09/05/2016 2 White 2 Male 2 Handsome
So I meet this British man who is a psychoanalyst, a total beautiful man. Like the kind you look at and immediately must send stern signals to yourself to repress systematic blushing. Who cares if he’s not your type he is a POP CULTURAL AESTHETIC ARCHETYPE programmed into your brain by a steady milieu of 90s Hugh Grant rom-coms to stimulate a superficially heightened blood pressure for a brief hot second before you stop yourself and remember that YOUR type is Jewish intellectuals who are shorter than you.
Ok well I was actually cutting this man’s hair and thusly now can’t decide if I’m violating some kind of Hairdresser’s Hypocratic Oath by commenting on this interaction publicly but I don’t remember signing anything before they gave me my scissors, in addition to the fact that I honestly just want to make some well meaning and tender commentary about this guy’s dilemma. No names will be used, OR intimation of physical location of said encounter which means it could be ANY handsome male Brit psychoanalyst in a range of the smattering of cities within which my clients reside.
Young Psychoanalyst Gentleman -YSG- is full of earnest presence and general interest in human interaction, it seems. I mean, thankfully, as this appears to be the requisite foundational fabric for one who wants to be a useful YSG to their world. May I add that he also has a lovely skull shape and carries an overflowing basket of follicular genetic blessings, just a great head of hair. It’s like what kind of 1972 genetic jackpot did his parents strike, comet shooting across a cloudy night sky, tumbling into their dreary astonished laps.
So I’m cutting his hair and he’s telling me about the early phases of building his patient roster, detailing some of the highlights and lowlights of the early phases of a developing YSG’s life.
At this phase of his game, he is being assigned patients by the greater educational institution which is overseeing the final stages of his training. He’s telling me about his process in this pretty cute abashed way, moderately dosed with self deprecation, just being a solid British dude talking about the trials n tribs of his professional exertions.
He gets sort of wistful and looks out the window, then looks up at me wide eyed via the round mirror in front of us and emphatically asks me
“But the greater question is how can I be a real psychoanalyst if I’ve never analyzed a woman?!?”
I of course then ask
“Whadda you mean, why haven’t you analyzed a woman, haven’t you analyzed a bunch of people at this point?”
“They stopped sending me women because of this, er, problem that keeps happening. There is this attachment that keeps developing”
At this point he is now the blusher, and has a touch of squirm and sadness,
“WAIT. Your female patients keep falling in love with you??!?!!”
“Well I don’t know that it’s love but they are attracted, yes.”
“And I assume that this is a major party foul for the Jungian method.”
“Yes Carl would not approve and frankly it’s ruining everything.”
Laughing allot mixed with sympathy, but the kind of sympathy reserved for handsome privileged men who find they can’t do their job correctly because they are too privileged, too male, too handsome.
It’s just really funny, if I can selfishly reduce it to a point of humor for myself, that this seemingly very nice man who has made it his pursuit to heal psyches via a pathway laid by what many feel comfortable in defining as a classically patriarchal healing method has hit a roadblock due to the quintessential perfection of his Patriarch-ness.
Also, why the fuck was a rom-com starring Hugh Grant featuring this perfect dilemma NEVER MADE in 1994?! If I had an ounce of dilettante vigor regarding the development of pop cultural movie trash I would be all over that screenplay. Alas I have better things to do on this sunny Monday afternoon and so I end this piece with the intention of washing it down with a Sandra Bullock marathon rock block, love to you all and especially to the YSG, may he soon be assigned a woman with a well-developed sexual aversion to handsome white boys.