) is a 1.
I like to consider myself a 7, and on many days, if my hair sits well and I have my best jacket on, I can feel like an 8. And it’s in this range (6-8) where all the best action is.
For men under 6, the choice of women is very limited (come on guys, just get a fucking haircut, start a night class and hit the running track!). 6-8 men however, have a shot at the cute women, but they have to reply on more than just their looks or muscles. They can cultivate their wit, or become really good at something, or just become really charming bastards. In any case, the effort to score makes them think, and adapt. If the world was fair and just, then we should (along with the B-people) be in charge.
Note here that I am NOT suggesting that physical appearance is the most important thing when choosing a partner. But neither am I naïve enough to pretend that it doesn’t matter, because of course it does. If somebody tells you that “it’s what they have on the inside that counts” then they are lying. All the stuff on the inside (interests, organs, whatever) is great, and vital in the long run, but if there is no physical attraction at all, then you can just forget about it.
And so we do our best – getting degrees, joining rock bands, buying nice clothes, going to IKEA, writing blogs, all to stand out from the rest of the 6 to 8s and find some smart, funny, attractive lady who will put up with us for the rest of our days. As Robin Williams said in Dead Poet’s Society, when he explained why poets write poetry: “To woo women!” And I couldn’t agree more.
/ paddy (feeling like an 8)
(Note to Andrew Lloyd Webber – OK, sorry, you’re not really all that bad.)
Paddy K 
Good grief. That ‘packet’ can’t be real, can it? It looks like someone shoved an avocado down the front of his tighty-whiteys.
.. What are you talking about?! Of course I paid equal attention to the rest of the post..
Funny’s good too. Along with playing in rock bands and writing blogs, being funny tends to work.
I like what you say about having been chosen, because in my time I’ve mostly done the choosing, except with my husband who clearly chose me. He’s a funny, blog-writing, well-dressed, sporty 8 and I think I’m very lucky.
Gissa vilken båt som seglade precis förbi oss idag (heh, vi var på väg in i hamn och gick okoncentrerat och rätt sakta)?
Jo! Din trimaran! Vad hette den, minns inte nu, men det VAR den du sa.
Såg fin ut. Såg den på håll tidigare, den gick verkligen skitfort. Kul!
Och jag ska försöka att sluta träffa män vid 9-10 på skalan. Håller med. Alltför ofta yta utan tillräckligt innehåll… wheeeee! (lite seglingsöverskottsenergi som ville ut!)
Charlie: The packet is genuine. I checked.
charlotte: I know, funny goes a long way. Hence my funniness.
Karin: Cool! I guess you were out at Saltsjöbaden then. The boat was a Corsair 36 folding trimaran. And it was very very nice indeed. I even got to pull ropes and angle sails. And I steered. Hurrah! I might even get to like sailing. Except the trouble with finding a place to keep it, and all that boring stuff.
Have a cup of tea and get to bed young woman, you are obviously over-stimulated. Night night.
Please. That’s a rolled up sock. And that dude wouldn’t get anywhere near me.
I’m going to have to ask someone else to testify to your being an 8. Seeing as how I couldn’t find the pictures you said were available on your site.
Actually, that’s the most flattering picture of andrew lloyd webber I have ever seen. Normally he looks like something the princess would put back in the pond before reaching for a toad.
Alex: My dear, I did not say I was an 8 – I said that I sometimes _felt_ like an 8, which is not at all the same thing. I think (or hope) that I am a seven – however, all of this is very subjective.
To quell your insatiable curiosity, I can mail you a pic if you want. Just let me know. But keep it to yourself…
acb: Oooh, that’s a nice image…
The whole “my type” thing is kind of pointless as most of us never have large enough a number of partners for any statistically significant pattern to form. What “my type” really means is “the kind of people I secretely wish to bonk but hardly ever do”.
Blue eyes in a Latin country is a killer app but a gut full of tapas is a big minus.
Just packing now and soon to be on the plane from Madrid to London.
Definitely coming back to live.
Will catch up on blogs and e-mail this evening.
Martin: Indeed. To do a proper statistical study I would have to shag about a thousand girls. Hmmm…maybe there are grants available for that…
James: Good to hear you had a good time. And moving to Spain seems like a good plan: cheaper, hotter and you can learn to make real Jamon Serrano.
And also, I found out that all new Spanish houses are required to install photovoltaic panels. And that’s more than can be said for other countries.
Poor Andrew Lloyd Webber. You know, Ellen Degeneres isn’t exactly a supermodel, but come to think of it, her sense of humour and ability to dance a groove probably drew Anne Heche to her. And hey, it’s not as if Albert Einstein was a sex god either but he managed to find a girlfriend. Turns out, he had a sense of humour too that shamboozled the ol’ gal into his heart and moved her to write a diary about her hero.
So sure, it wouldn’t hurt to have Brad Pitt’s looks, but even geeks like Einstein can find their other half without ever combing their hair. So your insides apparently still have some other uses beside processing food.
But if you’re ugly and have no redeemable interior, then yeah, you’re screwed. Think of it as Darwin’s sick joke. You are the weakest link, goodbye. Hahaha.
Glen: Sense of humour always wins in the end. For men, anyway. And there is a certain stage where ugliness turns into attractiveness. But yes, ugly and charmless is a bad combination.
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