Monday, August 03, 2009

Blog Request! Who's Hotter: Vampires or Werewolves?

I received from my (internet) friend Alan MX a blog topic request and, since he is an endless supporter and champion of my particular brand of verbosity, he gets his wish. Go listen to his music.

Before I come down on my side of this debate, I would like to point out that to ask the question, “Who is hotter, vampires or werewolves?” during this particular moment in history is like asking “Who’s hotter? Robert Pattinson or, like, John Goodman?” Vampires are in with a vengeance and have sexy hair and sleep not in coffins, but on the cover of InTouch, tucked under the pillows of tweens dreaming big. Werewolves, on the other hand, are an unloved mythology currently relegated to a spot somewhere between Sasquatch and Alf on the spectrum of supernatural humanoid beauty. No one’s loins quiver at the thought of Frankenstein shuffling into the prom and grunting for the last slow dance—but they might, if Zac Efron was suddenly cast in Frank N. Stein’s Senior Year.

So, what I’m saying here is that we have to level the playing field and strip any current Twilight, True Blood mood lighting from the vampire scene and look at what they truly are.

And acknowledge that werewolves are way hotter.

Since neither exists in actuality, one can take both vampires and werewolves entirely metaphorically. A werewolf is a regular dude the majority of the month, except when there’s a full moon and he turns into an animal. Now take that last clause and read it as though this is a Danielle Steele novel. “The full moon was so romantic,” Susan sighed into the phone as she slipped on her leopard robe. “And Jackie, I swear, he was an absolute animal between the sheets.” If you read a werewolf as a literary construct, it’s completely sexual in that thumbs-up kind of way.

Vampires, however, are pasty, lazy goths who sleep all day and wake up solely to suck the fucking life right out of you. Oh, you’re allergic to daylight? You wear a lot of black? You’re literally bleeding me dry? That’s what a parent yells to Bauhaus-loving adult offspring who refuse to leave the basement and get a job. It is not, I would like to point out, seductive.

My preference for the werewolf is further exacerbated by the fact that I think there is one working at a restaurant in Williamsburg where I occasionally dine. And he’s sort of rockabilly. It’s almost painful to try to eat your salad while he paces around behind the bar, shirt tucked in with the sleeves rolled up Dean-style, pompadour completely frozen in place, and enough scruff and height and bulk to convince even the most skeptical nonbeliever that he has a suspiciously lupine air. He’s dreamy.

On the other hand, there is no shortage of pale, gaunt boys who only go out at night in my life, in this city, and on this planet. In fact, I was once even bitten to bruising on the neck by a boy who I’ve only ever seen wear black from head to toe. These guys are as vampiric as humans can get and it doesn’t make them sexy. It makes them fuck-ups.

So, in summation: werewolves, hot. Vampires: emo losers. You’re welcome, Alan.

3 Comments:

Blogger Cance said...

i'm so glad to see someone coming down on the werewolf side of things.
i'm totally with you.

3:09 AM  
Blogger Mr. Kit said...

I read this and heard "I Honestly Love You" by Olivia Newton John in my head. You're fantastic!

10:35 PM  
Anonymous misty said...

my stumbling upon your blog was no mere accident. Girl, I dig you.

6:35 PM  

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