Big discussion on the snarkee ladieezze blog about changing societal pressures on men to lose weight and men who are "too skinny." Majority of commenters say they prefer their men a little on the thicker side. Right on! I always think I have a type, but then it turns out to be the type I'm with that year or decade, over my lifetime as a serial monogamist. Right now, my type is hairy, with extremely muscular legs and maybe a little paunch (mmm, cozy). Eighteen (jesus!) years ago, my type was practically hairless golden brown sleek Pacific islander (I have been guilty of Asian fetish). Twenty years ago it was a long and lanky Northern European blonde. Twenty-five years: My pale Goth twin, my mirror in height and BMI. Thirty: Milk chocolate skin, soft sculpted muscles and a high, soft 'fro.
Starting to sound like Sinatra. From the brim to the dregs, baby! But my point is this: I recently had to listen to a very fine man kvetch because he's two pounds over marathon weight. And I'm thinking this is turning into a cultural thing, and it's ridiculous. Guys, love your bodies as the Goddess made them. Keep your heart and circulation healthy, and your ass will follow.
(Am I objectifying them by speaking only of their appearance? I remember their minds and secrets and jokes and taste in music and books and much more, too. But they are so beautiful, and it pleases me to remember their looks as well.)
It's also been weird because I've had some people ask if I'm "OK" because I dropped a lot of weight over the past two years. It's because I'm eating local/sustainable/simple/homegrown/herbs as much as possible, OK? I've been sick maybe twice in two years--not bad for someone under constant quivering-stress deadlines and personal drama who sleeps five hours on a good night. Plus, it's normal for me to be skinny. Pregnancies and hormones just skewed it for a couple years.
And my point with that: You eat decent food and you exercise because of how it makes you feel. How you look will always be subject to some genetic fortune.
PS: My taste in women is as constant as the northern star: Lanky, freckled strawberry blondes, or Angie Harmon.