“Nice Guys Finish Last”
I hear this over-used excuse for a self pity phrase, and I immediately picture a somewhat attractive, clean cut “Gee, golly, gosh” character saying this to him or herself, while kicking dirt solemnly about, with hands shoved deep into the depths of their pockets, thinking:
“The hot girls/guys go for the assholes who really aren’t much hotter than I am…WHY?!?!”
Why? I’ll tell you why. We fkkng DO IT TO OURSELVES. All of us.
But before I get self deprecating here, it’s both our fault… and it’s not. Let me explain…
You know that hot girl (or guy) you dated for a while? The one you stayed with for far too long because the sex was almost as good as the fights were bad? You probably serially dated that same type of guy or girl numerous times in different forms, before either switching teams or going on a sexual sabbatical like yours truly has. And you sat there, time after time, (probably in self pity) wondering where the hell your perfect soul mate was hiding.
Likely, they were in plain sight; but you just don’t want them.
Think about it.
The Attraction List
When you think of the character traits that make the type of man or woman that turns you on physically, you may or may not come up with a list of physical and psychological attributes: Things like hair color, ethnicity, taste in music, body build, whether or not they have tattoos/piercings, their style, etc.
Because, let’s face it: Unless you’re getting match-dot-com’d (via a formula based on personal interests), we meet people and the first thing we do is see them. We can’t help it. That’s all we’ve got to go on (that and pheromones). So, when your brain processes that data, it either says the word: “SEX!” or, “All aboard the NOPE train! Not even if I were on a steady diet of bath salt and roofie cocktails!”
There’s nothing wrong with this process, unless… there’s a problem with your “type”.
I mean, if you have a narrow window of what you like when it comes to both appearance and personality traits alike, what are the chances that you’re not going to keep “dating the same guy/girl”?
Repeating Actions/Expecting Different Results
If your first five “type” guys who enjoyed listening to the same retro bands you did, but happened to live in their parents’ basement, and claimed they had “big plans” in mind for their “future” that fell flat, then what is the realistic chance that you’re ever going to date a guy with their few super awesome traits, who doesn’t also come with that last “ick” factor that screams “DEAD END” when it comes to Relationship Road?
But let’s be honest here. Brutally honest. It’s not just the bands he likes or clothes he wears or even that he knows how to play the first few seconds of “Little Wing” on the guitar that makes for the magnetism is it?
Why Do Good Girls Like Bad Boys?
We want Marky Mark from “Fear” when it comes to the sexual intrigue, reverse arm candy, or even a harmless finger bang on a roller coaster; but then we want the comforting shoulder to cry on and spoon to cuddle with and whisper sweet nothings when we want it. David McCall was pretty much the perfect man’s man up until we realize he likes to partake in dog fighting, rape your best friend, and kill your other best friend should he get in the way.
Obviously the human dynamic of attraction goes a few levels deeper than taste in music and whether the guy has your favorite buzz cut or the girl has a Brazilian butt. But you know.
You know what “that thing” is that draws you in just as much as it drags you down. You can see it. We all can; I just think we just choose not to, because we don’t want to believe it. Why? Because if we admit it – if we say it out loud – then that means we have to make a change. And change might be scary when it comes to a lot of crap, but when it comes to the laws of attraction, it’s more than scary. It’s damn near impossible to change.
I mean, how the eff do we change? How can we? Hell… We like what we like…
Not to wax psychological-Freudian, but it truly DOES go back to our early experiences. Whatever we associated with most during youth, comes to rule our primal urges. There’s just no two ways about it. Most developmental psychologists will tell you it’s true.
If you saw a lot of violence during that time, if you were abused, if you witnessed something horrifying, etc….. then you might end up becoming self masochistic, slightly sadistic, or (given the right genetic combo with all of this), you might even just turn into some necro-phuck who fashions necklaces from the teeth of last night’s hitchhiker you picked up, and whose remains now silently simmer in the drum of acid, sitting in your bedroom corner.
As usual, I digress….
The point is, we repeat rotten relationships because we’re willing to take that bad crap since it accompanies the sexy traits – that series of attractions indelibly imprinted on our minds long ago when our brains decided: “Okay… THIS is what’s sexy. Now go forth, seek it out, and nothing less will suffice!”.
But it get’s worse.
