Imagine a world without espresso-based drinks and desserts. How would white dudes even describe women’s skin? They would stumble about openmouthed and speechless, unable to cobble together even the simplest of metaphors.
Instead of skin like café au lait: “Her skin was like hot black coffee with the smallest amount of half-and-half mixed in: incredibly hot, and constantly swirling with rapidly-moving clouds.”
Instead of skin like mocha: “Her skin was like the largest organ in her body, like the soft outer covering found on all vertebrates that protects them from pathogens and water loss, as well as providing insulation, temperature regulation, sensation, and the production of Vitamin D folates.”
Instead of creamy/milky skin: “Her skin was like yogurt: thick, gummy, and full of probiotics.”
Instead of skin like chocolate: “Her skin was like Nestlé Qwik, or maybe Ovaltine if you grew up in the kind of house that drank Ovaltine instead of Qwik.”
Instead of skin like hazelnut: “Her skin was like Nutella. Her skin was like maple syrup and honey and a little bit of jam. God, I just want to eat a woman’s skin. That’s all I want. I just want to gnaw on it and spread it on a baguette and eat it until she doesn’t have any skin left.”
Instead of skin like cinnamon: “Her skin was like cardamom: thick and seeded and carefully trapped inside of hard pods.”
Instead of skin like espresso: “Her skin was dark but beautiful, O women of Jerusalem—dark as the tents of Kedar, dark as the curtains of Solomon’s tents.”
Her skin was like coconut: dark and hairy, and with questionably hydrating fluid beneath it.
Her skin was like soy milk – at first it looked smooth, comfortingly familar and beautifully, almost translucently, pale, but then the smell hit you and you realized it was pulsing with evil.
Not food, but instead of skin like ivory: “Her skin was like bone–off-white, smooth, and easily shattered. That was strange, because humans normally don’t have exoskeletons.”
“Her skin was like cardamom: thick and seeded and carefully trapped inside of hard pods.”
I feel like this is the female turian equivalent of espresso skin.
“Her skin was like a ripe cantaloupe: greenish, heavily textured, tough yet delicate in hidden places, with limited reach but superb flexibility.”
Her skin was like that tin of Strawberry Qwik that we’ve had in the cupboard since I was five: all clumpy and pink and old, and nobody ever wanted to touch it.
She had skin like a banana: it peeled easily and turned brown if you left it on the counter for too long.
Is this from Ed Gein’s diary?
I did not know who Ed Gein was. Just googled and am now dry heaving. UGHHH.
Oops!
I should have taken this as a warning not to do the same.
Waiting for Episode 2: A World Without Body-of-Water Metaphors for Eyes
“Her eyes were the clearest brightest blue, like toilet cleaner before you pee in it and turn it green and then get scared because doesn’t pee have ammonia in it and doesn’t the cleaner have bleach and oh god what if I am dying”
Bulwer-Lytton contest, anyone?
Her skin was like the night sky, all mapped over with constellations… assuming you are one of those people who sort of cross their eyes and try to locate shapes within random patterns of spots. She had a lot of moles, is what I’m saying.
Anzac BISCUITS, thank you very much!
Her skin was like pumpernickel bread: dark brown with highly visible pores.
Her skin was like creme fraiche: pale, deliciously tangy and creamy, with funny little watery puddles forming on top if you forgot it in the fridge too long.
Her skin was like a Constant Comment herbal tea- unnaturally bright-ruddy and heavily scented with synthetic strawberry.
Obviously, she’d spent a happy half hour test driving lotion at Bath and Body Works after going tanning.
I was really hoping the “skin like mocha” one was going to be a Ricky Martin reference somehow…
She had skin like ivory: illegal to own, unless it was imported before 1976 and/or it was more than one hundred years old.