“Everyone has a type.”
I think, to some extent, that’s true. But I also feel like; no, that’s absolutely wrong.
What even does a “type” mean? Are we talking personality? Because yeah, every once in a while I enjoy a guy who is a total assh*le, but I also like funny guys who are sweet and caring.
Are we talking hygienic practices? Sometimes I want the guy who with longish hair, some scruff and maybe hasn’t showered in four or five days. Other days I want the guy in the suit who gets his hair cut every two weeks precisely and smells like Bang by Marc Jacobs.
Are we talking life styles? Occasionally I’ll go for the lead singer of an emo band or maybe the drummer who might be vegetarians. On the other hand I also dig the rugby-football type who have maybe never listened to anything besides rap and eat raw eggs twice a day.
Across the board, tall is a must. But other than that, qualifications vary by person.
Saying that we have a “type” is just so dumb. Why on earth would I limit myself to just having mozzarella cheese for the rest of my life. There are just too many other flavors out there. What if I also want to have brie or gouda or cheddar or any of the other fine selections? Why should I have to pick just one? Having a type is boring.