Andy Bodle goes for a gorgeous girl with low self esteem, and finds himself mysteriously outclassed by everyone.
“There are two tragedies in life. One is to lose your heart’s desire; the other is to gain it.”—George Bernard Shaw, Man and Superman
As a boy, I was an Arsenal supporter. I made the pilgrimage to Highbury more than once, and was riveted to the Grandstand videprinter every Saturday evening. But being an Arsenal fan in Swindon in the 70s and 80s was a dispiriting experience. With the exception of the FA Cup in 1979, they won nothing; they were a mediocre, mid-table side, capable of impressive victories over top teams on their day, but just as capable of being stuffed at home by Watford. There wasn’t even anyone to share my pain with, as everyone else at school carried a Liverpool bag.
In my early teens, I devised an ingenious coping strategy: I stopped caring. It was hard at first, but after a few months’ practice, the agony of defeat had faded to a pinprick. From then on, whenever I did watch Final Score, it was with a serene disinterest.
But the strategy had an unexpected side-effect. In 1989, when, thanks to Michael Thomas’s stunning last-gasp goal at Anfield, the Gunners became champions again, my celebrations were strangely muted. In deadening myself to the pain of my team’s failures, I had lost the ability to feel any joy at their victories.
At the age of 32, I worried that a similar process was affecting my love life. I was now so practised at handling rejection that even the cruellest blow barely left a dent. I was sick with terror. Well, a dull unease. Was my toughened hide, impervious to harm, now equally impervious to love?
♦◊♦
The Guardian’s 2002 spring drinks at the Saatchi Gallery was a turgid affair even by the standards of Guardian parties. The venue had all the intimacy and ambience of an aircraft hangar; the music was muffled to an intermittent thud; the majority of my coworkers were too busy applying the 12 Tenets of Effective Networking to contemplate having fun; and most of the people I liked had sensibly arranged prior commitments. Even the B-list celebrity count was abnormally low, thanks to last-minute cancellations by Maureen Lipman and Germaine Greer.
Just as I had resigned myself to an evening of solitaire Name That Tune, I saw her.
Lucy had joined the company three weeks earlier. In her early 20s, petite, with long brown hair, huge eyes and a life-affirming, whole-body smile, she managed simultaneously to evoke my paternal instincts and some entirely contradictory ones.
I’d been praying for a chance to talk to her ever since. But while her desk was only yards from mine, she worked on a different section of the paper, so opportunities for interaction had been scarce.
Now here she was, six feet away, engaged in awkward conversation with Adam from the website. The manner in which I interposed myself between them is unlikely to be remembered for its nonchalance.
Minutes later, Adam obligingly departed in search of a refill.
I wasn’t young enough, I wasn’t handsome enough; I wasn’t rich, successful, well dressed or well tressed enough to assert the right to take Lucy in my arms. It would be reward enough, I told myself, for her to call me friend.
|
Lucy was lovelier than I’d hoped: bright, modest, unpretentious, curious about the world. Although I wasn’t on the best form of my life and she was on her guard, our backgrounds were just similar enough and our opinions just different enough to keep the conversation lively. We didn’t click so much as slide gently into place.
The next day, we took two cigarette breaks together. The day after came our first lunch. That was swiftly followed by an evening drink, which became an impromptu meal, which, being round the corner from her place, became an impromptu tour of her flat. After introducing her cohabitees, Lucy ushered me to her bedroom. Then she made us coffee, invited me to lie on her bed, and read me intimate passages from her diary.
In the normal scheme of things, I might at this point have attempted to lower the tone of the evening. But I had come to a decision. Even though Lucy was more or less my idea of perfection; even though we fitted together so well in so many ways, and even though I wanted to hold her until gangrene set in, I had already resolved that I would never make a pass at her. Because whichever way you sliced it, I did not deserve this woman. I wasn’t young enough, I wasn’t handsome enough; I wasn’t rich, successful, well dressed or well tressed enough to assert the right to take Lucy in my arms. It would be reward enough, I told myself, for her to call me friend.
Over the next couple of weeks, we started emailing regularly—nothing flirtatious; just thoughts, anecdotes, background info. The fag and lunch breaks became routine, and we shared a post-work pinot once a fortnight. It seemed I’d got my wish.
♦◊♦
The lights of a descending jet glimmered in the distance as she gazed out breathlessly across the sleeping city, replaying the night’s events in her head. Dinner at Sheekey’s, cocktails at his private club, then a romantic moonlit walk along the river back to his place. And what a place! A spacious, exquisitely decorated pad on the top floor of an exclusive harbourside development, with a view that would have had Sex and the City’s Mr Big spitting out his single malt. Even though she’d known he was a high-powered broker, she hadn’t dared hope for anything as opulent as this.
