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I got into a discussion with an acquaintance of mine the other day about women. After talking about glass ceilings, discrimination, and how there’s a thin line between feminism and speaking down to one’s own gender, we moved on to discussing titties. He claimed he was upset summer was ending because there would be less of them–less bathing suits, low cut shirts, and tiny dresses. He looked to the sky in an almost nostalgic way and whispered, “At least there are public Instagram accounts.” I immediately knew I was speaking with someone lesser. He wasn’t stupid, just someone who doesn’t think. What amount of thought does it take to claim, “Chicks look hot during the summer?” You’re like the guy who says, “You know what’s fun? Getting hammered with your friends,” like nobody in the room had ever funneled Everclear and cider on a crisp football Saturday. You’ve added nothing, delivered no new information, you’re a robot attempting to approximate human interaction. The fact is, there is nothing “new” or “exciting” or “bonerific” about female summer fashion. There’s nothing a girl wears during those hot summer months that can’t be seen during the first seven seconds of a Brazzers film. Give me the fall. Give me the leaves, the earth tones, the gold zippers and leather boots. Give me the sexiest time of year.
There may be a few of you thinking, “But J-Train, what about spring?” All of you people fucking disgust me. Spring? Did you wonder that as you dropped your half shotgunned Lime-A-Rita? Sure, crop-tops and sundresses are nice but hotness isn’t just a look–it’s an attitude. Spring’s attitude is fear. Fear of the beach. Fear of the moment when you realize Memorial Day is a week away and it snowed three weeks ago and your gym membership is a joke amongst your friends. Spring is wearing an extra layer even when it’s hot because “in a week the water weight will be gone.” Spring is not washing your jeans for a month because they’ll shrink in the wash. Did they shrink? Or are they telling you the truth? Spring is a whole season of holding back until you can really let it fly over the summer.
Fall’s attitude is pure “fuck it.” Sure she’ll drink that craft beer with the pumpkin spice because leggings and big sweatshirts exist, so fuck it. She’ll absolutely take down that side of bacon at brunch because fuck it. And tickle your anus? Why not? There’s no 9 a.m. carpool for the beach tomorrow, so fuck it. Fall is that time a year when a girl is wearing a leather jacket and aviators like some sort of Rizzoli and Isles body double who took a couple UFC classes. Quilted jackets, vests, hats with dogs on them–all of these looks offer a mystery and take a little imagination to create your own adventure. Google “Fall Porn” and you’ll be very disappointed because it doesn’t exist. There’s no video of a girl dressed in full equestrian attire going out to the pen only to realize the ride will have to wait because the pizza delivery guy has arrived, and guess what? HE BROUGHT SAUSAGE. I just got seriously aroused imagining that video. Hot. As. Fuck. Yowza.
I watch a lot of pornography. I know, I know, it’s sinful. But it’s also pretty great, except I tend to watch so much that I get bored of the skin. Do you know that feeling? That realization that the suggestion of sex is more powerful than the overt availability of it? Sometimes I steal my neighbor’s Victoria’s Secret catalogue simply to try and reclaim that feeling of seeing a brassiered pair of knockers for the first time. The thrill, the fear, the unknown. Behind that lace and underwire lies a world of uncertainty, and there is nothing sexier. So let’s stop living in a world with easy answers.
I meet guys all the time who say their method for rating the hotness of girls with their friends is a “binary system.” A “1” for “I’d bone” and a “2” for “Nah dawg.” It’s surprising until it isn’t. We live in a debate-less, all-knowing world. There was a time when you stridently argued that a bear can beat up a shark. You and your friends would discuss things like paws versus teeth and swimming versus bear stuff. There were people that were actual “bear guys” and that was all a lot of fun. Now, someone shouts out “Google it!” and YOU FIND A YOUTUBE VIDEO OF A BEAR FIGHTING A SHARK, and the group goes back to agreeing how awesome they look in v-necks.
Everything lives in black and white, certainty, and availability, but the grey–the unknown–offers so much more imagination. So, yeah, I’m pumped for the fall. I want to live in the vague, sexy, world of what that sweater might be hiding..