Dispatches from Another Planet

So, according to a scientific study mentioned on my favorite blog, men act less intelligently around blondes. This is yawn yawn yawn, and reminds me of the time a bunch of "researchers" (ie, the cast of Superbad) came out with the findings that women prefer to have sex with men who have large muscles.

Whatever that means for the human race. Perhaps our children - and I say "our" in the loosest sense possible since my genes obviously won't make it - will all be platinum-tressed bodybuilders. Or, the world according to Sweden.

The interesting part of this study comes in the comments, where one reader reveals that as a social science experiment she once dyed her hair blonde and strapped on a pair of massive fake tits in order to go a party. Her "new look" flabbergasted her male friends (probably would've done the same thing to me, honestly). Apparently,

"Some of the guys I knew seemed to be convincing themselves they had somehow simply managed to forget until now that I had double G breasts. That is, after I got them to look at my face and see it was me. Others saw it was me and relaxed, but I think those guys got laid more often."

Ah. So that's how you cure your boyfriend of ogling other women on the street.

The experimenter's ultimate conclusion is that "Women with tits and blonde hair walk on a very different planet."

This may be true, but - and I'm trying my damnedest to be fair about this - is it a planet populated by people they really want to meet? Back when I was a barista, I worked at a Cafe with some incredibly gorgeous women. Incredibly. One, in particular, was so beautiful that it hurt my eyes to look at her.

She was always fending off men's advances, but the sort of men that no sane woman would ever want hitting on her. Not just horny UPS guys, taxicab drivers, bartenders, waiters, etc, but bosses and co-workers and 5o-year-old divorcees with three children and six ex-wives. Arab sheikhs, professional athletes, you get my drift. Once in a while, I was jealous of the fact that she could blink her eyes and some other guy would pop up to take the place of the last one. But most of the time, I realized what an incredibly mixed blessing it was.

Even if I were so lovely, I would not be more happy, or more loved. I know this beyond a shadow of a doubt. Not because I am so happy now, or so loved, but because people are themselves. It's just a fundamental truth. There are no guarantees.