Pay No Attention to The Man Behind the Curtain
A few months ago, a friend asked “what’s next?” for me now that I’ve
moved to Chicago and landed a job. I replied that I’d keep hunting for a better job, since my waitressing/hostessing gig is only part-time. Then I asked if that was too boring, and he
if he wanted a more imaginative reply.
“Yeah,” he said. “What’s next on
the Bucket List?”
“I don’t know,” I said, before rattling of a Christmas wishlist of
extracurricular activities. “I’d like
to volunteer more. I want to take acting
classes and maybe start going to auditions.
I’d like to meet someone. I want
to see more plays. I’d like to lose 10
pounds or so. Sometimes I think boxing
or dancing or flying lessons would be cool.”
Not-so-subtly buried in there was the desire to date again. (Also the wish to earn more money so I can
actually afford to do all those things.)
Which brings me to this (rather long and disjointed) post.
Quick backstory: In the wake of a long-distance relationship that ended over a year and a half ago, I dated one guy last winter for about 5 minutes. I let it fizzle because I was already planning my move to Chicago, and because of my frustrating tendency to think about my ex a lot when I was around him. He was a great guy who deserved better. And that has pretty much been the extent of my love life for the past eight years.
Recently, I have attempted to step up my game by working out (thereby building confidence), saying “yes” to more social engagements (easy to do when you’re underemployed) and by trying to learn more about how the male brain works. A lot of what I’ve come up with has annoyed me. My research, while certainly not exhaustive or conclusive, has spanned everything from “Love Languages” to Jenna Jameson’s autobiography (ok, to be honest, that one’s just out of morbid curiosity) to Matthew Hussey.
Recently, I have attempted to step up my game by working out (thereby building confidence), saying “yes” to more social engagements (easy to do when you’re underemployed) and by trying to learn more about how the male brain works. A lot of what I’ve come up with has annoyed me. My research, while certainly not exhaustive or conclusive, has spanned everything from “Love Languages” to Jenna Jameson’s autobiography (ok, to be honest, that one’s just out of morbid curiosity) to Matthew Hussey.
For those of you who aren’t laughing or making derisive faces, Matthew
Hussey is the self-proclaimed Real-Life Hitch.
Except he’s English. And
white. Yeah, it doesn’t quite make sense
to me, either.
If you’re curious to know more (I can show you his gimmick better than I
can tell you), here’s his website:
(Upon a quick Google search, I also stumbled on the website for Christian Carter – no, of course that's not his real name -- who appears to be an American
duplicate of Hussey. I wonder how many more "Relationship Coaches" out there are in on this type of scheme.)
So why, you ask, would I read the relationship advice of this upstart
Hussey (he doesn’t even have a PhD!) as opposed to all the other crackpot love gurus and
wizards out there? Why would I even read
that crap to begin with?
1) If you’ve
looked at the website, the initial draw is pretty obvious: he’s alarmingly young and good-looking. A far cry from Abigail Van Buren, Dr. Ruth,
Dr. Phil and Dr. Schlessinger. And I don't know about you, but I’m a
sucker for that London accent. I know, I
know. Typical.
2) Hussey’s business
model is crafty and shrewd. It’s
definitely one big scheme to get desperate, insecure women (like me, apparently!)
to spend money to get that next webinar, that next bit of golden information
that will tell them how to hook and net the guy of their dreams. But the writing, from headlines to blog posts
to newsletters, seems personal and effective (and I’m sure there’s a team of writers who do
this, not him) and Hussey himself is not too shabby as a speaker and
presenter. I spent a lot of time trying
to figure out how I could incorporate these tactics into my next job.
3) I paid
closer attention to his advice because some of it rubbed me backwards. After all, “If you always think the way you
have always thought, then you will always get what you have always got.” And that advice was: You can get the man of your dreams, Mr. Right
(or at least Mr. Right Now), even if you initially think he’s way out of your
league. You just have to be willing to
throw caution to the wind and become the most ridiculously flirty, outgoing
version of yourself. You must accept how
the male mind works, learn the tricks and play their game until you can master
it.
Unfortunately, I’ve never been good at games/sports/flirting. I used to think it was all about playing the
insipid damsel, and I don’t know that I was entirely wrong. (For a more serious perspective on this topic, I highly recommend this article, The Perpetual Dumb Girl by Chicago native Erika Sanchez.)
For example -- Two flirting techniques which Hussey swears are
effective:
1) Ask him
for a favor. Men love to do stuff for
pretty girls because it makes them feel smart, strong, useful, needed,
etc. They are hardwired to provide and
protect. By asking him for help with
something, you are catering to his inner caveman and training him early on to
do nice things for you.
2) Present
him with a challenge. Men, in theory at
least, are excited by having to overcome a few obstacles to get to the *object*
(collective feminist cringe) of their desire, making it/her that much more desirable
and therefore satisfying once obtained.
Again, it caters to their inner Neanderthal hunter. An easy way to plant an obstacle and create
tension, according to Hussey: “I hate
you. *giggle* *smile* You’re awful.” It also makes them feel like Bad Boys, which
they lap up.
This was the part when I had to fight the urge to gag while simultaneously,
a lightbulb went off in my head. I
suddenly had a flashback to junior high, memories I hadn’t thought about in
years:
“Do this for me,” commanded the popular girls of the loud, sweaty boys I
couldn’t stand, but also wanted admiration from. “Hey, open my milk carton for me. Hold my backpack for me. Carry that for me. You dissect the frog. I’m too dumb/weak/sensitive/grossed out to do
it myself.” Then they’d turn right
around and say with a giggle “Go away.
You’re so stupid, I hate you.”
I remember thinking, “I’ll never be like that. If I ever get a boyfriend, I won’t order him
around like my slave and be mean to him.”
So then it never made sense to me until years later why the boys trailed
after those girls like dim-witted puppies.
So why is flirting so important/necessary? Why can’t we just talk to each other like
we’re on a level playing field? Because,
according to Hussey, guys have to feel like they’re making the First Move. If you make the First Move, you’ll get stuck
as the Aggressor/Needy Girl who’s always struggling to drag the relationship
forward. You want him to be the one
doing that, the one pursuing, because it’s (supposedly) in his nature.
He has to feel like he’s calling the shots in order to feel like a
man. I know. Cue the eye-rolling. What’s more, you have to be okay with letting
him believe this, that he’s the one in the driver’s seat with all the bright
ideas. Come to think of it, in my
experience, it works this way with men even outside of romantic relationships:
Older male relatives, bosses . . . . I’m
reminded of a quote from “My Big Fat Greek Wedding”:
“Remember Toula. The man may be
the head of the family, but his wife is the neck. She can turn the head however she chooses.”
It’s taking some time for me to get over my pride and process these
Stone-Age ideas. Something else that
burns me: I almost never hear about guys
doing this, reading books, going to seminars, reading web articles about “How
the Female Mind Works” and “How to Get the Girl of Your Dreams.” For some reason, we females have to learn and
play by their rules, cater to their natures, in order to catch the
interest of someone we’re attracted to.
I will say that I’ve been getting asked for my number a lot more than I
have in the past, but I’m not sure if that has more to with my research or the
fact that I work in a bar. :/ And, as you may have read in “Gold Coast
Douchebag,” I haven’t exactly been landing dream dates either. Maybe another time, I’ll tell you about “Mr.
Colts,” the Chris O’Donnel lookalike from Texas via Indianapolis. He made Mr. Gold Coast look like a
saint. Be prepared for your tongue to
fall out of your head; mine almost did.
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