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.
I’ve been trying to get to American Hustle for weeks and today I finally made it. After coming up with a big fat nada despite ten nominations at this year’s Oscars, it is bound to be off the marquee tomorrow.
It’s hard to tell if my experience of Hustle was colored by being the only . . . the absolute only. . . soul in the theater, but I’m going to have to say that I was a bit disappointed. Continue reading →
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.