Gross-hot

by RAF KATIGBAK

Growing up with four older sisters was a mixed blessing. It sucked because, at five-years-old, I would be used to play dress-up. They would drape me with scarves, shove me into ruffled baby-doll dresses, and slather on my mother’s blue eye-shadow—the ultimate result looking like some mutant hybrid of JonBenet Ramsey, Hervé Villechaize and Dee Snider from Twisted Sister.

But later on, into adolescence, having four dramatically hormonal teenage sisters had its advantages, specifically when it came to relationships. Every time things would go bad with boys, they would sit me down in a huff and tell me all the things that sucked about their boyfriend/date/crush experience, giving me pointers on what to do and what not to do. Eventually, I got it: keep your nails clean and well manicured, make sure your clothes are freshly pressed, buy her flowers every now and then (only for special occasions and never as a make-up gift), and give her attention, but not too much. Boom. That’s it. You’re done. I was now officially Mr. Right.

Everything I know about the opposite sex, I learned from them. Little did I know that everything I thought I knew about romancing a girl would be shattered later on in life by a little female phenomenon called “gross-hot.”

On a recent jaunt downtown with a female friend, we ran into her co-worker, a young, attractive twentysomething blonde who looked somewhat out of sorts. “Oh my God, I’m sorry I’m a little weird guys, but the HOTTEST guy just panhandled me for change two blocks from here, I’m still thinking about him.” Curious, we said our goodbyes and walked two blocks looking for this fabled princely pauper. When I found him, or whom I think I thought was him, he was a lanky, scummy, tattered-jean-jacketed punk. He had worn-out sneakers two sizes too big, and a faded tattoo on his shoulder that was either a spider or a picture of Mickey Mouse smoking a joint. “What?” I exclaimed to my friend. “That guy is hot? No way. He’s gross.”

“Yeah,” she replied matter-of-factly. “He’s gross-hot.”

I didn’t understand. For men, gross-hot doesn’t really exist. Sure, I think it’s cute if girls have interesting features that are a little off, like a snaggletooth, or a weird scar, or a wooden leg with the words “Fight Me!” carved into it, but gross-hot is not the same for guys. We’re less complicated. Basically if you are somewhat attractive and agree to have sex with us, we’re game.

The very idea of gross-hot went against the three pillars of attraction I learned from my siblings: style, chivalry and bathing. I needed to find out more. Immediately I called three female associates and got the low-down on gross-hot.

Riff-Raff: So what is gross-hot?

Girl 1: It’s kind of like that instance when there is something about someone that is so nasty that it’s a total turn-on.

Girl 2: Yeah, it’s an attraction/repulsion thing. Like, for every reason you shouldn’t be attracted to this guy, but you are.

RR: What do you mean, like those pug dogs?

Girl 3: No, that’s ugly cute. That’s endearing. Gross-hot is totally different, more like some crusty punks are gross, but hot.

RR: What about Steve Tyler? I never understood why girls were into him.

G1: Yes, exactly. He’s the quintessential gross-hot guy.

G2: His lips are pretty awesome, yet scary. He’s totally hot.

G3: I don’t know. Out of all the Aerosmith guys, I think Joe Perry is gross-hotter. He’s more weasely looking.

RR: What about Mick Jagger? He’s ugly but hot, right?

G1: Are you kidding? He’s not gross-hot, he’s hot-hot!

G2: He’s gross because he’s all lanky, like Gumby.

G3: He’s ugly but has sexual allure. And he’s famous.

RR: Does fame automatically turn gross-gross into gross-hot?

G3: No, but it helps.

RR: Okay, those are some obvious gross-hot guys. Who is someone unexpectedly gross-hot?

G1 and G2: Steve Buscemi!

G3: Yeah totally. He’s got weird bulgy eyes and he’s so greasy.

G1: He’s like some weird teacher that you shouldn’t like but for some reason you do. It’s hot.

G2: Whoa, you just reminded me that, in CEGEP, my friend once had an erotic dream about Lloyd Robertson.

RR: That’s not hot, that’s just weird.

G2: Gross-hot is weird. It’s really a matter of taste. One girl’s Steve Tyler is another girl’s Ron Jeremy.

G1: Ewww. No. Ron Jeremy is just gross-gross.

Riff-Raff@sympatico.ca