The attraction of Pitbull

People are always amazed by the fact I love Pitbull.

I get it. I’m a feminist. 50% of Pitbull’s lyrics refer to breasts. The objectification isn’t easily missed. And lyrical subtlety isn’t Pitbull’s strong point, for instance “I got asses, by the masses.”

And so there is a lot of confusion about why my celebrity crushes are all, well, a little bit questionable.It’s because there’s a difference between fantasy and reality.

I’m on of those girls who fall for bad guy celebrities. There are lots of us. I checked.

Celebrities like Phillip Glenister, Gene Simmons, and Marco Pierre White are all famous for playing tough guy arse holes. Whether they are, or are just playing a charade for the camera, is irrelevant. Hoards of women would sell their kidneys for a one night stand with them. I’m one of them.

However addiction to Alpha Males is dangerous. It gives men the impression that it is ok to be a dick, because women want to date that. Then men can legitimise disgusting behaviour by being like “oh, but women like Mr Nasty.”

But we only like Mr Nasty in fantasy world.

In reality, we don’t want to date a man who reduces our characters to our bra sizes. We don’t want a boyfriend who dismisses our problems with “you’re just on your period.” And we certainly don’t want guys who think women can’t change the world.

We want boyfriends who treat us like humans, who are interested in our opinions and don’t mind if we wear flannel PJs. Because in reality, there are lots of important practical things that we don’t think about when we fantasise. Like whether our boyfriend expects us to do all the cooking. So we don’t want arseholes in real life.

There is a huge gap between our imaginary world and reality. In our imagination, nothing matters. There are no consequences. It’s just about what turns you on, and if that’s bad men, or Narnia porn or plastic fetishes then it’s all fine.

It’s your imagination; it’s a flight of mental freedom. It bears no relation to real life.

But any fantasy acted out in reality would probably scare the pants off us. And not in a good way.

Imagine if we actually acted out our mental dirty talk? It took me 18 years to actually say the word vagina. If you want me to talk dirty, it’s going to be a long night. And if one of those leathery hard man types met me on the street, I’d probably follow my mother’s advice. (Kick! Go for the nuts! Good and hard!)

The point is that hard man fantasies remain fantasies. We don’t want them in real life. If we had them, they’d either disgust or distress us.

So boys, we may fantasise about bad men, but don’t model yourself on the arsehole archetype in reality. You’ll get nothing, except the infamous eye roll and an “ew.”

By Variety Bucket