Hot or not

Kate Chase would have a tough time of things nowadays. 

 

Of course she’s been dead for over 100 years, so she’s got nothing to worry about. Kate was the daughter of Salmon Chase, who, despite his name, was not a fish. Ol’ Sal was a U.S. Senator from Ohio, Treasury Secretary under Lincoln, and the sixth Chief Justice of the Supreme Court, which is an impressive resumé for a dude that no one seemed to like very much. Historians grudgingly acknowledge that he did some good things, but he was kind of a schmuck, and I guess I would be too if I had a name like Salmon.

 

Kate, though – Kate had it all. She was the belle of the ball, and I mean that quite literally, since she grew up in the era of both belles and balls. As her father climbed through the ranks, Kate held the town of Washington transfixed, throwing elaborate parties for the political elite, and impressing her fawning guests with her two strongest attributes: Her uncanny intelligence, and her looks.

 

See, Kate Chase was kinda hot.

 

For the 1860’s.

 

Okay, now why did I just qualify that statement? I mean it as no disrespect to Ms. Chase, although if I was going to disrespect someone, it might as well be a person who died before the age of electric light bulbs. (What’s she gonna do, haunt me?) But I noticed something recently as I was reading about the Chase family, and looking at pictures of the uber-popular Kate: As attractive as she was – and she was undoubtedly a very pretty woman – she’d have a hard time getting a magazine cover in this age of obsession over superficial beauty. That’s partly because the field is more crowded nowadays, but there’s something else at play here.

 

I’m going to posit an audacious, and possibly frivolous, theory: On average, each generation gets more attractive than the last.

 

A potentially dangerous assertion, I know, but bear with me on this one.

 

First of all, I’m talking strictly about averages; this isn’t an across-the-board rule. So if you’re older than I am (I’ve been 25 for about seven years now), fear not: You’re probably gorgeous. And I mean that in the most pandering way possible.

 

Secondly, there may – may – be a quasi-scientific basis behind this claim. It’s tough to pin something like looks down to an objective science, because physical attractiveness is largely a matter of subjective opinion. There’s some consensus at the extremes; Brad Pitt, for example, is generally considered a good-looking man, while “Boardwalk Empire” star Steve Buscemi looks like a mutant bug that got his thumb caught in a car door. In between those extremes is a massive gray area, where most of us reside, in which a person’s beauty is purely subjective, dictated by personal tastes. On most days, I’ve got a pretty low opinion of my own looks – bird-beaked, bald and gangly, I look like an awkward Muppet – but you may disagree with me, and if you do, call me up. I’m available for dinner on short notice.

Where my pseudo-scientific theory comes into play is in the realm of natural selection. Evolution is something I spend a great deal of time thinking about, and not just because I have no cable. It’s fascinating stuff. And what it tells us is that species tend to mate based on the fitness of genes; in human terms, this means that “fit” people have an easier time finding partners with whom to dance the horizontal tango. Less-than-stunning people spawn plenty of offspring themselves, as evidenced by “Here Comes Honey Boo Boo,” but top-tier lookers have their pick of the human litter, if I may be permitted a touch of crassness. Dating is how our species evolves. If Jon Hamm and Scarlett Johansson ever had a child, its beauty would destroy retinas. People would have to look at it through those contraptions they use to watch solar eclipses.

 

When this phenomenon persists for thousands of years, standards of beauty naturally change. Consider George Washington. President Numero Uno was, according to biographer Ron Chernow, quite the ladies man. There are no known instances of him ever cheating on his wife, but he was quite fond of dancing with young women at parties and society shindigs – and they returned that fondness, even before he became a Revolutionary War hero. Washington, in the late 1700s, was considered quite the handsome chap.

 

Now take out a dollar bill and look at him closely.

 

Not a swamp creature, by any means. He’s got cool, penetrating eyes and a strong jawline (turn-ons include walks on the beach and killing British people). But would he turn heads at a party? Maybe with that powdered hair, and the Farrah Fawcett-style wingtips he’s got goin’ on there. But stand him next to George Clooney and I doubt he’d get much attention, at least without firing a musket.

 

I’ve used the word “science” a couple of times now to describe this phenomenon, but it should be noted that I’m using the term loosely; real science is subject to the rigors of testing and experiment, whereas this particular theory has been mined from the recesses of a bodily orifice that’s better left unnamed. Still, I remain convinced. And this is great news, because if it’s true that successive generations get incrementally better-looking, then by the time I’m elderly, all the young folks will be downright ravishing, and I can be one of those creepy old men that make people uncomfortable. It’s nice to have something to look forward to.

 

I just feel bad for Kate Chase – a woman that lovely, and most of the men in her life looked like Steve Buscemi.