Building a perfect boyfriend, part two.

So, a funny thing happened over the past few weeks.

I posted part one of my “Building a perfect boyfriend” series, discussing how much I loved guys who could sing. I went out that weekend, met a guy who started singing Sondheim in the middle of the bar. I started drafting part two, where you are now, wherein I discuss how much I love accents (more on that later). Went to the bar after I started writing it, met an Irish guy.

So let me try something here: I’m drafting part three, and it’s about a single clone of Seth Meyers. I’ll be at the bar waiting this weekend.

For reals, though. Accents. Not every accent, of course – as much as I love France and the French language, the French accent is not sexy to me. There are precisely four that make my knees weak and turn me into this:

Let’s call them the Holy Trinity of Accents – English, Scottish, and Australian – and a very close Honorable Mention – Irish. Truth be told, I am so bored with New York men right now, bored enough that I have resigned myself to staying single for as long as I live in this city. But it is a cosmopolitan city, one to which people come from all over the world. There’s a chance I’ll encounter a nice Scottish guy out there. So let’s continue to play pretend – it’s what I’m best at, after all.


Some voices were just made for Shakespeare. Tom Hiddleston’s is one of them. I could link all day to videos of Hiddleston speaking, but I’ll keep it to his Nerdist podcast, which is without a doubt the most charming 50 minutes you will ever listen to. Sadly, it is not embeddable, but click on it and then come back to thank me afterward. It’s the only podcast I’ve ever listened to multiple times, and I keep it saved on my phone for when I’m having a rough day and just want to zone out and listen to charisma personified with a sexy accent.

Bonus footage: Hiddleston reciting Shakespeare with Mark Hoppus, a sentence I never, ever though I’d type.


The accent to end all accents, in my not-so-humble opinion. With me, the conversation about Scotsmen begins and ends with exactly two men: Desmond Hume (as portrayed by Henry Ian Cusick on Lost) and James McAvoy.

See, it is possible for me to speak about Desmond and not link to the ending scene from The Constant, though searching for a different clip sent me down a YouTube vortex of other Desmond/Penny clips, leading me eventually right to The Constant anyway and BRB I’M CRYING AGAIN.

A few weeks ago, I went to see The Disappearance of Eleanor Rigby and knew that Jessica Chastain was making an appearance at the screening. What I did not know until I was in my seat and the movie was about to begin was that James McAvoy was going to be there as well. So I spent the entire movie thinking “holy shit, I’m going to hear that accent in person,” and could barely pay attention to the movie itself (in which he did not have his natural accent). Trust me when I say this: few things in my life have ever lived up to what I had already imagined in my mind. McAvoy in person was one of them.

If I ever am privileged enough to encounter a Scottish man in person, I’m going to be putty on the floor (provided he does not look like Fat Bastard). The Reinvented Lass tells me I need to start watching Outlander. Anyone have access to Starz they can lend me?


True story: two years ago, I was in Vancouver. That’s in Canada, and if you have ever read anything on this blog, you know I love Canadian guys. I even find the Canadian accent endearing, if not sexy (usually because when I hear it, they’re talking about hockey).

Somehow, in Canada, the land of Canadians, I found myself lusting after an Australian bartender.

The Australian accent sounds like sun and beer and surfing, even in the Great White North. There’s a certain charisma that comes along with Aussies – a sort of laid back attitude, without the doom and gloom that their counterparts in the isles north of mainland Europe sometimes have. While I want the Englishman or Scotsman to quote Shakespeare to me, I want to get drunk with the Aussie. Or, in Hugh Jackman’s case, also sing and dance.

And sometimes the stars align and the Holy Trinity of Accents all appear together with all of their hotness and charm:

Honorable Mention: Irish

The Irish accent is more than enough to make my knees melt and forget where I am. I have Accent Goggles. So much that, after meeting said Irish guy a few weeks ago, the next morning I had to ask my friends, “He was cute, right? It wasn’t just the accent?”

I will love you always and forever, Tom Branson. Call me.


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