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The Witty One - Sarah
Hepola
Back when my mom came of age, big-screen sex
symbols were of a certain solitary, brooding
variety. James Garner, Steve McQueen, Paul
Newman. They were bruisers--mystery men who
slung their virility around like a six-shooter.
I never went for the type. Too hairy.
My movie ideal is of another genre entirely--an
'80s romantic comedy to their '60s western. Like
millions of women my age (let's say 29), I find
that no movie hero sends my heart thumping like
John Cusack's character Lloyd Dobler in Say
Anything.
I know what you're
thinking: What a tool. And granted, a guy shows
up outside my window at 1 a.m. blaring Peter
Gabriel, and I'm calling the cops. But I love a
man who knows what he wants, especially if it
happens to be me. Call me selfish, but I want to
be assured of my importance, my irreplaceability
in someone's heart.
As a college student, I fell head over platform
shoes for a chef who devoted an entire weekend
to wooing me by cooking elaborate meals in an
apartment we never left. I was impressed by his
pesto, but knocked out by his gusto--he wanted
me, he was determined, and it was intoxicating.
I've heard from guys who swear that such
behavior often backfires--women think it's too
much, too creepy. In some cases, I suppose
that's true. All I know is that the chef went
after what he wanted, and he got it.
Back to Lloyd. He's not so handsome, really, and
this is a key point: Charisma counts. His
attractiveness comes from his quick wit, his
generous smile. I can't tell you how often a
girlfriend has described the object of her
affection thusly: "He's not that good-looking,
but there's just something about him."
A swagger, an aura. My first boyfriend was the
color of wood pulp and could practically fit in
my pocket, but he had charisma to burn. He was
hilarious and kind, and when he spoke, people
turned to hear what he was saying. Because he
wasn't conventionally handsome, I had always
figured I was alone in my attraction, and it
alternately frustrated and delighted me, like an
amazing indie band only I knew about. When we
broke up, though, women stampeded for his
number.
(Sarah Hepola is the
music editor for The Dallas Observer in Texas)
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