The Blue-Footed Booby and me

There was a time in my youth when I was a recent college graduate and moved to New York City. I barely made enough money to pay the rent on an extremely small apartment I shared with a friend. I worked for a few dollars a day as an assistant fact-checker for an art magazine. But I had a lot of friends there, many of whom I knew from college. Despite the high price of drinks in the bars (there were no quarter pitcher nights like I was used to at school), I had a very active and fun social life. For whatever reason, I was never short on male attention, until I moved there. And then I had quite a dry spell. I could not figure out why. Surely, I had done something wrong. Were my clothes not right? Was I not tall enough? Did I let my Midwestern drawl slip out too many times, I wondered. My confidence was low.

My father came back from the Galápagos some time when I was living in New York. He told me about the Blue-Footed Booby, a type of bird which is native to the area. The male boobies have a peculiar mating dance when they wished to catch the eye of a female. I was intrigued and needed to hear more. Perhaps, there was something I could glean from this. The males are very proud of their blue feet, my dad told me, which range in blue hues from pale turquoise to bright cobalt. Females tend to be attracted to the males with the brightest, bluest feet. Although, the females’ feet are also blue, they are not nearly as attractive as the males. This is very different than humans; usually we don’t want to look at men’s feet. We spend money paying others to scrub, rub, primp and polish ours.

But in order to catch a mate, male boobies flaunt their feet. When they find one of particular linking, they start out slowly lifting one foot and then the other. They move into a slow dance, of sorts, trying to capture the eye of their chosen affection. When they think they’ve almost sealed the deal, they will stamp their feet on the ground, flap their wings, throw back their heads and let out a whistling sound. This behavior, I thought at the time, was not very different than some loud drunken 22 year-old males I know. And that display, would surely send most sensible girls right out the door. One thing I liked about the boobies was that the males will bring females gifts -- housing materials to build a nest. These male boobies think ahead. They are not a seasonal reproducing species either, nor mate out of boredom or inebriation. They seize an opportunity when they see a female for whom they’ve taken a fancy. Surely attracted to her mind, male boobies were selective and indiscrete; I liked to think that too.

I needed to resort to a different tactic in my own personal life since I hadn’t been asked on a date months after moving to the city. I would try something similar as these booby birds. In those days, young women didn’t regularly go out to their local nail shop to get their toes painted like we religiously do today. But many of these places existed and I got mine all spruced up. Bright blue polish wasn’t an option, so I went for a bright hibiscus pink instead. That Friday night with my hair in a perfect flip (much like Kierin Kirby of Deee-Lite – think of the Groove is in the Heart video), I crossed town and met up with my friends for a little cheap bourbon and raspberry soda before we ventured out to plop down half a weeks earnings on alcohol at one of the latest and trendiest bars on the upper east side (look… I was young, it was the early 90s and this is what we did). It was late spring, I wore multi-colored strappy sandals with a reasonable heel, as we did in those days … 20-somethings wore reasonable heels. I would catch the eye of another young man here and there, and then I would gaze my eyes downwards as I fanned out my newly painted toes. If I sat, I would cross and uncross my ankles surely this would capture someone’s attention. This tactic simply did not work.

I certainly didn’t want an egg, I wasn’t looking for a mate, I didn’t even want a boyfriend. I was young, egotistical and believed everything my college commencement speech said: the world was my oyster. I was living in New York City a placed I had planned on since visiting early in my teen years, I was working for one of the best art magazines even though the staff there yelled all the time and I was starving and could barely afford peanut butter for dinner. I got to see my best friends from college regularly, but I was suffering from insufficient male attention. And this, I thought in my young, naïve and dramatic way, was devastating.

When I look back all these years later, I realize that year I spent in New York was pivotal. I had a fantastic opportunity that I alone created, but I ultimately couldn’t maintain. Though I was knocked down numerous times, it was a gamble I chose and it pointed me in the right direction. I didn’t understand the world at the time -- if you work hard, you will be rewarded -- were the words I was raised on. But I realized then this notion doesn’t hold true to for everyone. I wonder if I was wise enough at the age of 22 to set aside my petty pain and understand how life really worked, would I have had to take such a rough and long detour marred with bigger issues ahead.

Images from: Wikipedia; North Carolina Museum of Natural Sciences; Natural Wildlife Federation; Anderson Free Press; The Travel Blog; Big Country Audubon;