Women are relatively forgiving and resilient beings. Just as a pussy can take a pounding, so, too, can a woman’s psyche. And yet, there are still only so many times a female can endure the suffering inflicted upon her by “men” that would prefer to “be free” or “explore other options” in his arsenal of potential fucks masquerading as semi-permanent girlfriends.
It’s true that some women take an emotional beating more frequently than others–something in one person’s chemistry perhaps making her more throw awayable than another. Or maybe some women simply come across as aloof and detached enough to withstand the pummeling of being used, abused and subsequently ghosted. Who knows, really? It could merely be like Carrie Bradshaw said: that some women are Katie girls (as in Barbra Streisand from The Way We Were) and some women are simple girls. And the simple girls are the ones who can maintain a hetero level of sexuality while the Katie girls are inevitably led to sexually identify primarily as crying. Tissues are the condoms of the teardropsexuals. And on the plus side, cotton feels so much better on the skin than latex.
These days, “men” and women alike are judged by how they curate their Instagram profiles. The importance of alluring potential romance stalkers is thus diminished tenfold if your simulated life shows any signs of being, shall we say, “less than.” While some “men” of the Williamsburg ilk might believe it’s “sophisticated” to favor the Moon, Willow or Inkwell filters, there really is nothing less so. Except maybe having a dark room that only gets used for skeevy Terry Richardson purposes.
Just because you take a shitty picture of the Williamsburg Waterfront and “mask” its commonness with a black and white filter doesn’t mean it’s actually good or that anyone is going to be taken in by your faux pretentiousness. And believe me, the only thing worse than real pretentiousness is faux pretentiousness. Furthermore, showcasing one’s “sensitive” side via the B&W pic is only going be an affront to any food photos a “man” might take (women are highly tantalized by food, you know)–and what is worse than an image of bad food? An image of delectable comida without all its richness of color. So should you find yourself trolling a “man’s” Instagram profile only to find it’s heavy with the black and white, you best switch to a more dickful username to gander at.
There is a saying, helmed by a dear friend of mine that goes, “You wanna get your dick wet or not?” This blunt demand is apparently necessary during these times of repressed masculinity. While, sure, our dinosaur of a white male president might indicate that there would be a bit more machismo running rampant, his presence has really only served to give rise to the millennial “male” fear of somehow coming across as anti-feminist. No one wants to be compared to the sort of “man” who “grab[s] her by the pussy.”
And yet, can’t there be a balance between being a totally disgusting and smarmy motherfucker and a “man” with the assurance and intuition to know when a woman is interested enough for him to “make the moves,” as they say? No, apparently not. Instead, like everything else in America, there is only extremes. The dainty, seemingly sexless “man” or the creepy rapist “guy” being the only options a woman is presented with. Either way, it can really hurt a girl’s self-esteem.
In addition to the “man” incapable of the grand gesture, so too is the “man” who makes a shitty gesture just as terrible to deal with. And because many “men” apparently find it a challenge to resist making you feel like little better than a product on an assembly line by choosing to go on Tinder while in front of you, those same ones somehow feel it’s a grand gesture to delete Tinder from their phone.
After all, what could be a cheaper, less involved method to show a girl you care in time for Valentine’s Day? Moreover, there’s no real risk or commitment to the so-called “expression of devotion,” as the “man” in question can always re-download the app at a later point in time (probably the next day) as he sees fit. The fact of the matter is: “men” of the twenty-first century know nothing of how romance is done, choosing instead to always half ass it because, well, they can. It’s the damned ratio, I tell you. The second learned and faux learned “men” alike got wise to it, the heart candy option for “I Deleted Tinder” became viable.
Listen, we all need Daddy’s money, truth be told. But some of us don’t have the luxury of either 1) having a rich dad 2) having a rich dad willing to unleash his pursestrings or 3) having a dead dad who has miraculously left us his fortune. That being said, one thinks back to the ultimate Daddy’s boy, Jesus Christ. Admittedly, Jesus had many stresses to endure and couldn’t be bothered with the task of getting a paying job–after all, the most important work tends to be that which does not pay (why is that, by the way?). But still, there was a certain quality about the feigned modesty of this Jewish (already providing a built-in neurosis) preacher that makes him something of an undercover fuckboy. Yeah, he died for “our” sins (not mine, like Patti Smith said), but he probably knew somewhere in the back of his mind that Daddy would be the one to save him by helping him to rise again.
A lot of people like to speculate that Jesus never took a lover (though we all know he had a little something going on with Mary Magdalene) because he was too righteous and pure to do so–he didn’t have time for no hoes, in essence. The actuality, however, is probably that he was talking way too much about his damn dad to catch a woman’s sexual interest, spewing shit like, “Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be sons of your Father who is in heaven; for he makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the just and on the unjust.” First of all, he your dad, not mine. And secondly, what woman wants to compete with a patriarch who keeps his son in limitless thorn crowns and burlap-like attire? He’s obviously never going to pull himself up by his own sandal straps if Daddy’s always there to bail him out. What kind of “man” does that make for? The undesirable, delusionoid kind that would most likely rather spend an evening with his father than you anyway.
With Valentine’s Day imminently upon us (sometimes otherwise known as Singles Shaming Day), the calling into question of the average “man’s” abilities on the romance front is well under way by women throughout the land. In truth, it’s almost better when a “man” does nothing at all rather than attempt a shoddy act of enchantment, such as making a meal and then presenting it like a pile of dog shit.
As with anything a “man” half asses, there is more meaning behind the intensity rather than the intent. It’s all well and good to have a momentary and obligatory want to do something for the person you’re in a relationship with and/or simply boning on the regular, but it’s quite another to actually carry it out with the required fervor. Like the semen that comes out of a “man’s” phantom dick when he cums, what’s the point if there’s no potency behind it all?
With this whole mongo-ification of the U.S. in place being solidified by the appointment the latest Secretary of Education, Betsy DeVos, it leaves one moment for pause to consider just how unpleasant it is when “men” aren’t learned. With the statistics favoring–even at the pre-DeVos point in time–a far higher rate of women attending college than “men,” it isn’t going to help already easily distracted “boys” under the power of a rather clueless-in-matters-of-public-school DeVos stay engaged enough or buy into the notion that being educated is useful when even the dumbest “man” can become president.
As DeVos’ out-of-touchness with how the other half lives will inevitably affect certain public school practices, it’s only natural that the parents of rich kids will continue to separate them out into private school and tutoring, thereby widening the gap between not just the bank accounts of rich and poor, but the brain power and resources between the two sects as well. Then again, there are many rich people who prove that money still can’t buy intelligence (much like taste). Nonetheless, the wealthy “men” that will be procured an education outside the limited bounds of what DeVos will offer in public school gives rise to a type of “man” even worse than a learned one–a faux learned one. Sure, he can spout Shakespeare’s sonnets at will, or utter a phrase or two in Latin, but at his core, he knows fuck-all, instead taking the superior education he was bequeathed by his parents as a given and then, in the end, getting a job at VICE or Complex like everyone else in media-happy Williamsburg. And as we all know, a public school education is preferred at both establishments anyway.