In some cases, however sick it may sound, we may even subconsciously be drawn to some of that bad stuff if our previous experiences where we were hurt, now cause us to associate intimacy in a negative fashion.
Maybe you were sexually victimized during impressionable years by an older guy who could have been arrested for what he did; so now you unwittingly seek out dudes who end up hurting you, because you know that “type” by now. And it’s the only thing you can relate to intimacy.
Or you might land on the other end of the spectrum. Maybe you had one of those cold dads who made you feel small and insufficient when you were a little boy; who did something like force you to kill a screaming injured animal; so now you find gratification in knocking your partner down a peg, refuse to ever admit you’re wrong or sorry, and mind screw your partner to big yourself up.
God forbid the girl in the former story and the guy in the latter ever meet up, much less date…
Oh, and don’t think you’re excused, boys. The same applies to guys who want that eccentric, wild, fun “Clementine” type, the dark and broody chainsmoking don’t-give-a-fkk chick, or even the “Suicide Girl” over the clean cut girl-next-door, until she’s no longer just the image and starts slitting her wrists in your bathtub for real.
Even the non-inked the bombshells are just an image – a pretty picture.
She could look good at every angle with the voice of an angel, but we all still PMS, don’t defecate strawberry soft serve ice-cream, and probably are going to betch about our friends or work until your ears bleed. While I myself don’t fall victim to jealousy when I’ve played “the girlfriend” role, apparently a lot of women do. So there’s that, the rapid-fire text bombing, the accusations outta-nowhere, and the age old queries to which there is never a right answer: “What are you thinking?”, “Why did you take so long to reply to my text?”, “Do I look fat?”, blah, blah, blah…
Yet again, you’re not excused, though. Don’t buy a Kumho tire and expect it to suddenly be a BFGoodrich (or vice versa). If you were attracted to us when we wore our short skirts and eff me boots, don’t think they’re going to get stowed away just because we’ve started co-habitating and sharing a bathroom sink. It’s called monogamy; not “man owning me”.
All of these things come with dating the “hot girl”. That is a generalization, I know, but in large part, when you’re fishing for ten and you catch it, you’d better be ready to de-bone it… even if you yourself may have a de-boner by the time you’re done trying.
So it swings both ways. Some people just feed off that slight element of danger or out-of-league-ness and that’s where we get caught up; Because too many of us want that occasional rebel or vixen – that person who is willing to steal candy from a store just once to “see if they can”, have sex in public, maybe just go skinny dipping every so often…
But it’s all fun and games until you realize you’re only a 50 percent on the deviancy attraction scale and that they’re some 100 percent-er who’s just been holding back enough to earn your trust until they snap, and suddenly “he” is the the type of guy who only gets more turned on if you say “stop” during an unwanted sexual encounter, or that “she” is the type of psycho who will trash your new whip you worked for years to afford, just because she found out you did nothing more than befriend your ex-girlfriend on Facebook or fail to update your relationship status.
And suddenly you’re reliving your past in a brand new way, and wondering, “Did I do this to myself? Am I a self masochist? Or am I seeking out people I can hurt on purpose? This isn’t what I planned when this started. At least I don’t think so…”
There’s a lot of “in between” room here. The “victims” and “bad guys” happen in all shapes and forms. Some are condescending (seek out dumber girls to feel better about themselves), some are predatory (seek out younger girls to “play older wise guy” to), some want a daddy figure (seek out the aforementioned type), some want an enabler (matches made in rehab)… The list goes on.
So, are we doing it to ourselves? Do we predispose ourselves to become the victims or bad guy? Maybe. Probably not. Not if we don’t realize we’re part of our own positive feedback loop that is arguably negative.
Is it our fault?
The Negative Positive Feedback Loop
Only if you have read this, or know if you know this already, haven’t done a damn thing to try and fix it, and have kept doing it. That, or you can just stop dating, like I have.
So, you kind of have a few choices.
First you have to accept this about yourself. “Touché” is a tough pill to swallow when it comes to realizing wrongs about yourself you’ve been continuously committing. Also, staying solo like yours truly is an option. Alternatively, you could waste some money on a shrink (who could regress you back to find out why and what you may have blocked out). Finally, if you can really remember what makes you love the losers, you can acknowledge it has been holding you back, and then…try… just try something new.
Give the seemingly “nice guy” a try…
…even if he’s probably just another patronizing prick like yourself.