This just in from the frontiers of evolutionary biology: Women like a man with moves. And not just any moves. Women like a man who can nod his head; twist his torso; and especially, shake a leg. Actually. Shake. A. Leg. The faster, the better, and the right one specifically. Or so reports Christopher Ingraham in the Washington Post’s Wonkblog.
The researchers wired-up nineteen men with motion sensors, asked them to dance for 30 seconds to a steady drum beat, filmed them from 12 camera angles, and converted their performances into animations featuring blank-faced, empty-crotched, naked blue avatars.
The idea was to strip the guys of any looks, cues, or socioeconomic clues–like clothing and a, um, package–that might distract female subjects from men’s actual motions. The women viewed the resulting animations and rated the dancing dummies on a standard seven-point scale from “extremely bad dancer” to “extremely good dancer.” The results were statistically sliced and diced to determine what women really want.
Nineteen years ago, not too long after I met my dear husband, Herman, I went back to my Alabama hometown for the wedding of a childhood friend. Like many weddings, this was also a reunion of sorts, for a group of girls–now women hitting age 40–who hadn’t seen each other for years.
We had all gone off to college in 1970. We had all been (oh, the dirty little secret) debutantes together. Most of them had joined sororities and gone on to marry bankers and lawyers. All had stayed in the South but me.
I, on the other hand, divorced my banker and moved to Washington D.C.
It wouldn’t be accurate to say that Herman woke up yesterday morning with a horrific allergy attack. In fact, he had already been awake half the night sneezing, snorting, and rubbing his eyes. We were both pretty wiped out but I was determined to go on to see Tippi Hedren in person. And I was equally determined that he would stay home and rest.
So for the first time in quite a few years, I ventured on a bit of road trip after dark. I’m getting too old and too dependent on my sweet husband’s protective company for this. Continue reading →