Time and again I’ll be sitting in a restaurant or bar and a young couple who shouldn’t be a couple will stroll in and sit down at a table, and I’ll be just stunned. The attractiveness disparity is almost mindblowing. He’s a jowly beefalo who hasn’t seen the inside of a gym in two or three years and she’s a svelte super-model with hazel eyes, flaring cheekbones and an obviously well-toned bod, and yet she’s apparently throwing it to this guy and gasping. And I’m sitting there going “what the eff?”
A couple of hours ago I was eating a salmon burger at Astroburger (which I always call Mojoburger) when another one of these oddball couples came in, and once again the old saying about “birds of a feather flock together” was out the window. The woman wasn’t quite Angelina Jolie-level hot, but she was definitely approaching that ballpark. And the guy looked like Ryan Gosling in Lars and the Real Girl.
How does this happen? It didn’t used to happen when I was in my 20s and ’30s. Women wouldn’t talk to beefalos in the ’70s and ’80s. There were no beefalos. Beefalos sure as hell never got to talk to hot women. You had to look at least moderately attractive to even have a chat with a hot girl. You sure as hell couldn’t look like you ate quatre-fromage pizza for breakfast, lunch and dinner and threw down four to six 16 oz. cans of beer. And if she gave you the time of day you wouldn’t get very far unless you exuded the same level of coolness and attractiveness (inwardly and outwardly) to make any kind of progress.
All I can figure is that the guy at Mojoburger was a successful musician or something, but still. I realize that physical attractiveness has always been a component and that serious charm and seductiveness is in the mind and the wit and the laughter. Just ask Cyrano de Bergerac. All I know is that this is the first time in the history of the species in which guys who are way, way below the level of the girls they’re sitting with in terms of conventional hotness…these beefalo guys are making out like crazy these days.
