'Type-Itis'

‘Ooh you’re just my type-everything so right’- Lloyd

What’s your ‘type?’ Are you attracted to the intellectuals with a degree and professional clout? Or does the shy and sincere kind of guy tickle your fancy? Are you a leg man? Or are you drawn to dangerous curves on a splendid body? Perhaps, you prefer the domestic diva with a heart as warm as her fresh apple pies. Whether it’s a big butt and a smile, or an outgoing trendsetter who looks like they walked off of the pages of Vogue, there is something you like-your ‘ type.’ My rough definition of a ‘type’ is a set of characteristics that a person possesses that normally sparks our romantic curiosity. Most of us have a general idea of what we normally go for in man or woman. Some like them short, some prefer tall, some are infatuated with big-boobs while others are suckers for a beautiful face or a glorious mane of hair. Whether you consciously realize it or not, there are a pattern of traits which all people that you take or have taken interest in, possess. Take me for instance. I’m attracted to short-stature guys. YES, I’m serious. I’m about 5’6 and I prefer my men to be less than 6’0. Why, you ask? I don’t know. It’s just what I like. There’s something undeniably attractive about short, stocky well-dressed, chocolate complexioned men with dark features. I find myself breaking my neck to look every time I see a guy who fits this profile.

When you’re intrigued by your ‘type’ you just can’t help yourself. Your ‘type’ will stop you in your tracks, and tug on an inner-curiosity. The world seems to slow-down while you scope your ‘type’ in wonder. I’ve seen guys who have looked so good, that I found myself at a loss for words. It’s like being slapped in the face with honey and cotton-candy-that sweet and sudden shock triggers something in you that can't be explained. Guys tend to trip on sidewalks and embarrass themselves when a fine woman unexpectedly catches their attention. I even remember a guy getting into a fender-bender from looking my way a nano-second too long. But when you see your 'type,' you gotta look. You may be in a cocktail party, walking into McDonalds or driving to the corner store-they spring up at any random time, in a variety of places. You blink and all of a sudden all you can see is the sexy body, the school-boy grin, or the ‘je no se qua:’ you have been momentarily plagued by 'type-itis.'

I fell victim to the 'itis' this morning as the 3-train approached Utica Avenue. He was waiting for the 4-train on the platform, standing near the garbage can. Like a chocolate teddy graham in a bag of flour, he stood out. I knew immediately I was smitten with ‘type-it is’ when I began eyeing him like a sirloin steak. I exited the 3 train and stood diagonally across from him. The train was still not there. His skin was like Hershey’s milk-chocolate; his eyebrows were full and his lips thick like a milkshake. His hair was jet black and lay perfectly to his head with a clean-edge up. This attractive young man had every element in place to perfection; the mini-checkered hunter-green and white dress shirt covered by a brown wool argyle three-button cardigan vest and topped off with a crimson colored tie. His dark denim pants were fitted with the perfect amount of spacing that a hetero-sexual man should have, and he had a one-inch cuff at the bottom. He completed his look with brown leather shoes and an espresso colored shoulder bag. His style was reminiscent of Ralph Lauren with an Andre 3000 twist- very dapper and well-put together. After closely noting all of the detail, I made my ruling: MY TYPE. Not only was this man physically fine but he was also very stylish-and didn't come across as gay. He retained an aura of sophisticated masculinity, that most men just don’t have these days.

The one-morning that I happened to see Mr. Debonair, I was looking like a dried-up piece of crumb cake. I had my hair in a tight, little bun, with a blue puff-sleeved shirt, some gold-dangling earrings and a black and white checkered scarf. I actually felt self-conscious while I was noting the magnificent details of this fine man. ‘I could have at least put on my eye-liner!’ I thought to myself. ‘He probably thinks I’m some average chick.’ I quickly erased the insecure thoughts and maintained my swagger. What you wear, no matter how superficial this may seem, does speak a lot about who you are as a person-in the same light, self-assurance, confidence, and elegance will always outshine any get-up. I concluded that the guy was ‘polished, stylish, and sophisticated’ all from his attire and his demure. Could I be wrong? Of course. However, the detail and color-combinations of his rig showed that he had an eye for styling, even if he was a jerk.

The 4-train finally approached Utica Avenue, and I glanced at him. Not catching eyes with me, he looked briefly and continued to look straight ahead. We boarded and he was standing by the doors, in perfect eyesight. Despite my disdain for my Wednesday ‘get-up’ I decided to look continue to try to make eye-contact with him. ‘I don’t look THAT bad’ I thought while checking my face in my little pink mirror. I noticed he was holding a book at his right side- which made him that much more alluring. A handsome, short, sharp brother with good skin who reads books?! I had to get his attention; for ego’s sake.

And then, it happened, at Franklin Avenue. The train stopped, the angels started singing, the bells started ringing and the train doors were dinging.

We caught eyes.

He looked at me and I was already looking dead in his face. I don’t know if the moment was suspended in time or if it really was as long as it felt. But, the way my ‘type’ gazed at me, while licking his succulent lips made me think that maybe, I was his ‘type’ as well. I felt butterflies going full speed in the pit of my stomach for a good five seconds when we caught eyes. I got the chills and finally looked down like a school-girl, while he was still looking at me. ‘YES!’ I thought as I felt my heart skip a beat and my pulse rise. I kept looking up at the train map and glanced consistently in his direction. Passengers who got on at the stop were obstructing my view. I watched even more intently. ‘Is he still looking this way?’ I wondered. ‘Damn, I wish they would move,’ I thought as everyone seemed to cover him from eye-view. His neck was turned back towards me and I saw his neatly tapered hairline facing me. Fighting back a girly grin, I was blushing with that nostalgic feeling that my second grade crush had given me 15 years ago. He was definitely looking my way.

Atlantic Avenue was where this fantasy ride ended. I was hoping that he was getting off to let people behind him off but he had reached his final destination. Damn. New York is a very large place- but I'm sure I'll experience 'type-itis' once again.