“I want to be that hot.”
That’s a text I got from a girl during the Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show. You know what? I understand the desire. I watched the whole show. Giraffe-like phenoms strutting down the runway. An audience of men and women locked-in on every glute-twitch under the guise of a “fashion show” for clothing that will never be sold. Men bowing to these women like feudal peasants giving respect to their Queens. Women so in control and powerful that they walked by Taylor Swift, an international superstar, and made me think, “Someone get that screaming gay dude with the bangs off the stage!” Hell, if becoming a tranny made me looke more Victoria’s Secret and less Mrs. Doubtfire, I might be down. But think deeper, and no woman should “want to be that hot.”
My friend was probably a little bit kidding, but the joke mirrored the Twitter activity I saw from women all night. Every joke or commentary centered on “These girls are so hot that I feel bad about my body.” The underlying desire was understandable but flawed. As good as that life looks on stage, is as miserable as it would be to live it offstage. Don’t believe me? Go look at any website dedicated to bad Tinder opening lines. If I read them out loud I’d get thrown on a list that even Jerry Sandusky wouldn’t be a part of. And the women receiving these lines on Tinder aren’t supermodels; they’re everyday girls like the friend who texted me during the show. I really can’t even imagine what gets shouted at the Victoria’s Secret Models. And not since they were developed, but in some cases since they were eight and couldn’t even understand just how creepy an older man who uses the word “supple” truly is.
And it’s not like you’d be getting these lines from a down to earth guy who just tried to make a joke and failed. You’d be getting them from the worst people. Good guys don’t chase supermodels. They are a symbol of success. Walking around with a girl way out of your league is like walking around the carnival with an oversized bear. People wonder “What did he have to do to win that?” or “That guy must have a ton of money for carnival games.” It’s never about the girl or what she looks like; it’s about the guy. What did he do? And I know those guys. The ones that judge their own success by the envy of the room. A life of “being that hot” is spent with a line out the door of fedora wearing, bedazzled shirt-having dudes who all have a Persian friend “getting a table.” I can’t think of a worse line of people, except maybe those waiting to use the baby dumpster.
And the question becomes, “So you don’t think they’re hot?” Of course I do. I wish I had video of me staying erect during the entire show for women I couldn’t please in bed. Just look at that night’s twitter activity. Every guy made a masturbation or boner joke. We all think they’re hot. We would jump at the chance for one night with any of the models just to see what it’s like. (Does a woman with everything practically handed to her just lay there motionless, un-moist, expecting you to fire her bodily functions for her?) But that doesn’t mean they’re who we want. There was one scene during the show where a model talked about hurting her ankle and missing out on last year’s event. It was presented as an inspirational story of loss and perseverance. You know, like the ones on SportsCenter about kids with cancer, except this woman’s actual job title has the word “super” in it. It was the most unbelievable thing on the show (and that’s saying something considering they featured a fitness trainer with a leather eye patch that never got explained). It was crazy. At no point did the model turn and blush, or say, “There are worse things in the world,” or even eat a bagel after she knew she was out of the event. Just a brutal stretch where a supermodel wanted us all to know that we too can get through our own battles at the coal mine, if we keep pouting and looking hot.
As a guy, I want a girl who could lose ten (It can be twenty, too. It’s a saying. Relax, Dove Soap marketing executives.) I’ve said this before, and people give me crap, but I think most guys feel the same way. I’ve never had someone come up to me and point out the girl in the Lululemon yoga pants that were too loose. It’s just never happened. And you know what? That girl’s perspective is the one guys want. The girl who could lose ten, splits the side of bacon at brunch, sleeps over on a Sunday night and abides by the “no stomach touching rule,” goes for froyo and gets the cake batter with Heath Bar and Kit Kat and two pieces of strawberry, so as to still be a lady. There’s life experience that the “girl who could lose ten” has that the Victoria’s Secret Model’s hotness precludes her from. Every good guy knows that, and it’s why you shouldn’t “want to be that hot” if only to never hear a gray-haired man say “supple.”