Recently, I have been having really intense moments of jealously when seeing really beautiful women on the subway and/or the street.
Not GORGEOUS beautiful women, but as beautiful as a woman can be without being called GORGEOUS, and therefore, cease to become the object of the everyman’s affection. For example, a really hot mom, or the most hipster a hot girl can be without being hipster-hot. And this is important, as generally I do not envy women because they are everyman’s object of desire, but because I just want to look like them for looking-like-them’s sake.
But this envy appears to be deeply seated in a desire not only to look like them, but also to be looked at like them. Indeed, when I see that it is not only me, but also half of the train car’s men who are staring (the other half are gay, homeless, or otherwise catatonic), I become indignant, although I cover my scorn with a smile that tries to say “Ha-ha! Yea guys, sheeee’s a hottie, huh?” This is especially bothersome because I pride myself on being jealous only of girls who are unconventially attractive, which usually makes me feel less associated guilt.
In seeking an explanation, I have come to theorize that these feelings are attributable at least in part to the fact that I have more respect for a male New Yorker’s opinion than most other men around the country, like those from, say, UVA, where the mark of a good girl is whether or not the bow in her hair matches the print of her Lily Pulitzer dress, how many times a week she can be seen jogging through campus in Soffe shorts, and how closely her nose resembles a button.
My jealously cannot be attributed to the “latent [or was it nascent?] lesbian yearning” described by Paul Bambusch in 8th grade when he gave me an unsolicited analysis of my personality, which turned out to be in many ways quite astute. Incidentally, Paul turned out to be harboring homosexual feelings far stronger than my own.
I guess this all boils down to the fact that I just really want a fucking boyfriend, and I’m jealous of girlies who can get on a train car at one stop and leave two stops later with ten new admirers. Well, nine, not counting me, but who ever said she was straight? Maybe my latent lesbian yearning will become nascent. I wonder: am I woman enough to date someone hotter than me?
