This time two years ago, the song “All About That Bass” was abusing the radio waves. It was everywhere. I didn’t even know who sang it, so I asked the girl I was seeing at the time when it came on in her room one morning.
I wasn’t a fan, and subsequently wrote off Meghan Trainor from my mind.
It wasn’t until I was sitting in my favorite Starbucks in New City that ensuing February that this soft-crooning tune was playing over the speakers. I reached for my phone to identify the song: “Close Your Eyes,” by Meghan Trainor.
It was a different sound than “Bass,” and it was at that moment I realized that I probably type-casted her too soon, and should give her a second chance.
I went home that afternoon, looked up a bunch of songs, and listened to them. Within an hour, I was hooked. Yes, I think she’s attractive (but I’ll get to that later), but I was absolutely in love with her sound. Many of the tracks contained Motown or Doo-Wop elements, which, as a fan of both genres, was refreshing to hear in 2015.
I probably downloaded eight songs, and listened to them obsessively. When I took a drive upstate to Troy for the girls basketball state championships, I’m pretty sure I listened to “Title” (the song, not the album) on repeat the entire way — a three-hour trip, give or take.
I knew it would only be a matter of time until I saw her in concert, it was just a matter of when it would be. While on a car ride with my mom and brother this past spring, I bought two tickets to see her at Radio City Music Hall. I didn’t know who I’d bring, or if something would come up, but I had every intension of seeing her on Sept. 8, 2016.
My friend agreed to come with me last night, but was running late. She was probably going to miss the opening acts. I used the opportunity for reconnaissance.
We had (what I thought) were good seats — Orchestra level, middle of the stage, but all the way in the back. I started seeing if there were any patches of empty seats we could sneak into. She texted me that she was walking inside just as Hailee Steinfeld was wrapping up her set.
I had already devised a plan.
Everyone was getting out of their seats to get refreshments before Trainor went on, so I figured that we would go close to the stage to get a photo and then see if we can slip into a pair of seats.
After a kind middle-aged gentleman agreed to take our photo, I crouched down to chat up this lovely couple holding hands with one another:
“Hello, gentlemen. We’re seated back in Row U, but we were wondering if you’ve seen any seats around here that nobody has been sitting in all night.”
“Right over there,” one started, “it’s been empty all night.”
I told them I appreciated their assistance, and my friend and I made our way over. We slipped into Row GG — the seventh row from the stage — and sat down. I asked the young man next to me if anyone was sitting here, to which he replied, “Nope.”
We got in about four songs before the owners of the seats showed up. There were two empty seats right next to them, and said we could stay, but the security guard was not as hospitable.
The night was still an overwhelming success.
I hate saying I have a “type,” because I’m truly attracted to so many different types of women. Yes, I have a weakness for blondes (I really can’t explain it), and I gravitate towards girls on the thinner side because I’m a thinner guy, but there’s a difference between preferring something and requiring it.
Looks are the very tip of the iceberg for me. If you have no education, no job, no ability to hold a conversation — nothing to bring to the table other than an eye-appealing exterior, it’s a turn-off. I know there are plenty of women who see the same in men.
I’m no one’s swolemate. I’m 6-feet tall on a good day and with my boots on, and the most I’ve ever weighed was about 155 pounds. I’m not ignorant to the fact that many women out there want a guy with muscles that stretch their shirts, just as there are men who want stick-figure women on their arm.
But not everyone is like that.
I’ve always been attracted to Trainor, physically, but she also seemed like a lovable person outside of singing. Between bringing her father on stage to dance and talking about making costume changes in her sweaty body, it just made her seem that much more likable.
By her own admission, Trainor “ain’t no size 2,” but she’s a perfect example of how someone’s personality can make them so much more attractive as a person. A lot of her lyrics attempt to empower women — particularly young girls — by telling them that just being themselves is enough and that they don’t need to rely on a man.
Since a recent Twitter thread touched a similar topic, I want to just clarify that I’m not measuring Trainor by her level of attractiveness — she’s an incredible singer and a gifted songwriter; I’m just acknowledging that I’m attracted to her not so much by her looks, but by everything else she brings to the table.
Most guys walk on eggshells when describing the female physique because literally everything we say can be twisted into a misogynistic point of view.
I hope that’s not the takeaway from this post.
The point of the post was to tell a fun story about what led up to the concert, and a fun anecdote from it. The final portion of it was intended to do the exact same thing Trainor attempts to do in the bulk of her songs: Show that you don’t need to look a certain way to be attractive to someone.
If you be yourself (whatever that entails) and love yourself, it doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks about you. From a romantic standpoint, the right person will be into you for exactly who you are, not just what you look like.
It’s too hot in this apartment, and I’m starting to ramble. Meghan, if you ever read this, I’d love to take you out sometime.