Gawwwd but I’m sick of ‘Hot Boys’.
What I want is a dirty boy. A Heath Leadger look-a-like with longish wavy hair, wearing a sweatband around his wrist and a beat up old guitar on his back covered in half worn off stickers of bands that are way too cool for me to know. He would have an aura of ‘fuck the man’ confidence and tell wickedly hilarious stories about his year traveling the outskirts of India with a pack of mountaineers. I’d fall for his deep eyes across a bonfire, we’d have a hash-fueled love affair and then he would write a song about me.
What happened to the ‘rogue travellers’, the artists and adventurers? How did they all turn into DT wearing, tan attempting, peacock strutting accountants?! Where’s the guy who rocks a six pack from his yoga addiction under a slightly ripped shirt he found in an op shop in Cambodia? Not sitting on the beach in Cannes today, I can assure you, cos I spoke to the only non-clearly-insane man with a six pack there and he was a “Salesman slash Model”. He took five photos of us together because the first four he was concerned his smile showed too much of his teeth.
Another guy Kendyl met had photos of him and a girl on his Facebook wall. The girl was pretty cute so we did the womanhood thing and stalked her as well. She was born in 1995. 1995!!!! 16 years old?!?!? Quite literally, a DECADE younger than me. She probably has no idea who the Care Bears, Captain Planet or Animaniacs are. How can I possibly have anything to say to a guy who managed to hang out with someone with that level of cultural unawareness for an entire day?!
I did actually see a boy like the one I’m describing in the street the other day standing next to a rubbish skip. Travel pack, bandana thingy in his wiry longish hair, tanned, broad, could eat a bear… It seemed a suitably unromantic situation to walk up and say “Oh thank God, you don’t whiten your teeth. And is that a rip in your shirt? What are you doing later? Let’s sit on the beach and pretend we know what philosophy is all about.”, but I’m just too shy.
I’m doing the wrong sort of travel for meeting these types of boys, evidenced by the fact that my “backpack” has wheels and I am carrying no less than 7 pairs of shoes. What I need to do is buy some tie-dyed fisherman pants, learn to smoke without coughing and hitchhike my way through Slovenia in search of a bonfire. Plan.