For years I have struggled with self image. I have already wrote a blog about wanting to wear someone elses’ skin. My understanding of wanting to be someone else, and actively try to be, is very real. As I assume is the same with a lot of people out there. When I found out that the Irish are considered to be the ugliest nationality among men, part of me was not surprised at all. I felt this way growing up and it makes sense to me.
The other half of me felt like I was thrown out of my own chariot. Who the hell says such a thing?! Just when I gain some self confidence, someone has got to take a hot steamer on my parade. That fire-crotch, read-headed, blue-eyed, pale-skinned dashing devil staring back at the mirror is one of the rarest combinations of human genetics. Damn, You looking Fine!
Beautifulpeople.com made an analysis of the hottest and ugliest people in the world based on nationality. They went on to say that the typical male Irish dating profiles are always men sitting at pubs with beer, trying to sell an image. Which I can understand. If you are looking for lasting love, or a one night stand, maybe clean up a bit and take a nice photo. This goes for anyone. A clean shave, nice out-fit, and a photographer with a critical eye can make you look AMAZING.
Not that I do not agree with this image and don’t enjoy the beer-in-hand pub lifestyle, I do find it quite trite to say that we are the ugliest nationality. I took it as a blow to my own self-worth in the world of sex and fast cars. Something I don’t feed into very often, but am not privvy of never experiencing. I can confidently say that I have never tried to hook-up with anyone. My friends will attest to my prude attitude I can sometimes carry. When I read that I was immediately considered un-attractice because of my nationality I wondered why I never approached the ‘hook-up’ culture that we live in.
I got to really thinking about what this meant to me. Especially after a friend of mine was telling me about the bombardment of woman trying to sleep with him. We were watching Parks and Recreation and he was utterly distracted by his phone. A constant stream text messages among the myriad of woman begging for his attention. My phone lies silent for 98% of the day, everyday of my life.
I can sum my phone using into 5 activities a day, excluding mindless scrolling of social media. Mother phone calls, phone calls to and from my best-friend, a routine call of some sort (Doctor, bank, that past due parking ticket violation), and maybe one from an old time friend. Nothing confusing. Very straightforward. No games.
I started to feel like I was getting the notorious FOMO (Fear-Of-Missing-Out) that I have heard so much about through social media outlets. Mostly because I became aware of the lack of lusting ladies in my life. Then I realized I have never been in ‘The Game’-The one where men try to sleep with as many woman as they can. Apparently being anything but Irish can coincidentally throw you into such a lifestyle habit. I’ve never understood it.
A defense mechanism started to rise in me as I was slipping into sleep. Who the hell are these people to judge an entire nation of people as ugly?! Moreover it was directed only towards men. They say the attraction Irish woman was on the rise. Get it girls!! Especially while your male counterparts are being chastised for the same qualities that make you beautiful.
Breaking down my anger, self-image, and doubt I started to accept the statistic as a perfect filtration system. If there are woman out there simply talking to men on the predicate of their physical image, and that’s the end goal, then who the hell am I to worry? I am fucking awesome. I don’t need someone trying to chew me up and spit me out. I need someone else who is equally fucking awesome to spend my time with. It’s just the facts. I don’t have the time to waste. I have books to read, friends to make, writing to be done, good meals to be made, and I can’t do that stuff if someone doesn’t find it awesome too.
Don’t get me wrong here. I also know men who go through women like Big-Chew Bubblegum. They love the taste, the intensity of it’s color, the novelty of the affair, and then after about 15 minutes it’s a bland wad of emptiness.
Men and woman both fall into the trap of physique. Ending up depleted of energy because of lack-luster in conversations and the shallow connection that was just made. Sometimes becoming downright upset because they didn’t have real personal connection with these people.
Sure they got laid. A round of applause to anyone who does so. Treat Yo Self! Sex is a great thing and we should all have more of it. It relieves headaches, helps prevent certain cancers, boosts your immune system, and makes you feel good. These are the surface benefits of a hook-up culture.
Who doesn’t truly love some post-coitus lulabies of love though. The eye-to-eye gaze of satisfaction from genital mashing and hearts melting. Go ahead and turn away and say you don’t love this part of a relationship. Tell me you don’t want to find the person who can look straight through you into the deepest caverns of your soul. I get it. You’re tough.
When you get to lie down and look into that man or womans eye and say, “You are simply the most amazing person I have ever met in my life. I love you so much (Insert lovers name here)” –Doesn’t that feel fucking great?! The loneliness doesn’t catch up with you after emotionally attached sex, because you hooked up with an Irishman. We’re fucking awesome, attractive, and straight-up ravenously good in the sack!
Maybe I’m just another Irish red-headed romantic. Van Gogh understood it long before anyone else. He knew what he was doing was important. That no matter his looks or his mind, what he created was beautiful and something that the world needed. Even if they took far too long to realize it. We are the real catches here. Let them figure that out, then kick themselves in the ass later.
Let my nationality be a perfect percolation system. Sifting through the white noise of vacant personalities and blissful vanity and only catching the gems, diamonds, and gold nuggets of humanity.
I say in defense of my male Irish mates, you guys are fucking great. And I will be damned if we are not the finest specimen! Not all Irish are created equally. We are created from the thinnest line of genetics, weaving our way through history as the finest, and one of the most rare breeds of man. Cheers to you men! Let’s take those pictures in the pubs and celebrate ourselves!