From rural Japan, straight female culture meets post-gay culture:

Emi was totally earnest. "You know I do kind of have a type," she whispered. "I know," I whispered back...

"No, I mean I have a physical type," she said and put a hand on my forearm to prevent my smile from turning into a laugh. "Okay?" she asked.

"Okay, go ahead. I won't make fun of you," I lied.

"My husband should be tall, over six feet, with a round face and maybe a," and here she patted an imaginary beer belly, "and… completely serious … and …," she scanned my face and must have detected amusement, but went on anyway, "and he could be a little," and here she patted her own back, "….hairy…," silence, "you know, like a bear."

We want to hear what you think about this article. Submit a letter to the editor or write to letters@theatlantic.com.