Thursday, March 30, 2017

The Nice-Guy Revolt

     It isn’t often I read an angry article that warms the cockles of my spiny little heart:

     You had your chance on our first (and only) date. I held the door open for you and bought you dinner at that 5-star restaurant you so slyly worked into the conversation. You looked amazing and I went all out to impress you. You walked through the door I held open for you without a thank you or really any acknowledgement of my little gesture.

     I asked you about your hopes and dreams and listened to you bitch about your ex-boyfriend as you ordered that $100 bone-in ribeye and the wine with the fancy vintage you just had to try. You finished the wine but took most of the steak home in a doggy bag. I only now realize that it was the ex-boyfriend you were texting all evening, I hope he enjoyed the steak I bought him. By the way that “emergency call” you got after dinner didn’t fool anyone. I’m not stupid, unlike most of the guys you’ve dated.

     I was wonderful to you, I was a gentleman. I treated you with respect, like a lady deserves to be treated. I enjoyed your company and you had my full attention. I didn’t expect anything in return except a chance to win your heart. I’m stable, I’m a good provider, I want marriage and kids in my future. I’m the man of your dreams, but you couldn’t see that. Or maybe you just didn’t care. You were pretty preoccupied with your texting.

     But now you’re ready to date me? Really? You’ll excuse me if I’m not jumping for joy. You’ve dissed me, rejected me, took advantage of me, dodged my goodnight kiss and couldn’t wait to get away from me. Now suddenly you want me? Sorry, I’m not buying it.

     Please read it all. It speaks volumes...volumes an awful lot of women, now that the ticking of their bio-clocks has become audible, should deign to hear.

     During the years I was “between wives,” I had one date like the ones outlined above. One. (There was a minor difference: at that time, very few persons had cellphones and “smartphones” – i.e., cellphones made for idiots, obsessive-compulsives, and the terminally bored – were unknown.) It was shocking enough to put me off dating for several years, which, given the changes washing over the social environment during that interval, was probably a good thing.

     (A not-so-brief tirade-within-a-tirade: Rarely these days do I see anyone without a cellphone in his hand – and women are the worst offenders. Why that should be, I leave to the brain-care crowd. It irritates me so greatly that I resolved never again to see or speak to a friend of thirty years’ duration when, during our first get-together in several months, he never once let his PDA out of his grasp. The message is quite definite, whether or not the offender is aware that he’s transmitting it: Anything and everything I can access through my device is more important than the person I’m with.

     Glory be to God, people! Get off your BLEEP!ing phones! Power them down and put them away! Your life is being lived here and now. Take some interest in it – and I don’t want to hear any “my phone is an extension of my brain” garbage. No, it is not; it’s a BLEEP!ing crutch, a salve for your inability to endure an interval of stillness or silence.

     It’s just after noon EST as I write this last bit. I’ve just returned from the car wash, where I sat waiting for about twenty-five minutes. During that period there were three other customers. All three were women. All three were on their cellphones throughout. Two spent their time complaining into some distant ear about the men in their lives. The third, from what I overheard, was listening to a friend complain about the man in her life. I am not fabricating this, nor am I exaggerating it. End of tirade.)

     A man who’s been properly raised will know how to treat a woman, especially one with whom he’s exploring the possibility of romance. I’ve known enough such men to conclude that despite all the adverse propaganda from women’s magazines and feminist crap-spouters, we are a majority. But I’ve known enough women – single women – to conclude that today’s typical single woman doesn’t begin to appreciate the value of such a man until she’s at least thirty-five years old.

     A well-raised man with good morals, ethics, and manners – i.e., a nice guy – will open doors for his date. He’ll ask for her preferences about hours, food, and entertainment; if he can’t oblige them, he’ll say so, courteously, with an explanation if it wouldn’t be excessively personal. He won’t even touch his phone, unless he must do so to confirm their restaurant reservation. He’ll ask nothing from her except some conversation and the pleasure of her company. And he’ll respect her preferences, whether explicit or implicit, about physical contact.

