Guest Post: Tall, Dark, and Handsome
This is a cross-post from Danielle at The Collegiate Feminist, reprinted here with permission.
Confession: I have a mental checklist for my perfect guy. Tall, dark, and handsome… smart, a little nerdy, worldly, and artsy (piano skills for serenading me with Ben Folds- even better)
Confession: I’m completely fine being single until I meet the right person. Or am I?
Confession: Feminism is a source of personal strength and confidence. But I still wonder if letting my guard down and embracing the vulnerability of being in love would strengthen my sense of self as a feminist, but more importantly as a woman.
When I was growing up, conversations with my mother about dating, marriage, etc. would usually go something like this:
“Find a career that you’re passionate about first and just make sure he’s the one.” One in this context referring to the perfect guy.
Yes, the checklist is somewhat of a joke, but I’ve always loved the romantic notion of meeting someone who is that person: tall, dark, handsome, smart, a little nerdy, worldly, and artsy. I was that little girl who grew up in a pink bubble of roses and rainbows with the fantasies of endless “happily ever afters” and when the pretty, pretty princess phase finally came to a close, I began to find similar, yet more mature themes of the idyllic love story in literature and film. I fell in love with characters, their noble, raw, and truly refreshing struggles with finding love, but theorizing 21st century dating prospects a la my favorite Audrey Hepburn movies Sabrina (1954) and Love in the Afternoon was not the most believable rendering of reality. Frankly, it led me to disillusionment and disappointment. I wanted my Darcy, my Florentino from Love in the Time of Cholera, and all of Audrey’s dapper co-stars, William Holden, George Peppard, Gary Cooper, Gregory Peck, and so on. I still believed that my tall, dark, and handsome would come up to my table in Starbucks, where I’m sitting all alone, reading a great piece of literature while sipping a soy latte. That is to say, at this very moment, I had merely fallen in love with the idea of falling in love.
Flash forward to college- I had listened intently to all of my mother’s stories of all the dates and meeting guys outside the library after a long day of studying and I was convinced that I would be drawn to like minded individuals, bonding over lingering discussions after class or something of that sort. Imagine my crash course in college social life 101. For me, this was my reality check. Not to imply that college is reality, but it woke me up from yet another fantasy world. And I became more cynical, less dreamy, less doe-eyed. I needed to grow up, but on my terms and without compromising myself. I wanted something real and for the emotional attraction to proceed all else. Instead, this “reality” seemed abnormal, impersonal, and at times stand-offish with relations devoid of all things emotional that ultimately led me to doubt love and to blame myself for not being as carefree or spontaneous or free-spirited as the others. And then I began to explore the implications of feminism. My feminist framework gave me the insight I so deeply needed. It felt safe, secure, and empowering. Becoming a feminist, but perhaps identifying even more strongly as a feminist nurtured me as I began to construct a new confidence, a new sense of self, and a new reality.
Now I’m in Colombia. A new culture, language, people and yet, still another unfamiliar sense of reality. I am in love with Medellín. A city that has endured, that tells a story of grief, fear, bravery, and triumph. I am in love with paisas-the people of Medellín. The warm affection of greeting friends and acquaintances with a comforting embrace and a quick kiss on the cheek. The tart sweetness of the evenings. The endless hours of dancing, feeling light, giddy, and carefree. Playfully shouting over live salsa, cupping your face with your hands, sharing a laugh and a moment with those huddled in the dim corner of the courtyard. The protection and security I feel from hardly ever walking solo or feeling alone. For a culture that seems to celebrate the femininity of women’s bodies. For the friendships, so honest, loyal, and true. I am in love with the language, the words. The suave and intoxicating sounds of Colombian Spanish and the euphoria I feel when my thoughts are expressed in a bold and coherent manner. And I am in love with the wondrous skylines of this expansive, sprawling city. How the wind rustles through my hair on the balcony of my bedroom, twelve stories above the buzzing streets as I stare out into a paradise of glimmering lights that sparkle and shine for miles and miles. But maybe I love it all, because I love the way it makes me feel. I’m not burdened or weighed down, the self-deprecation is fading. I smile. I laugh. I feel a profound gratitude for the now, this time to just be.
“But maybe I love it all, because I love the way it makes me feel…”
Forget the mental checklist, the tall, dark, handsome, and the fictional dreams–this is a perfectly lovely beginning. Or at least, the love that I want to believe in. The kind of love that needs to precede love. The love for something greater than me, greater than you. A love that teaches you how to love. Feminism led me here. To a place where I found an inner strength through the written word and a new, undiscovered sense of self. It’s beautiful. It’s real. It’s inviting and welcoming. Everything you ever imagined.
The jokes still ensue. My family is determined that I will find a dreamy Colombian. My friends here want to play match maker. Apparently, asking how the guys feel about “machismo” determines our potential compatibility. “Absurdo!” has proven to be a winning answer.
So maybe I will, maybe I won’t. But regardless, I found something more lasting and true, at least for now- a love and respect for myself, the feminist I am, the woman I am, the person I am.
And I think to myself……what a wonderful world.