I’ve been working out at the gym lately, first as a last-ditch attempt at holding onto whatever youth remains in me, and second, for my body to be able to do things I wish it to do for as long as possible; over the last few years I’ve noticed a decline in my choices as my body weakens and loses some of it’s ability as a tool, which is an attribute I’ve valued most of my life.
Perhaps not surprisingly, I had to do the masculine preening of flexed muscles in front of a mirror. Although it will take much longer to get rid of the flab, my strength has blossomed under my regimen, to the point where I’m now up to 2/3 of the maximum settings that the exercise machines will allow. That I’m perpetually sore doesn’t matter because I can again do things I thought were past me.
But catching myself in the mirror I couldn’t help think about the whole masculine/strength/desirability trifecta that I had been raised with, and that still dominates our culture. I know it’s not just me. I know that Tracy likes my masculine attributes, and that all my past lovers have has well. While human attraction is complex and varied, we know through many studies what the majority of women are attracted to, and there is a long evolutionary history behind this. Desire is not random.