Conversations on Lathropia

The best part of living where I live in Lathrop is the number of guys who continually meander down my hall wearing glasses. By daylight, Lathrop boys lead ordinary lives: going to class, dining at the DC, chilling with the bros; basically doing all the things Lathrop boys normally do. But by night, the transformation is truly extraordinary. Off come the transparent contact lenses and collared shirts, the tight jeans and the preppy white sneakers (well, not all of them have these things, but you know what I mean)...make way for the sweatpants and the faded t-shirts from some band they saw six years ago, the messy hair, the fuzzy green slippers, and the GLASSES. They look ready to get down. To their 11-page philosophy papers--but still.

I just can't help it--I think eyewear is so sexy. It just gives off this aura of intellectual prowess that nothing else can replicate. When a guy walks into my room sporting a set of stunning frames, something's gotta come off: his glasses or his clothing. That's just the way it works.

I have tried many a time to uncover the source of this unfathomable attraction. Glasses unquestionably make you look smarter, in the sense that they make you look like you’re ready to get down to work, full of drive and imagination. They create a sense of separation between you and the rest of the world; a barrier, a transparent shield, a source of mystery and allure. Like you’re fighting the chaotic forces of the world with sheer brainpower, and the lenses serve to focus and direct the force of your thought, like mirrors on laser beams. Glasses emphasize your complexion, and there’s something about the right pair that can make a guy’s face look so handsome. And then there’s the argument from identity: so much of our social interaction revolves around the need to somehow conceal our faults. We constantly hide behind blemish remover and expensive face wash, contact lenses and Rogaine and brand-name clothing. We do. We wrap these around us like a heavy coat in February. I'm not saying that any of these things are necessarily bad: that would be hypocritical. I just want to point out that sometimes, the most attractive things about us are our imperfections, and, in our plight to diminish them, we diminish ourselves. This is why it’s so sexy when a guy wears glasses: it’s just a small way of showing that he embraces his own imperfections. And if he can embrace his, then I think that maybe he can learn to embrace mine as well.

But anyway.

Okay, so you know that soap opera where a middle-aged suburban housewife dreams of meeting her strapping young handyman, who will roll up his sleeves for her (revealing a set of perfectly-tanned biceps), and say, "don't worry, ma'am, I'll fix your kitchen faucet?" Well, perhaps you are unfamiliar with this epic bit of television history. However, if I could have a movie made about my dream man, my be-speckled prince…he would stroll conscientiously and maybe a little shyly into my room one cool fine night. Then, sitting on my bed, he would take out his little black glasses case, and, wiping the lens, adjust the metal bridge over his nose in a nonchalant way; like it was nothing, like he was so comfortable with this and everything else about himself. Then, he would look me reassuringly in the eye, take my warm hand in his, and say, softly: "Don't worry, I'll help you with your multivariate calculus problem set."

Why yes, you may analyze my curves.

Yours,
Radish