People took this “How To Lose A Guy In 10 Days” article way too seriously.
(Butthurt level: drunken sportsfan)
And… I don’t get it. I mean, the piece was good enough to make me giggle on an otherwise dismal day. (Actually, I gave it the trifecta of an outer smirk, a few chuckles, and an internal thumbs up – my highest score). But as I read into the comment section, I was wholly disappointed at the stupidity filter my fellow interwebers put on before reading this article. What the piece was – was an experiment the author did by reliving her own version of Kate Hudson’s flick “How To Lose A Guy In 10 Days”. The idea is that a girl picks up guy, starts dating him, and then demonstrates how he’ll leave within 10 days if she starts morphing into the stereotypical female too soon. And, naturally, there were comments like “you need psychological help”. Then those comments were read and regurgitated by others in various forms all along the bottom like some sort of ignorance vomit virus spread via mental ingestion. What’s going on, my friends? Is there a good reason to judge without forethought? When did we learn to stop trying to relate? Or – more importantly – how to take a joke? Which at least half of this thing was?
I think those may be the twofold most important takeaways from this relationship experiment:
That first, every relationship is an experiment. And it’s not unlike what the author does, either. I mean, if you actually read the rundown, she doesn’t follow the cruel, quasi-sociopathic Hollywood storyline verbatim. She makes concessions with reality. For instance, with the sex, she doesn’t wanna ruin her reputation like Kate does in the flick (by feminizing his phallus’s nickname). So she nixes that one. She also finds shoe-ins for the “bad dietary habits” aspect. And whether you like it or not, we all make those agreements and concessions about sharing parts of our “shadow self” anytime we’re trying to navigate a relache. And we all end up testing the waters eventually when we say or do that thing that’s impulsive or just thoughtless.
The only difference is those unfavorable habits are often a visceral part of us we wanna hide.
And we do the process internally instead of the internet (unless you’re that guy on Facebook).
Just because we aren’t translating the experience into words with a pen or laptop, doesn’t mean we aren’t deciding how much of a stereotypical chick or dude or overall douchebag we wanna be and making deals with ourselves. We are. Like, “If you call her, you’ll look too needy. But you also don’t want to be the typical guy who doesn’t call the chick he’s banged to look cool. I’ll just… text something that’s a third of the Twitter limit in length.” Or: “If you ask him what’s on his mind, that’s such a sentimental stereotypical chick thing to do. But how else will I know? Oh, I know… cyberstalking.” It’s happening all day long in any eggshell-treaded relationship – romantic or not – and even a few of the less emotionally delicate ones.
Second, let’s remember that this is a writer – a fairly funny one at that.
And, as being funny means being transgressive, sometimes you blur those lines between reality and “it would’ve been cool if x had happened”. You get hyperbolic with your anecdotes and detailed with your metaphors. A lot of these poor never-read-satire-before readers seemed to miss how she calls him a human piece of garbage (with zero emotional response from him) in one breath and – in the next – witnesses the first glimpse of “hurt in his eyes” (because she failed to finish a sandwich he made). Dur. It’s not Onion level, but that’s very definite satire.
For all we know, she might be Kate-fishing us with this Kate flick style pantomime. “She” might be a dude and the whole tale minus “Day One” could be total Rowling level fantasy. And ya know what? I ain’t mad at her (Or him. Or it – if it’s a creative robot). How’s that one quote go? “Never ruin a good story with the truth”? She or (he)’s not sharing sensitive American intel here (#chelseamanningzing).
It’s just a fun, meaningless escape into the mind and musings of a soon to be ex-girlfriend that aptly portrays the shared experience of dating induced psychosis. So just sit back and enjoy the shit show. If you can’t, it’s prob ‘cause you f’real do some form of this humorless self-sabotage in real life. Sans the satire.
Or an audience of readers to receive it.
(Let’s all take a moment of silence for the suffering significant others of these sorts).