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By MEE
Having lived in New York for five years, adapting to diverse lifestyles and learning nearly everything anew—from cereal types and brands to more profound things—I discovered an unexpected truth about myself: my peculiar taste in men. In Korea, I could gauge about 80% of a man by his age, hometown, school, or job. If he was taller, he would act superior; if shorter, he would try to be amusing. Variations extended to slight differences in demeanor based on salary figures or the car they drove. Though none were particularly distinguished, I found most men I met rather dull. Their predictable nature was amusing, and I had no intention of playing along with their corporate pride. I faced societal pressures, both as subtle hints to lower my standards and fears of growing old alone. However, it wasn't in my nature to settle for those who weren't to my taste. It was only upon arriving in New York that I realized I wasn't waiting for a prince on a white horse, but rather seeking something closer to one on a dark horse.
I recall my first night out in New York—a city as varied as Baskin Robbins 31 flavors. Even though I knew New York was a melting pot of whites, blacks, and Middle Eastern people, the reality exceeded expectations. In my twenties in Korea, I thought I wasn't interested in men, feeling out of place. Yet here I was, unexpectedly mingling among colorful men, engaging with broken English and sharing coy smiles. Instead of skirting around, New York men approached directly, saying, "You're pretty; I'd like to talk." That night felt like a resurgence, transforming me from undervalued to a woman validated by the exotic essence of the rooftop—a sampler platter of men from around the world. Like a child discovering the taste of spaghetti for the first time, I vowed to stick with it, leaving my parents an assuring message: "I'm not just for the local market; I'm export-quality."
The problem lies in mutual misunderstandings. Some white men I met erroneously believed their race guaranteed my interest. Perhaps they mistook the inherent politeness and kindness of Korean and Japanese women for affection due to experiences with Asian women willing to date any American man. This could be attributed to myths around "yellow fever" or merely the history of Asian women's social navigation in adapting to new environments. I belong to a generation that dated white men vicariously through screens—as heroes who saved the world and kissed their love passionately. Their blond hair, blue eyes, and statuesque physiques seemed unmatched. Yet not every white man resembles screen idols, nor are they all attractive simply for blonde hair and blue eyes. I concluded that those with pristine physiques must reside in Hollywood. Experiencing New York dating, the few white men's reactions to rejection were just as entertaining. Disbelieving, they would ask: "Why?" Perhaps they presumed rejection impossible, mistaking my smiles for interest. To them, I wish to say, "We can tell Brad Pitt from Jack Black. Be mindful; we also have discerning eyes."
It didn't take long to realize my unique attraction to brown men. Though I fancied liking handsome European men given my lack of allure for Korean men, dating an Italian was different—those deep blue eyes still felt like conversing with statues, devoid of warmth. Independence Day sparks lit from unexpected sources: men of Indian or Arab descent made my heart flutter.
Asked why I prefer chocolate chip pistachio over peanut butter, I might just say it tastes better. To my astonishment, my mother shares this preference. Her cheeks flush while watching Arabs control oil prices on the news, opining that men from "over there" are appealing. Honestly speaking, men of my chosen type tend to harbor chauvinistic views and might be culturally or socially lagging by a step. Despite this, I find an unrefined purity in their brown skin, or perhaps it’s simply an inherited preference from my mother.
This is my intensely personal, potentially racialized preference in men. I wonder if others share this sentiment and invite you to consider: "Anyone else feel a thrill at the sight of brown skin and a chest full of hair?"
MEE studied fashion design and worked as a magazine journalist and cultural marketing professional in Korea for ten years before moving to New York four years ago. She is currently a freelance columnist and illustrator.
