“So, would it fucking kill you to put on some eye-liner?” The words rumble in the back of your head as you sit down by the table in restaurant. You’re about to embark on one of the most tiresome, hopeless and illusive disciplines ever practiced in modern society: dating. All you want, in truth, is skip the food, the seemingly endless parade of small-talk, the mentions of her cat, music or whatever oddball hobby she practices after work and go straight to tearing her clothes apart on the kitchen table.
But no… Modern society, your friends, family—your social luggage—is rooting for you to get “back in the game.”
“Find someone,” they say in unison – whoever the fuck that someone is. But by some cosmic circumstance you just can’t. Or maybe you did, and your screwed up personality meshed with her “womanhood in skewed blossom” clashed like Bieber visiting the house of Anne Frank. You’re slowly starting to believe your “friends” – but every relationship you spot seem like denial wrapped in thick layers of kisses and nicknames.
And thus, with every date you start to let loose, little by little, on your demands. “Smart and witty,” is slowly transformed into “company that’s not entirely unbearable.”
I’ve been on a number of dates. Jesus Christ, the horror. If I have to feign interest in yet another girl, who actually is in the honest belief, that it’s so hard being a pretty girl in a male-dominated world, I’m going to kill myself with a rusty butter-knife. And the fanny-packs—my God, the fanny-packs! Listen sister, just because you’re faking interest in indie-rock, or whatever horror-show that’s trending now, doesn’t it mean that a sloppy bag resting underneath your padded bra will do wonders for your “interesting online”, “boring offline” persona. And really – would it have killed you to wear some heels? I’m paying for the dinner, the least you can do is act the prize.
I’ve written tons of paragraphs on how men should behave, how they should nurture themselves and treat a woman — but it’s a two-way street, sugar bun.
Now, I know, we’re all different. And we all crave different things. The pitfalls of a free country is that bad taste is celebrated as much as good taste.
So, to the modern “strong & independent” woman of today, please take note: if you’re feminist, either via the compelling readings of Anaïs Nin or by “burn my bra” conviction, that’s fine. But many women have somehow received the notion that in order to be powerful, you have to act—and look—as men. How the fuck dare you – that’s our fucking job!
The women of the past were just as strong—actually, stronger—than the women of today. They started a movement, you’re just enjoying the fruits of it while sugaring free drinks.
Here are some pointers – take them as inspiration from a beacon of good taste:
- make-up won’t kill you. Just don’t overdo it.
- wear a dress once in a while
- keep the sneakers in the gym where they belong
- lose the fanny-packs – forever
- if you’re blessed with a splendid wardrobe, work on another thing that many other women overlook: your voice. Trust me, not every woman is born with the voice of a nightingale.
- every personality requires work. Read (your news feed doesn’t count), listen to music with real instruments—build up some god-damn, nuanced taste.
- selfies are not flattering. They send out one signal – that you’re consumed by one person, and one person only: yourself
- manners. 20% of the women I’ve met actually possessed manners – and know how to take a compliment
- if you’re eating dinner, try to forget your smartphone. Your Instagram likes can wait
- have an open mind. This world is not small—it’s so vast and rich. And everyone can teach you something – once you step out of the bubble, that is.
There’s more. Much more. But I’ll stop now as to salvage what’s left of my sex-life.
I’ll conclude with one thing: a woman who will truly rock your world and bring you to your knees, is the one who violates most, or all, of the above and still can make everything around her ring like clock-work.