Fair and Square

 Fairly recently, I inadvertently watched 3 Armie Hammer movies in a row: Mirror Mirror, Rebecca, and On the Basis of Sex.

I had never seen or heard of the man before. And I certainly would not have planned to watch three films featuring him back to back. (Not literally on the same day, but all within a short period of time, with no other movie in between.)

The man is dreamy. I've used this adjective sparingly as few truly deserve the title. I have called Tom Middleton dreamy, and he is. But Armie Hammer is dreamier, if that's possible. He is bewitching as John Hamm is captivating, charming and debonnaire. Armie Hammer is all that, but prettier.

Who can look into those beautiful, cosmic blue eyes, and not fall into his universe, never to pull back out?

After having seen the aforementioned movies and wondering "Where have you been my whole life?", I later came across a print ad in the New Yorker, of the Broadway play "The Minutes", starring... none but Armie Hammer.

There he is, his head occupying almost the entire page, almost life size, with those piercing, profound blue eyes, staring back, inscrutable. 

Later still, Toni Morrison died. I knew of Toni Morrison. I mean you have to have lived under a rock not to. I was aware she was iconic, a major literary figure. But I had never read any of her books, nor was I familiar with her body of work.

So when I came across an article loosely summing up her life in the annual The Lives They Lived issue of the New York Times magazine, I wolfed it. And became aware of her first novel, The Bluest Eye.

And I came to question why I have found blue to be the most beautiful eye color (hazel is a close second - OK, maybe not close). The three greatest loves of my life: JD, Taylor, and RJ - all had/have blue eyes. Although I can't say that I had planned the lineup based on eye color.

Some say you can't help what you're attracted to, the heart wants what the heart wants, blah blah blah. Now I am not so sure. Now, in the age of Black Lives Matter, I can't say with confidence that my preference of dating white men is free of deep-seated socioeconomic values and implied class. 

Since childhood, the definition of beauty has always been based on European standards. For years I never questioned who decides who is beautiful, and why we should all conform. In Asia, race aside, lighter skin is always preferred. You should see the plethora of whitening products in the market, the obsession is so prevalent. There is even bleach for the areolas and pubic hair. In Japan and South Korea, young people dye their hair or put on wigs and insert contact lenses in shades of anything but black or brown, in the name of fashion. But really they just want to look anything but plain old Asian.

And for years I have thought that brown is the most boring color for eyes. I still do.

Internalized racism is not going to self-eradicate overnight.

I know that I didn't marry RJ for his money or status (as he has neither). However I do enjoy the respect that he effortlessly commands, without trying, just by being white and male. At restaurants and public places, there is no shortage of "Sir", regardless of source and circumstance. At parties, people listen when he speaks, whereas since I was a girl I have felt it is often difficult just to get a word in in group settings.

Recently came across the expression "Pale, male and Yale". It shook me. A sinking weight descended down my spine, landing on my coccyx, making it ache dully.

None of this changes the fact that I do love the person RJ is, the fact he never tires of learning, his patience (he'd advise me, "Use your zen."), his awesome sense of humor. I could make a list. The list would be long.

But I do wonder, if all these wonderful qualities came in a different package, a different color package, would I have considered dating him in the first place?

I am not sure.