Perfect Girls, Starving Daughters: The Frightening New Normalcy of Hating Your Body

by Courtney E. Martin

  Just as mainstream media affect people differently—holding sway on some impressionable minds and being strongly rejected by others— porn is surely only as influential as a man (or woman) allows it to be. Porn doesn’t shape attraction. People using and producing porn shape attraction. If women and men were given more access to porn that spoke to their unique desires, featured women and men of various shapes and ethnicities, and highlighted personalities instead of, well, you fill in the blank, then maybe it could turn us all on to the power of bodies that don’t fit a boring, unachievable mold.

  “Hot Girls”: Bingeing for Boys

  I call one of my guy friends from happy hour and tell him he should stop by after he finishes work for the day. “Are there any hot girls there?” he asks, a question I have heard perhaps five, maybe ten thousand times since puberty.

  “Well, I don’t know,” I sass. “None of them have pulled out state-issued ID cards certifying their official ‘hotness.’ Could be fakes.”

  He chuckles good-naturedly, but I know his decision about whether to come really depends on the number of women he would find attractive and potentially want to have sex with (keep in mind it is only 5:00 P.M. on a frickin’ Wednesday). And I have learned from experience that when guys say this, it isn’t that they don’t want also to hang out with me or the rest of their old, familiar crew. It isn’t even, strangely enough, that they actually plan on approaching any of these so-called hot girls and trying to make a connection. It is more like a reflexive scratch for a Darwinian itch. The more I think about it, the more I come to believe that it isn’t about the hot girls at all. It is about self-worth.

  I have decided that “Are there any hot girls there?” is shorthand for “I need to fill an existential hole in the center of my soul.” I am only half kidding. I believe that, in the same way my girlfriends and I have often felt black holes at our centers, my guy friends have felt something dark and insatiable. Instead of trying to fill it up with food, or starve it out entirely, guys are convinced beautiful women and lots of money will make them feel full. (Much of the time it appears that making the money is also, ultimately, about getting the women.)

  Even at five years old, my brother and his best friend’s favorite pretend game was that they were gun-toting heroes who traveled all over our treacherous backyard and throughout the imaginary enemy-filled house looking for “Mrs. Sexy Woman,” who, of course, needed saving. Those little guys were convinced that the most exciting thing they could do was find a sexy woman. While we, the perfect girls, try to numb the pain of imperfection with chocolate cake or proud defiance of it, men are searching every city and suburban town for a woman who will symbolize their worth. In this culture of women’s bodies plastered on billboards, popping up on computer screens, selling every imaginable product, we all learn the lesson that beauty is the most universal symbol of success. Women seek to turn themselves into that symbol. Men seek to find a woman to serve as the symbol for them.

  Guys search for the bar with the hot girls on a Saturday night and empty their wallets for the cover charge once they find it as if possessed. Could the sex be that good? I used to wonder, but then I realized they weren’t actually having that much sex, and their stories sounded more like comedy than like ecstasy. In fact, most of the time, the stories from the night before include the crew of boys who already know one another standing around and making fun of the one guy brave enough to hit on a woman who isn’t vying for their tips (“hot girl” bartenders are the coward’s favorite ego boost).

  In this ritual, packs of broad-shouldered young men wander the streets in search of “hot girls,” with something strangely familiar in their glazed-over stares and desperate, hungry searches. They can never get enough. There is always some other bar that is supposed to have even “hotter girls.” And even when they find a “hot girl” willing to entertain their attention for a time, their eyes dart about, wondering if they are missing out on the “hotter hot girl” across the dance floor. They are eternally unsatisfied.

