beyond the pale

I have a dot.commer turned film-industry friend named Randall (pseudonym) whose physical preference in women runs to blonde. Or so I thought. His last two girlfriends have been very blonde.

“Actually,” he told me the other night, “it’s really not a hair thing. Their hair could be any color. What hooks me — if I was at a bar, for example — the first thing that draws my eye — is pale skin.” He gestured at his arms.

“Pale skin?”

“For whatever reason, I’ve always had this ingrained attraction to very fair-skinned women. They just generally happen to be blonde.”

“You don’t think a tan is sexy, be it real or fake?”

“It’s not like I mind if she tans. I’m not going to say, ‘You got a tan, we’re through.’ But I’d prefer it if she didn’t.”

“Huh.”

I like this, partly because it surprised me and I like being surprised, and also because it cuts against what the culture tells us is desirable*. Especially in LA.

*And the fact that I can’t tan to save my life, and can’t be bothered to fake it, has absolutely nothing to do with it. I swear.

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