All Attraction, No Commitment Part 2

I overly discussed the similar behavior patterns of men throughout my life, and how the situations all ended in pretty much the same way.

They get all excited in wanting me, but then panic and choose someone or something that represents the comfortable, familiar, simple, and easy.

Thus, not a single one of these men were genuinely attracted to me, me-me, who I am, and were not genuine about being with me.

They were simply excited by the idea of me. Anything beyond that proved that it wasn’t what they wanted in the end.

We all do this. Again, welcome to the human condition, here’s your badge.

We all fall for the idea of something, just a little bit.

I also want to point out in my last post that when I say they choose the easy over what makes them happy, I am in no way indicating that I’m the person to make them happy over someone else. Certainly not. I do not have that authority of judgement.

Most likely, I’m far from what could make them happy. In fact, no one should be seeking their happiness through a person, but instead to share your happiness with that person.

So, to an extent, kudos to these guys for coming to their senses and high-tailing it.

However, I only mean to say that from what I observe they choose what’s “easy” over what they actually want. For some of them, they’ve straight-out admitted this, whether it’s their career choices, living situations, or relationships.

Anyway, I’m here to point out why, suddenly, so many guys are extremely attracted to me, coming after me, then panicking and taking off.

I mean, I’ve never been the chick to walk in a room and all eyes are on me.

I’ve never been the girl most hit-on at a party.

I’ve never had dates by the buckets.

Until recently, I had only ever been asked out by one guy. Just one.

But this past semester, my “type” is apparently a popular one.

Why?

Media.

Movies.

Shows.

Not only am I finding more female characters to wholeheartedly relate to on TV and in film, but these characters are being presented in such a way that men are on board with this.

Suddenly, the tough bitch with a rough past, crude manner, and foul mouth is the go-to “I must have her!”

She dresses like a punk, got dat muscle, drinks beer, smokes cigars, can ride a horse, carries a knife, ain’t afraid to fight, can take a hit, sees through lies and bullshit, can read people, and can curse like a motherfucker. She even likes and makes crude, vulgar jokes. And wow, she’s well-read too.

The tough country chick, Maggie from Walking Dead helped blaze a trail for this new kind of bad bitch.

Even when in distress, these chicks are no damsels, whether fiction or real.

Jennifer Lawrence’s Mystique.

Chelsea Handler.

Tina Fey and Amy Poehler.

Melissa McCarthy

Arya Stark.

Daenerys Targaryen.

Black Widow.

Rebel Wilson/Fat Amy.

Nikki Minaj.

Carol (Walking Dead).

Lexa (The 100).

Irene Adler (old character, but the newer versions of her, especially in the BBC show, fit into this type of chick).

Lana (Archer).

Mary Morstan (BBC Sherlock).

Jessica Jones.

Pretty much any of the main chicks in Sense8, but especially Sun Bak.

Pretty much every chick in Hunger Games.

And so on, and so on.

Even music is promoting this type of woman more these days.

“Punchin Bag” by Cage the Elephant is currently one of my favorites:

“If you take a swing, she swing back. She say I’m not your punchin’ bag… Heaven help ya the girl likes to fight. Afraid of nothing and she carries a knife.”

I dig it.

Their more popular song, “Mess Around,” is quite similar.

And literally anything Beyonce creates supports this.

Same for The Pretty Reckless.

And Amanda Palmer. Hardcore.

This seems like a good thing for me and my fellow ladies, but let me tell you it sucks bitch-ass big time.

Now guys are getting all excited by the idea of a chick like this. And to be fair, we’re a little few and far. Or, more likely, we’ve just been so blanketed and ignored that it seems like we’re few and far.

I mean shit, we don’t really give two fucks if we’re with anyone or not. We got shit to do.

And suddenly, we’re getting all this attention. Not gonna lie, it terrified me at first.

I thought I was doing something wrong. I’m becoming popular? Oh shit, what am I doing differently? I must stop this.

But it’s not me. Media has shifted around me to target my “type” as the desirable choice.

The bad bitch that’s got your back.

The chick that totally handles herself.

The woman that can drink with you, challenge you, maybe sometimes outdo you.

Guys like the look of it onscreen. It’s attractive, exciting, brilliant, new. She’s fierce, she’s been through a lot, she knows things.

She’s not a girl. She’s a woman.

The Michael Chrichton character type is ruling the media.

And men are really starting to like it.

But she’s not real onscreen. She’s safely distanced from your reality behind that LED flatscreen.

You can turn off HBO and go to bed, and she’s not there.

You can say all day long, “that’s what I want. That’s who I’d really like. Too bad she isn’t real.”

Suddenly, there’s a chick in a metal bar drinking a Guinness, dressed in black leather and grunge zombie-apocalypse boots, with a half-shaved head, talking about her favorite 90’s rock bands, and craving a smoke. To top it all off, she looks ever-pissed.

Oh man, does this kind of chick exist after all?

You talk to her. She talks about sex, psychology, philosophy, literature, old movies, nerdy things, favorite beers, hiking and wildlife, fighting, obscure music… She’s just like these chicks onscreen. She’s kind of funny, kind of gross, but not afraid to be herself.

Holy fuck she’s real.

These girls do exist.

Oh fuck.

Surely she wouldn’t even notice me.

Oh hey, imagine that, after a long period time of flirting, she notices me.

Oh shit. I’m not prepared.

ABORT.

ABORT.

ABORT.

LOL JK, K THANKS BYE.

.

.

.

Yup.

That’s how it works kiddies.

Intrigue, chase, realization, then panic.

Hold on ladies, we’ll be all right. We’re getting noticed now, but that doesn’t mean anything just yet. Just means it’s gotten that much more difficult to navigate the world of dating. Which means we’re probably not partaking because fuck that, we have more important things to do. It is, however, more difficult to tell apart the one true sincere guy or girl. The one who’s been wanting someone like us all along. Not that we need them. We’re fine. I’m fine. Are you fine? I’m fine.

All this uproar has only created a more difficult platform to figure out who’s here for the long-haul and who’s just swept up in the latest, hyper-promoted trend.

I mean, yeah, we were going totally unnoticed before, but the coverage has not made anything any easier for us.

But we don’t do easy anyway.

So really, nothing has changed much for us. We certainly haven’t changed. The only difference is there’s simply a few more irritating hurdles getting haphazardly tossed about.

Nothing we can’t handle.

Although I will say this: I selfishly relish the fact that suddenly this crude type of bad-ass woman is considered “hot” now.

But I’m not digging it for the reasons you think.

I never needed that confirmation. I’ve always found myself attractive, but I know it doesn’t really matter what I think when the rest of society is screaming otherwise. But hey, ladies, we fought for society to redefine what is considered “hot” to include all women, and this just tells me we’re slowly but surely getting there.

That’s why I like it.

Consider it a minor victory in the vast ocean of fuckery that still exists.

Like how a certain “type” of woman shouldn’t be marketed as hot like some kind of fucking product.

We’re not characters in a show, fuckboys, we exist.

So, lastly, let’s keep fighting. Let’s work hard to make sure that no “type” of woman is just a promoted trend, but a real, existing human being who should always be seen as intelligent, capable, feeling, and beautiful. No matter what.

We’ve all been here and will continue to be here no matter what the latest trend is.

So fuck the latest trend.

Promote that in your next movie or HBO series, Hollywood.

 

 

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