  While women are trying to be the perfect girls, these guys are out trying to find them. But the perfect girl doesn’t exist. We are all chasing after an imaginary woman. A witty guy friend of mine explains it this way: “What’s tough is when you go out with a bunch of guys, all of whom presumably/supposedly like the same thing (busty, skinny, slutty), and then you find this little gem in the corner who has glasses and busted teeth and a book bag (three things that you find attractive). This gem has a few flaws which you find endearing, but to the group, she’s a fallback option if nothing better comes along. I usually don’t care and will talk it up, but even I have stopped myself thinking, Maybe Barbie will be next. ”

  The never-ending search for “hot girls” is not just about sex but about ego, the compulsion to find a woman who will make a guy’s friends and family and fragile sense of self shout, “You are the man!” The search stems from deep insecurity and a fundamental fear that the world will not provide a decent partner alongside whom he can ride off into the sunset. As a friend, Jim,* explains, “If anything, guys are attracted to the prospect of someone enjoying their company, which I am sure is a mutual feeling between the sexes. The guys I hang out with love the idea of possibilities. We know that not all women are attracted to the same type; therefore, the more women there are in a place, the greater the chance one would be crazy enough to dig one of our dumb asses.”

  As in playing the lotto, guys figure that the more opportunities they play, the more chances they have of winning the jackpot. Their fate seems to rest on the slim chance of picking the right numbers, on the right night, in the right bar. As Brian puts it, “It’s not like baseball, where one out of three is a good average. There are so many variables, besides her reciprocated attraction, that go into a successful night (if she’s single, who she’s there with, her angry, less-attractive friend who’s been watching guys talk to her all night). Meeting at a bar and actually sleeping with a truly ‘hot girl’ is a rare occasion. It’s the holy grail.”

  It does seem as if guys are searching for something divine, grasping in a dimly lit bar for a soft hand that makes them feel like the world is a place of possibilities, like they too are worthy of enjoying beauty and wonder. It isn’t usually a casual search but a concerted, dogged effort. Another guy in his twenties reflects, “Whenever I was successful at a bar (hookup, phone number, intense ball-blueing flirting) was when I could not care less about picking anybody up. The hungry, wolf-eyed look isn’t attractive.”

  Just like a woman scanning her refrigerator on a night home alone, searching for something, anything, that will make her feel less lonely, the man scans the crowd at the bar restlessly, never full. Even when he rests his eyes on someone who will do, and makes a reluctant choice— the chocolate-fudge ice cream or the tall brunette with the long legs— he already knows that he will still feel empty when the connection fizzles. He hardly tastes it, hardly enjoys the experience. It was all in the thrill of the possibility that something would satisfy his cravings, and now it is over and confirmed—there is no food sweet enough and no girl “hot” enough to make him feel complete.

  Women sometimes choose boys over a binge too. A Carrie Bradshaw devotee gets dolled up to go out on a Saturday night when the buzz in the air is palpable and the possibilities endless; she drinks to take the nervous edge off, waits hopefully or pursues bravely, and usually lands a guy who wants to take her home—making her feel, if only for the last few hours of the night, chosen.

  When the sun comes up, she turns over and is rudely awakened to the reality that the guy is sort of an asshole or really kind of stupid. Being chosen doesn’t feel like an honor as she slinks back to her own house, changes into her dad’s old shirt and some sweatpants, curls up in her own messy sheets. They both linger in their separate beds, in their separate, lonely mornings—the “hot girl” and the boy who beat the odds. Eventually they will purge the night from their memories, but the emptiness will come back, even stronger and more aching
than the weekend before.

  Four-Dimensional Attraction

  Women worry that, unless they have perfect bodies, they will never be able to attract the hypercritical male sex. Tania, a striking twenty-year-old Haitian-American with beautiful skin, remembers having trouble getting a date in high school: “I decided that the reason I did not have a boyfriend was because I was ugly. From that point on, I literally stopped eating. Food disgusted me. I drank liquids but skipped all meals. This continued for a few months, until my parents noticed my massive weight loss and started forcing me to eat. I still rebelled, and so eventually they sent me to my aunt’s house, where she would sit next to me holding a belt. I eat now, but I still do not eat too much. Food is more my enemy than my friend.”

