What Women Want...Kinda

In this post, I will reveal what women (really, just me) want. As stated before, my best friends and I have varying tastes in men. The other day, Sadé and I were discussing my taste in men, and we determined what I look for physically, based on my dating history and various crushes. (We'll discuss personality in a later post; this is purely based on how a guy looks and his preliminary demeanor...vain, I know). These characteristics include: Tall (like 6'4"+), built (arms, legs, pecs, the cut—you know what I'm talking about, ladies), and then handsome with boyish good looks—so, full lips, nice cheekbones, and weird things like long eyelashes (I don't know what it is about them. They make me stare). I also like guys that are aggressive. Not Chris Brown aggressive (I like my face, thanks), but he has to be able to counter my personality, or I get bored FAST. Celebrity crushes (to give you an idea of what I’m talking about) include actor, Mehcad Brooks, model, Tyson Beckford, and of course—fine ass OKC Thunder PF/C, Serge Ibaka. Lawd. *Sadé voice* Awwwllllll that chocolate, though? It's just not fair. Not in the least.

Serge Ibaka. Lawd. I mean, come ON ladies. That man's body speaks for itself. *salivates* And then, when he DOES speak, he can choose from any of the 5 languages that he speaks. *wall sliiiiiiide*

 This brings me to my latest story. So, I like this guy (not going to say his name, sorry). He fits about 60% of the aforementioned criterion. Sadé made the good point that she doesn’t think that he was aggressive enough for me. I went out with one of my housemates and her friends to a place called The Irish Rover on Tuesday night. It’s a discoteca and bar, which has themed parties every week, but that’s beside the point. There was a guy there who seemed to always be near me when I looked up. Stats: 6’5”, built like a roman god, ruggedly handsome, high cheekbones—giiirrrrrlllllllll! He was gorgeous. I walked by him on my way out, and felt his bicep out of curiosity. He smiled (I melted) and said he’d look for me outside. It was around 3AM, so I was heading to another discoteca anyway. Outside, he came over, and we chatted for a while, and then he agreed to escort us to the next place, Kandhavia. There, we danced, laughed, and flirted, my housemate pushing us together the entire time. I learned that he’s my age, works for a living, and speaks a few languages, the only one in common with me being Spanish.

I must admit that he was doing all the right things. Nevertheless, when my housemate told me that she was going to yet another spot and that she wanted me to continue talking/dancing with dude, I was a little skeptical. I mean, I just met him, and though we were in a jam-packed club, I wasn’t too keen on being on my own. He made me nervous. So, I decided to fake fatigue and head home. He seemed disappointed that I wanted to go (It was 6 am, and I had class in 4 ½ hours, for goodness’ sake), so I naively said that he could walk me back to my building. We walked, hand-in-hand to my place, and he showered me with compliments the entire time. It was nice. But as we all know, when things seem too good to be true, they probably are; it’s usually just a matter of when. What happened, you ask? When I thanked him for walking me home and then bid him goodnight, I learned that he had somehow figured that I’d invite him up—WRONG! When he was flat-out denied, he changed. I wanted aggressive, remember? Welp, I got it. He was very upset, and when I noticed that he was getting angrier, I opened the front door, apologized, and escaped inside. I sprinted up the stairs to my room, only to see him still standing outside of my building…which is where he remained for a good 10 minutes. I slowly lowered my window shade, and I’m pretty sure he was watching me as I did it, scowling. Creeeeeeptastic.

After dealing with oh-so-aggressive guy, So what did I learn from this experience? At least when it comes to a man's looks or demeanor, I haven’t the faintest clue what the hell I want. I still like aggressive, but I know how aggressive I DON’T want him to be. I also know that my entire view on my physical ideal is complete and utter bullshit, as are the physical ideal of pretty much all women out here.  Men have been saying that women don’t know what we want for centuries, and I’m sad to admit that they’re right. We have tendencies, maybe, but to set a standard and pick specifically from those who fit said standard completely is stupid. There are always exceptions to every rule. Hell, I used to date a tall, slim, Italian (The "tall" characteristic is one thing I am not willing to sacrifice). Have you ever heard the adage, “Be careful what you wish for, because you just might get it”? Well, I got it, and Lord knows I cross my fingers every time I go outside of my building, hoping that I don’t run into my “ideal” ever again. Fellas, you win this round. We women truly have no clue what we want when it comes to the opposite sex. Don’t listen when we say that we do, because there’s an 80% chance that it’ll change in the next 10 minutes, when another fine man walks by with slightly different features. You can either take this little tidbit with a grain of salt, or you can use this new-found knowledge to your advantage…somehow…kinda…Our male readers are smart; I'm sure you'll figure out how. Maybe.

…Oh, and as far as that guy that I like? He makes me nervous too, but in a good way. And suddenly 60% of the “ideal” is 100% ideal.

Your Favorite Wishy-Washy Spanish Wanderer,

Angeliqué, a BossBeauty