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Last week I had endless fun editing Hannah’s piece explaining why Bryan Adams was the world’s most perfectest boyfriend. It was a proper guffaw-fest, but it also made me realise that my expectations for potential man candy are really rather low.
Joking aside, Hannah really does describe the perfect boyfriend in her piece. He loves you even when you’re being a dick, he takes care of you when you need it, and he’s totally cool about being with you, even though he’s definitely an 8, and you’re a 7, 7.6 at a push.
Obviously rating people by a mark out of 10 is crap, naff and the sort of thing a LAD would do, but were I a LAD, I’d definitely describe myself as somewhere between 7 and 7.6 on a decent day. And I know, in the right light, I could bag myself an eight-out-of-ten hunk (ugh, I hate the word hunk) for fun, frollicks, and maybe mooooore.
But would he be as intelligent talented, thoughtful and nice as fake Bryan Adams? No, of course not. I can pull a hot guy, but only on the proviso that he’s a total moron. Or a total wanker. Or worse, a moronic wanker.
I’m also more than capable of pulling someone intelligent, charismatic, funny and interesting, but he’s probably not… quite as hot as the hot moron. Or… a bit ugly. I know beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but basically, I just won’t fancy him.
And call me superficial, and tell me the love of your life should be your best friend all you like, I still think it’s important to actually fancy the person you’re with. I just do.
He might be a lolz-a-minute, and I’ll fancy his personality, but that counts for nothing if he makes me wince and down a glass of wine every time he walks into the room.
The fing is, I really don’t think you can have both – it’s got to be a toss up between looks (or, at least finding someone hot) and personality. Am I the only person who thinks this? Do I have wildly low expectations for myself, or am I just a realist?
I don’t subscribe to the theory that hot men never sleep with less hot women, or whatever. But I do think there are only a finite number of hot, interesting, clever, funny, nice men out there, and they’ve all been snapped up by women far more proactive and prone to regularly shaving their legs than I. Were I a LAD, I’d mention here that those women are probably somewhere between 8 on a bad day and 9.5, just FYI.
So which one do I go for? The clever ugly guy, or the hot moron? Throughout my adult life, I’ve gone out with both, and the dates definitely follow a pattern.
With the hot morons, the evening will start off well. When I see him, I’ll get that ‘hey, he’s hot’ flip in my stomach when he strides over (not meanders or wanders, hot men always stride). As an added bonus, he probably won’t be wearing anything that makes me want to stab myself in the eye with a Biro.
And then he opens his mouth, or suggests we go to All Bar One (old man’s pub, good; posh cocktail bar, good; chain wine bar, bad), or he’ll order himself a Bacardi Breezer, and the night will go downhill from then on.
As nice as he might be to look at, the minute he starts talking, I will want to rip my own face of as a distraction. Because he’s stupid, and dull, and only talks about himself. Much like I’m doing here, in fact.
The evening might end with me running away when we get to the Tube station, or lying and pretending I really need to get a bus, or starting a fake conversation with my mum on my mobile, gesturing that he should get on the Tube without me, as I’m going to be ages. Either way, I will never see that man again.
With the clever, charismatic, funny, not-hot guys, the night will start badly. I’ll wince when he gambols over, because last time I saw them, I was drunk, and having a great time, and he definitely looks less hot now. But as I’m here, I might as well make the best of it and go for a drink (he’ll suggest a great, little-known old man’s pub round the corner, possibly with an open fire and an equally charismatic dog).
Then I’ll have a few drinks and won’t care that he’s not hot, because I’m drunk, and we’re having a nice time. I’ll probably get drunk enough that we’ll end up snogging in the pub, outside the pub, outside the Tube, on the Tube (yes, I’m THAT person). Sorry BoJo.
Then the next day, I’ll wake up, accept his Facebook request, and realise that, in the cold, sober light of day, looking at his (presumably flattering) profile picture, I don’t even slightly fancy him. He may have had a hot personality, but I really am that shallow.
I’ll also never see that man again, but this time, it’s even worse because I totally gave him the run-around with all the sauvignon-fuelled snogging on the Tube (at this point, I could have a conversation with him where I explain that I’m not feeling it, and ask if we could remain friends, but the thought doing that makes me want to rip my own face off even more than dumb hot guy, so I’ll probably just ignore his calls for ten days until he gives up).
The third option, I presume, is to find someone who’s totally medium, looks, personality and everything-else wise, and so neither repulses nor bores you.
I veer somewhere between feeling like that’s probably quite a sensible middle ground, and thinking that if I’m going to go to all of the trouble of having a boyfriend, it might as well be for someone who’s totally hot and amazing and brilliant and adores me, even though that person probably, almost-certainly doesn’t exist, because I’ve totally made him up.
So you see my dilemma. Is my problem that my expectations are too low, or that my expectations are too high? Or is it that I’m clearly quite vacuous and self-centered? Will I ever get asked out on a date ever again after writing this?
Rebecca Holman is just as shallow and self-obsessed on Twitter @rebecca_hol.