  Tania’s real enemies are her own misperceptions about her beauty, specifically, and the nature of attraction in general. Guys sell themselves short when they dumbly repeat this Cro-Magnon-man mantra: “Must find hot girls, need sex.” I have asked them, when they return to our more evolved Homo sapiens level (I’m talking opposable thumbs, the wheel, the whole works): “What do you honestly find attractive? Don’t give me your politically correct answer. Lay it on me.”

  And almost every one of them answers in some form or another: confidence and a sense of humor.

  In truth, if you are worrying about snagging a man, you would be better off spending your time taking an improv comedy class than running on the treadmill; watching The Daily Show instead of Desperate Housewives; and reading Amy Sedaris instead of the latest diet book. Guys don’t want disappearing women. In direct contrast, they actually want women who are present, strong, and ambitious. Guys don’t want women who maintain a tiny size if it isn’t their natural weight. They want women who carry their size with grace. Guys don’t want women who are obsessed with every little thing they put in their mouths. They want girls who can put back a few beers, eat a burger, get an ice cream if the weather is hot and life is good.

  More than big tits and a small waist, or expensive clothes and a trendy haircut, guys want girls who can make them laugh their asses off. They want women who challenge them, mystify them, make them go on spontaneous adventures. Guys want someone who makes them feel totally comfortable and seen on the one hand, and pushes them to be uncomfortable on the other: keeps them on their toes, makes sweet fun of them, inspires them to be even more authentic to who they truly are, even if it means taking a few risks.

  Here is some more straight dope from their honest and always entertaining e-mails:

  I’m usually more interested in image than a specific body type, I think. Chuck Taylors, a rock T-shirt, and jeans are sexier than blondes in lingerie.

  I like women who smile and laugh, are not strangers to sarcasm, who are effervescent, unpredictable, willing to delve into a variety of topics, willing to question their assumptions, willing to make themselves vulnerable and expose weakness, and are not consumed by self-consciousness. A girl who loves herself is very attractive. If they’re convinced, I’m convinced. Physically, voluptuousness is attractive, as is a nice round, full ass. Large breasts are a great bonus feature. Across the board, a good personality makes any woman who is physically mediocre more attractive, while a physically attractive woman with a garbage personality is just that, garbage.

  Physically: pretty, mostly tall, athletically built, yet curvy, dark hair, nice butt. Not attracted to very skinny or very big. Basically, if you are not a rail and I can pick you up, I am good to go. More about the ass than I am the breast, but both are great. I say that because most ass men don’t mind a couple rolls for a nice ass. Maybe that’s why all these white women are with black dudes [written by a black dude]. Personality: smart in a way that I am not (which is not too hard), similar but not the same. I need to learn something and feel like I can teach as well. I tend not to like the loud, popular ones. All my previous girlfriends from high school were never the ones that other people sought after.

  Seriously, I like all types. I’ve hooked up with all types too. Tall and skinny, tall and fat, fat and short, petite. Flatties, busties, no bodies. In fact, I’d say the only type I haven’t are uglies (but that is purely subjective) and maybe jocks. If I can find two or three sexy things about a girl (one, if she is hilarious), then it’s a go. I think a lot of men are like that. No one expects the total package, but there have to be a few components that make her desirable to you.

  Dark hair, tall, great body, smart, sarcastic, educated.

  I like women with big noses. Otherwise I’m generally attracted to women who make me laugh and will challenge me. I find competence and confidence attractive also. I think, like a lot of men, that I am also instinctually attracted to women that I can’t have.

  Intelligent, humble, creative, caring, confident, full-bodied. I’m not attracted to extremes usually, so that includes both emaciated and overweight. I like it when a girl looks like she feels comfortable in her own skin.

  I am most attracted to girls who are very funny and charismatic, can talk intellectually about art and politics, have pretty smiles and smart, unconventional senses of style.

