Karl Klockars

Did I miss something along the way, or are skinny girls on the way out? Over the past few days, Oprah has had on Kirstie Allie showing a lot of skin (or, conversely, a lot less skin than she would have been showing a few months ago), Tyra has been threatening a plus-sized lingerie show (which is awesome) and all this is leaving me hoping for another Dove campaign.

Good Lord, I hope skinny turns into the equivalent of “crimped hair.” Something we laugh at for having looked like, and someone will occasionally use it as a Halloween accessory. I likes my women like I likes my whiskey–14 years old and mixed up with coke. No-wait-that’s not it. All those curves and me with no brakes! Yeah, that’s more like it.

It seems like we’re turning away from the Parises and leaning towards the Scarlettes. With any luck, we’ll get to the point where girls eating hamburgers won’t be so outlandish anymore, and be more of a simple turn-on. Warm juices, pouring out of the pink, steaming meat, condiments streaming down forearms and tongues running across them licking up the mix of sirloin leavings and sugared tomatoes, dijon mustard dripping down the sides of her mouth and onto her heaving–

Okay, I’ll dial it back a bit.

I think the trend is a good one. In a world where we have 12 year olds having liposuction, girls losing teeth from pushing too much bile past them a half-dozen times a day, and (according to the Girl) sororitutes administering red-wine enemas so they don’t have to injest the calories, a girl who looks like she appreciates a nice bowl of chili or a good steak is a real turn on. Okay, the red-wine thing is kinda hot too, but that’s my own problem.

A lot of it has to do with the fact that a lot of guys will talk a mean game but not back it up. Ask a guy working at Hollister or Abercrombie if they think it’s hot for a girl to eat ice cream or to gorge on popcorn and they’ll say “Yeah! I love a girl that eats!” Then they get cheesed off when Mandy orders extra bleu-cheese dressing for her salad. Bitch is gonna get fat–then what’ll my friends think?

I’ve often said that the true test of self-assurance or confidence is being able to date a girl that weighs significantly more than you do. A few years ago, I used to date a girl that probably had about a buck on me, and I had about 6 inches on her. And even though I was fully aware of what society thinks about overweight people, there was a certain sense of pride involved for myself that I was cool with being in public with a girl that other people would probably think was un-dateable.

Which is a horrible comment on society, really. I’m not that spectacular of a person. It’s the world that sucks.

Maybe we’re entering a new Rennaissance period, in which we’re being ushered into a new world of scientific achievement, artistic revolutions and advances in democracy, humanity, ethics and social welfare, and it’s all being heralded by Rubenesque women. Perhaps sometime soon the term “Rubenesque” will be swept aside, perhaps being replaced by the Dove Campaign For Real Beauty.

I had the opportunity to spend about 15 minutes on the phone with one of those Dove Real Beauty girls about a year and a half or so ago, and it remains one of the strange highlights of my radio career. Emails sent off on a wing and a prayer, and all of a sudden I’m on the phone with Stacy talking about curves and attractiveness and perceptions of the world.

Turned out she’s a Chicago local, but my faithful nature allowed me not a second of flirtatiousness – I’m a professional, dammit!

I think curves tell a man that this is a girl that lives life intelligently. Indulging occasionally and not letting the world dictate how she exists or what she chooses to enjoy. Morbid obesity not withstanding, a girl that’ll order a steak rare – better yet, just marked – and dig in with gusto but still be able to walk up a flight of stairs, hell, that’s just hot.

So live it up, curvaceous servings of female form: you’re the majority, so act like it. Wear shirts that show a little meat over the top of your jeans. Don’t be afraid to let that neckline plunge or the hemline climb because you’re not a toothpick. A lot of us are over that: size ten is the new two.

Above all, being average-not-large and in charge is about a rejection of the advertising and marketing department’s status quo. Hell, I married a girl who lives life without worrying about her calorie count, I can feed her whatever rich pot full of stew or jambalaya I turned out that afternoon, and she can still kick my ass and rough me up for hours. And she’s not afraid of throwing on the short skirt, stockings, heels and blouse and showing up all the button-down staid ice queens at the benefit. And what’s hotter than that?