I was walking by a newsstand cluttered with pictures of Barack Obama when it occurred to me, fleetingly, that I planned to vote for him. The next thought was also fleeting — damn, that's a good-looking man. Later, the proximity of these thoughts, one tumbling after the other, would alarm me.
This was maybe a year ago, long before the two leading Democratic candidates had articulated the difference between their health-care plans, long before we knew much about anybody's platforms at all, back when voting on Super Tuesday felt like Christmas shopping in July. And that moment forced to me to question my own allegiance, which suddenly felt less like the convictions of an informed citizen and more like, well, a crush.
How could I not have a crush on Obama? The easy Yale charm, that smooth, cigarette baritone, the seductive poetry of hope; surely I don't need to lay this out for you. Most likely, you've seen the video, and that woman lays out the situation pretty well, all while wearing skimpy underwear and rubbing her lady parts against campaign posters. The "Obama Girl" video came out a few months after my own conflicted note to self, and seeing it, I felt at once horrified and relieved. Here was a swimsuit model cooing out her political convictions with all the intellectual rigor and depth of a ten year old screaming at a High School Musical concert. But it was a smash, spawing T-shirts and response videos. I learned, with some satisfaction, that I wasn't alone. The Obama Girl video tried to get other candidates in on the action, including a "Beat It"-style standoff between Obama Girl and Giuliani Girl, but talk about an unfair fight. It was like pitting George Clooney against Frankenstein.
So why am I so uncomfortable about my feelings for Obama? It may have to do with how asexual I'd previously found all politicians. My mother's knees may have buckled at JFK's square jaw and patrician good looks, but my groins deadlined for Mondale. Sexuality and politicians were like anti-matter, destroying each other on contact. (Could anybody have erotic fantasies about Jimmy Carter? About Michael Dukakis? About Joe Freaking Lieberman? Even Mrs. Lieberman is not having erotic fantasies about Joe Lieberman.) This was the kind of relationship I expected to have with lawmakers. They were like silver-haired history teachers whose bloodless libidos allowed me to concentrate on the lesson at hand. But then Obama came along, and suddenly I was hot for teacher.
Other than JFK, I cannot think of a politician with more pull on the sexual imagination than Barack Obama. You could argue Bill Clinton, but I think women's attraction to him is tangled in all sorts of psychosexual drama about infidelity and power dynamics. I've always thought Clinton had all the attractiveness of a used-car salesman. Even pretty-boy politicians like John Edwards, with his shellacked hair and prosaic Ken Doll looks, seems clichéd beside Obama.
"I don't understand women," my brother told me, with a sigh. "Obama's ears stick out. He's goofy-looking."
All I know is, if that guy showed up at the door to take out my daughter, I'd fear for the fate of her panties.
Despite the elaborate production of the election season, the debates and the punditry and the endless stump speeches, I suspect that candidates get our votes for other reasons. Which do we like better? Which one would we rather have a beer with? Do you remember that survey? Oh, I raged at the results — who needs to have a goddamn beer with the president? Idiots, I thought. The fate of the country hangs in the balance, and you base your decision on this?
But now I wonder if my voting record is so much more sophisticated. Since that moment at the newstand, I have dived headfirst into the fray. I watched countless debates, both Republican and Democratic. I read the measured critiques of journalists I trust; I listened to the white-noise chatter of talking heads I don't. I listened to Obama's victory speech after Iowa, and I came to a similar conclusion as Toni Morrison, who recently said in her endorsement of Obama that she saw in him "a creative imagination which coupled with brilliance equals wisdom."
A crush? Maybe so. But I'll tell you this much: I'm voting with my heart.
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