  Notice that not one of these guys mentioned lusting after the kind of woman who vomits her dinner up in the bathroom or pushes away her plate with three-fourths of her lunch left untouched and cold. Not one mentioned liking women who spend the bulk of their free time obsessing over the size of their thighs and taking aerobics classes. In one recent study, girls and boys as young as five years old already differed in what they thought was “the nicest shape for a lady to be.” Girls selected an ideal female figure that was significantly thinner than that chosen by boys. Even at five, the girls also aspired to thinner figures for themselves.

  Of course looks matter. You can’t see sarcasm, intellect, or kindness from across the room. But after about three seconds, the first impression becomes about more than your bust or butt size. It becomes about chemistry, conversation, values, interests, and passions. As the Family Guy creator, Seth MacFarlane, sarcastically quips about Paris Hilton, “Who wouldn’t want to have sex with a grasshopper?” These guys aren’t looking for women who initially attract them and then quickly bore the hell out of them or seem like they might break from a spontaneous wrestle for the remote. They are looking for a whole package—someone they find physically intriguing (not necessarily thin) in the first glance and mentally, emotionally, spiritually, and yes, sexually fascinating from there on out.

  Most of the guys I just quoted are in their twenties and a few of them in their late teens. In-the-thick-of-puberty teenage boys tend to speak only in a borrowed language of grunts and degrading slang that they learn while clicking on Internet porn sites and taking notes in the locker room. They are new to, and therefore inordinately fascinated by, breasts. They sometimes make smart, lovely teenage girls feel like inanimate objects.

  Screw ’em. If you are fifteen and sick of being objectified by the boys in the hallway, go out with the girls, play sports, and write scathing commentaries about the jerks in the school newspaper. Don’t overlook the nerds—they usually end up being the most humanlike of the high school male species (and the most successful). Bide a little time. Some of them will get smarter and way less annoying later on.

  If you are adult and still dating guys who can’t imagine anything more titillating than, well, tits, you might want to reconsider your own taste in men. These men don’t deserve you. And you don’t deserve them.

  Does This Make Me Look Fat?

  When I asked guys to articulate what kinds of women they were attracted to, they were usually(a) frightened of how I might respond to their answers and (b) stumped at what their answers might actually be. Men are afraid to be honest about their ideas or desires when it comes to body shape and size because they recognize how incredibly sensitive women are about the subject. In fact, they seem afraid even to articulate their ideas and desires for themselves; many of them said my survey was the first time they had reflected on, rather than reacted to, their own desires. E
ver. Women shy away from these conversations for fear of the brutal truth.

  As one woman explains, “I’ve gone there at different points in different relationships, and I usually end up hearing something that I pretended was fine with me at the time, but it reverberates in my head forever. Like once a guy I was dating told me that he looked at porn stars that resembled me. So then I started thinking I was just a type, that he didn’t really love me because of me. Of course if he had said he looked at porn stars that didn’t look like me, that would have provoked a ton of insecurity too. I’m starting to think it is best just to avoid the topic entirely.”

  And a guy echoes her: “I feel like my girlfriend would look way too far into everything I said if we talked about attraction. She takes everything so personally and interprets it in such weird ways. It would just be a really bad idea.” After a quick pause he adds, “Which sucks because I actually am really physically attracted to her and I wish she could get some kind of security out of that.”

  This silence does a disservice to both sexes, stunting our intimacy and letting our worst fears fester. Unfortunately, most women bring the issue up with their boyfriends at moments of knee-jerk vulnerability—getting ready to go out for the night, dressing for a wedding, or fifteen minutes before a job interview—by asking the quintessential question: “Does this make me look fat?”

  There is no good answer, no way out. A string of deep and unspoken concerns is snagged on that one tiny question mark. “Does this make me look fat?” is sometimes female code for “Are you attracted to me?” or “Will I be as beautiful as the other women there? Will I be the most beautiful?” or “Have you noticed that I put on weight? I’m ashamed” or the mother lode, “Do you still love me?”