(Or: Why I Don’t Have a “Type”)
Part of the In Search Of series.
People are always surprised when I say I don’t have a type.
I do—just not the outdated, aesthetic one.
I’m attracted to a myriad of qualities, not solely the packaging.
There’s a particular kind of presence I notice immediately.
Contained. Steady. Warm without performance.
I was watching a Benicio del Toro interview recently on YouTube that made me pause and reflect. Someone wrote something to the effect of how he can be intimidatingly handsome and, at the same time, come across as a complete dork—sometimes even smiling like a little kid. That’s what’s up.
The kind of energy that feels grounded rather than showy. Watching him, I had the most random, sudden, thought, “I bet he gives great hugs. The kind of deep hug that makes you feel treasured.“
That’s the thing.
It’s not about the face
(not that I’d complain, at all)
—it’s about how someone occupies space.
I’m drawn to people who are comfortable with themselves because that ease allows them to be present. When there’s nothing to perform, tenderness doesn’t need to be rushed and intimacy isn’t something you barter. It shows up quietly—in a hug that says I’m here, not I’m performing affection.
So no, I don’t have a type you could line up in photos and recognize a pattern.
Setting the Scene
It’s a masculinity that belongs to a Barcelona courtyard at dusk—chairs pulled close without fuss, plates passed hand to hand, conversation folding over itself in three languages. Dinner starts late because neither of us rushes toward anything else. We move easily around one another, wordless in the way of people who’ve done this before—him opening another bottle as I set down a dish, a glance exchanged, a half-smile that says everything’s handled. Wine appears, disappears, reappears. Music hums low enough to be ignored and noticed at the same time. Laughter isn’t performative; it’s earned. The pace is unhurried, confident, communal. Nothing is being curated for an audience. The evening unfolds because we let it.
That’s the quality I respond to.
If I had to name it at all, I’d say: in search of: Del Toro energy.
The rest is negotiable.
Sometimes knowing what you’re drawn to isn’t about narrowing your options. It’s about honoring how you connect.
Kendra Trammel is a writer and brand steward documenting moments of recognition, pattern, and grounding clarity as they emerge.