The first time I heard about the Smiths was when I was a 17 year-old snotty punk rocker. I was loitering with my crew when this French kid, Laurent, peddled up to us his on his bike. He was wearing a Smiths t-shirt. I asked who they were and he rolled his eyes. "Ze Smiths are pretty mutch ze best band EVAH," he explained, exasperated. I thought he was a condescending prick so I shot him daggers with my eyes. Little did I know that this band would come to influence my dating patterns as an adult. Now, I can say that my favorite dudes are all unabashedly huge Smiths fans.
There's something about Morrissey's crooning that resonates with them. The literary lyrics, the bouncy guitars, and the '80s romantic hopelessness are like catnip to the argyle socks-wearing set. Seeing as how we love guys who wear argyle socks, this is some pretty simple math here. And, as every Smiths fan knows, the band's heightened sense of art, culture, and wit appeals to their aesthetic sensibilities. We like that, too.
My Smiths-loving dudes would crank 'em up while doing housework, moving the Swifter along the kitchen floor to the beat, using the top of the broom like a microphone. They'd sing Smiths songs in a comically deep baritone voice whenever it'd come on their iPod, trying to make us smile. If there was a Smiths dance party, that'd be our Saturday night date destination, guaranteed.
When you make us a mix CD and put "There Is A Light" on it, then we know that you are in it to win it. When you grab our hand to dance to "This Charming Man," we are in bliss. So, Smiths fans, we tip our hats to you. We find you, and your Smiths records, irresistible.