Inspired by previous partner and City Girl columnist, Emma Gilkison, P.J. has created over 30 lifestyle columns that breach a multitude of topics from arachnaphobia to breast maintenance, and how a wine list and knowledge of the Single Ring can turn a good night out into a great one!
Several years ago while lying in bed with my partner at the time, my slowly increasing knowledge of the female added a new chapter. She was intently scanning my forehead with her moon shaped Italian eyes causing me to become a little restless. My insecurities about my cranial appearance were soon soothed by her explanation that she was admiring my scars. Admiring? Weren’t obviously visual scars a sign of imperfection, of non-refinement, of someone too poor to afford plastic surgery? Apparently not. Not even in the slightest. To her they were sexy. A ‘turn on’ even.
In this modern age of the body beautiful, cosmetic surgery, and facials (men included), I was surprised to find that the damage to my face from a malicious rugby players boot and a large impact with the pavement were marks of beauty.
I know people love talking about different injuries they have had, especially those obtained during wild, intoxicated nights, so I took this opportunity during one such occasion to test how widely acknowledged this scar = beauty concept actually was. All the socially refined ladies I was sitting with were only too keen to join in chorus of their attraction to facially scarred men. “As long as we aren’t talking disfigured or anything” chimed in Rebecca. The jaw apparently is the preferred position for such a beauty mark followed by the forehead then the cheek.
It wasn’t until the guys got a chance to get a word in that I realised this wasn’t an opinion shared by both sexes. “If a girls got a scar that’s fine by me, but it’s cooler if it’s hidden” Calvin, facially scarred himself, informed me. “I know what you mean. I was with this girl once who had this scar that curved around her hip from an op she had after a riding accident. It was intriguing.” added Greg. Marty wasn’t convinced. He preferred his women ‘unblemished’ as he put it. It was the kind of response we could expect from him. An occupational hazard of working in a suntan clinic I had decided.
Somewhere within this ever refining culture there still seemed to be a desire for the less than perfect, the warrior even. Were the glossy magazines and picture perfect Hollywood movies beginning to weaken in their hold on what we should perceive as beauty. Had the Greenies with their unshaven, tree hugging ways affected us that much?
It’s all about experience I was told by my good friend Megan. “Marks of your life’s journey and your willingness to take chances” she shared with me.
I’m not arguing. I wasn’t exactly blessed with good looks, so any additions I can pick up on the way is a bonus.
My suggestion to any blokes who don’t have ‘marks of experience’. Get out there and take those risks, ride that bull by the horns, or if all that is a bit too frightening, have half a dozen whiskeys then poke yourself in the jaw with a serrated knife. Of course by the time you meet a girl the next month it has become an old mountain biking injury you sustained on your tour of Austria.