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The Goddess Speaks Keisha Poiro |
Military wife
has a ‘thing’ for
older male rock starsI've got something embarrassing to confess. My husband is deployed, and in his absence I've reverted back to my old ways. That is, pining over my favorite rock stars: Paul Stanley, David Bowie and Robert Plant. I watch "The Song Remains the Same" and pause the DVD at the best parts. I've even built up immunity to the garbage that is "KISS Meets the Phantom of the Park."
So, what do the Pouter, the Duke and the Bulge have in common? Besides the fact that they will never be mistaken for steely-eyed killers, they're all older than my father. I've dated my share of nonfamous older men, but it's always the rockers that win out in the end. It sounds icky, but there's something about a man pushing 50 that gets me going.
What's the attraction of the older guy? For those who aren't in the throes of a midlife crisis, there's a certain experience and confidence level. How refreshing it is to be with someone who doesn't fret and shimmy about in the dark because he hasn't been to the gym in a week!
"Turn the lights off. I look fat." That's my line, not his. Think these rock geezers would even go there? Not a chance.
Gene Simmons is carrying twins, and it hasn't slowed him down any. Old guys are very low-maintenance, as well. They've been there, done that. No need to calibrate; their expectations have already been adjusted from "Maxim" to "More." Just as he may be comfortable with you in your skin, he's comfortable in his. And an older man in tight leather pants swinging a microphone and gyrating in front of thousands is either comfortable or comfortably deluded.
WHAT DO Sean Connery and Mick Jagger have in common? They're in their 60s and still white hot. "Whatever," my player-hater husband says. "You only like them because they're rich and famous. If you saw Keith Richards on the street, you'd throw up."
Given: Keith Richards is the exception. Wrinkles that deep don't belong in khakis, much less the human face. But well-preserved specimens like one of the above-mentioned guys? Not to mention Sir Paul McCartney is well into his 60s. For my money, you can't get much sexier than a Beatle with a title.
Speaking of title, reflect briefly on recent leaders. JFK. Bill Clinton. Tony Blair. None of them were exactly matinee handsome, but they all had that something that made women swoon and men scowl with envy. They had power (or at least the illusion of it).
To be fair, there are young guys today who can run with the big boys, but it's the quiet, self-assured air of authority that gets me. It's like new money vs. old money or the subtle difference between madras and plaid. For example, Vin Diesel looks like an extremely powerful man, but being at the helm of the richest nation on Earth and looking fab in a mesh shirt are two different things. Need we discuss the Aidan/Mr. Big dichotomy? I personally would take the man with his own driver, not the one who smells like pine.
But there is a less visceral side to wanting an older man. Being with one is like touching history. For a nerd like me, it's like standing face to face with King Tut. Imagine the feeling of discovering a genuine Yves Saint Laurent safari jacket at the local Goodwill: a window into the past. With older guys, it's not so much the promise of the physical that excites me, but the mental stimulation. I'd love to sit at the knee of one of those musical gods and ask them about getting a haircut from Vidal Sassoon in 1963's swinging London, or what it was to share the bill with Jimi Hendrix or Mama Cass.
IN JANUARY, I saw KC and the Sunshine Band at the Waikiki Shell. At the beginning of the show, KC mentioned he had just celebrated his 50-something birthday. But KC, a walking "Behind the Music," did not disappoint. For more than two hours, he belted out tunes and held his own with scantily clad dancers young enough to be his daughters.
After the show, he talked with those of us who stayed long enough for autographs. Waiting in line, I marveled at how much work he'd put into his act. Standing next to him, I could smell the rain as it mixed with his sweat. I could feel the electricity jumping off his skin. His eyes sparkled, and he laughed when I told him he moved well for an old guy.
After he signed my stuff, I continued to watch him from afar. I tried to tell myself that it was only his sequined jacket and tight jeans that enthralled me, but he was wearing a ball cap and man-sandals. Then it hit me. KC was not my type, but I couldn't deny one simple fact. This old man had charisma.
There. My secret's out. I've got a thing for shriveled-up musicians who prance about in makeup, tights and/or sequins. I still haven't decided whether it's the confidence, the power or the guaranteed pension that's so attractive, but I know one thing. By the time my 26-year-old husband returns from deployment, the Pouter, the Duke and the Bulge will be a distant memory. Vin Diesel, on the other hand, is another story.
Keisha Poiro is a Honolulu-based writer.
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