     And it is profoundly heartening to note that there are more men declaring themselves in this fashion than there have been in years. The Bad Boy Interregnum might be ending after all. But best of all would be if good men were to decide not to take it any more.

     And maybe, just maybe, that time is upon us.

     Talk, of course, is cheap. Deeply discounted in preference for observable action. And while many a man will “talk the talk” of swearing off women, not many have “walked the walk”...until recently.

     Lately, we have a rising trend toward self-imposed celibacy. It’s especially strong among men who’ve been burned in a divorce, but it’s extended some filaments among never-married men who’ve become disenchanted with the ways of American women. And while I’d be the last person to encourage celibacy as a life choice for anyone other than a Catholic priest, I must say that the reasoning I’ve heard from such men strikes a chord.

     “It’s not worth being on tenterhooks all the time,” said one.
     “I have enough demands on my money and energy,” said another.
     “As soon as they set the hook they stop treating you well,” said a third.
     “Prostitutes are a lot more honest about what they’re looking for,” said a fourth.

     Tragic. Typical, but tragic. Not because these men have elected to forgo marriage and children – such a decision can be reversed, after all – but because American women are forfeiting the possibility of mating with some of the best men in this country.

     There’s no salvation to be found in non-American women. The attitudes that make American women a trial of a good man’s endurance have spread throughout the First World. Many non-American women are implacably hostile to child-bearing and child-rearing. Some are completely averse to sex. Moreover, a non-American woman being courted by an American man will be aware of the prize to be won. That can cause her to radically alter her behavior...until she has a ring on her finger.

     The question before us is whether the upcoming generations of American women can free themselves from those pernicious, bad-boy-chasing, milk-him-and give-him-nothing, I-want-it-all-and-I want-it-now attitudes. The evidence is inconclusive.

     A genuine, conscious revolt among good men – a resolution not to tolerate any further crassness from or exploitation by women – would help immensely. To the extent that it’s already in progress, I applaud it. Of course, it would help even more if American fathers were to ensure that their sons become good men and their daughters appreciate them, but that should go without saying.


HoundOfDoom said...

Great article. Were I to find myself single again, it would be dogs for companionship, and hookers for sex. Contemporary women require too much drama to be considered.

The author of the article you cite made a critical mistake - he spent a ton of money on the date. You really, REALLY do not want to do that, it pegs you as a chump. Want food? Go to a cool, cheap place. Drinks? I know a quiet place close to my flat. Just want to get to know you? Beach or park. DO not spend more than $20. Ignore her hints and be in charge. Again, if you don't you are means to an end. See 'The Book of Pook' for more. Be a freaking man, and not a beta.

Last word: I know a guy in his late 40's. Divorced, successful. When asked if it was easier to get a woman to cook for him or get into bed, he laughed and said it was always the latter.

Anonymous said...

The point of this article is part of the reason I didn't get married until my 30's. Sure, I had opportunities but man...

A case in point.. driving down the road w/ Miss X who stated how she'd love to have a house like that one. Here's me quickly realizing 1) I'll never be able to afford her tastes and 2) she'll never materially contribute to our economic abilities. Have dated, quite by accident, the feminist that did not appreciate having a gentleman about. Those were all one and done deals.

If I ever find myself single again I will stay that way. Too many headaches. Not to mention if it took 30 some years to find the first one the actuarial tables indicate I won't live long enough to find another good one.

Tucanae Services said...

It is doubly important that American Fathers stop treating their daughters as princesses! Yes they are the love of our lives, but we do a disservice to future partners if we give into every whim our daughters wish. Once that trend is implanted into them, it never ceases and it carries over into their expectations of all men. Consequences not being positive.

Anonymous said...

Time to bring back good old fashioned bordellos and I don't mean the sleazy chicken ranch moonlight bunny ranch, full of tatted up bimbos variety.

pdwalker said...

Unfortunately, I feel it's going to take some major social upheaval and hard times before this dynamic can be changed.