Type, antitype, blood type, E-type…

Today I started thinking about types. I was sipping a late afternoon espresso with a friend of mine, and after the discussing the hot topics of the day such as Beyoncé changing her username on Instagram, I told my friend whom I went out with the other day.

“Really? Wow… I didn’t think he was your type!”, was the reply she gave me. 

Well. Neither did. This guy and me have nothing in common except a hilarious sense of humor and a big ego.

But what the hell is my type anyway?

During the previous year I have dated a bunch of guys. A tattooed consultant, who cooked a really good lasange. An Italian businessman that was 15 years older than me and drove a ridiculously expensive car. A curly haired snowboarder who, all of a sudden, quit his day job and moved to Australia. An overweighed comedy actor that smoked a lot and was drunk at least three times a week. A blonde-haired male Barbie that was such a perfect gentleman and so by the book that Disney could’ve created him.

My first boyfriend was a long-haired bass-player and the latest one a start-up entrepreneur.

So you get the range. There is no type. There is not a single common feature that I would identify about the men I get interested in.

But yet I consider myself open-minded. Untamed. I surprise even myself with my feelings. Last time I told my friends that I’m really not interested in the guy I just met at the party, as he is really not my type, I ended up being crazy about him after three days (and well, getting my heart broken after three weeks).

So I guess it’s something abstract that I fall for. It’s the bang. The uniqueness. That’s my type. Or maybe I’m just the kind of girl that one day dies for sushi and another day for bouillabaisse. Haha.

Post by Sally

Ps. With this guy, I like his enthusiasm about old school rap music and his ability of not to give a fuck.