She darted her eyes to one side to drink in his toned six-foot-plus frame, immaculately clothed in bespoke Armani suit and handmade Ferragamo loafers.
“It’s a beautiful apartment,” she gushed, barely able to keep her voice steady.
A lock of his thick, dark hair flicked across his forehead as he turned and speared her with his smoky gaze.
“I designed it myself,” he crooned, with an irresistible hint of braggadoccio. “Although I’ve never really felt at home here. It’s always felt … empty somehow.”
His deep blue eyes twinkled as his strong, manly arm reached out to pull her towards him. She couldn’t have resisted if she’d wanted to. His breath flashed hot against her delicate alabaster skin.
“But you know,” Ben growled as his lips closed on hers, “suddenly it doesn’t feel so empty.”
♦◊♦
After about a month, Lucy asked me to accompany her to a birthday bash in Islington. Since neither of us knew many people, we both drank too much too quickly, and after about an hour and a half she confessed to feeling unwell. “Would you please take me home?”
She fell asleep on my shoulder almost as soon as we got in the cab. I asked the driver to wait outside her place while I helped her to bed, then continued home.
At work, we were inseparable. The frequency with which we smoked and lunched together prompted more than one colleague to ask whether something was going on. Their suspicions would have been raised further if they’d seen the emails—30, 40, 50 a day were zinging between us. We left no subject uncovered: hopes, fears, secrets, how the Romans would have played bingo.
What endeared and annoyed me most about these exchanges was Lucy’s absurd lack of self-esteem. If she wasn’t down on her weight (“Aargh! Eight stone!”), she was fretting about her job, her hair, or what others might think of her. Her bum wouldn’t have looked big in the Greenwich Observatory telescope, but I had to remind her of the fact at least once a week. It made me angry with her sometimes, but, as I was usually able to put her mind at rest, it also made me feel needed.
It must be said that Lucy wasn’t always the most conscientious friend. She cancelled our arrangements at the last minute with exasperating regularity, and two or three times forgot them altogether. But she usually made it up to me; and I always forgave her.
♦◊♦
A tendril of cannabis smoke drifted lazily across the ceiling lights as the tanned, powerful hand that had been so deftly manipulating the instrument panels returned to its owner’s dimpled chin.
“And that, gorgeous,” crooned Carl, “is how we make a hit single.”
The corner of his mouth kinked as he leaned forward, probing for her reaction.
The day had been such a whirlwind, Lucy didn’t know what to think. Three hours before, she’d been walking along Oxford Street, window-shopping and minding her own business, when a limousine had pulled up to the kerb and the window wound down. “Hey, gorgeous. Come here!”
She wasn’t particularly into chart music, much less boy bands, but even she couldn’t fail to recognise the cheeky grin that beamed from within. Carl, the one member of Hi5 who could actually sing; and also, she now noticed, the best-looking.
She’d declined at first, of course; one doesn’t simply jump into a strange man’s car, even if he is impossibly rich and famous. But when he had gone on to reassure her that there was no pressure, that he’d just thought she looked like fun, and that she might like to do something different this afternoon—and more importantly, when the grin widened to reveal those gleaming, spirit-level teeth—her resolve dissolved. Well, you only live once.
Now here she was, sitting in a state-of-the-art recording studio, having just watched one of the bestselling groups in the country lay down a track for their new album. She barely knew Carl, he was fully two years younger than her, and he was maddeningly cocksure. But he had behaved like a perfect gentleman, he was talented, and he was undeniably cute.
Lucy blushed slightly as she murmured, “It’s fascinating. I had no idea so much work went into three minutes of music.”
Carl flicked a speck of something from the chest of his T-shirt, then inched closer. “The guys are going to a party later tonight if you want to tag along, gorgeous,” he purred, his masculine fingers snaking forcefully but gently between hers. “Or if you like, we could just stay here.”
♦◊♦
Lucy was disarmingly upfront about her love life. While she spared me the graphic details, she rarely wasted any time in informing me when there was a new suitor on the horizon. And it was an exceptionally busy horizon. Every two or three weeks, it seemed, she’d be fizzing with excitement about some new stolen kiss or scribbled number. For a few days, she’d speculate breathlessly on how much he liked her and whether he might be The One; then the name would suddenly fade from her lips and our conversations would revert to normal—until the next intoxicating prospect.
I did feel a twinge the first time she mentioned another man. But with each successive annunciation, the sensation dimmed a little, until the advice I was able to give her was almost entirely objective. And since none of them lasted long enough for me to meet them, they somehow never felt real.
In any case, the point became moot in September, when there was a brief resurgence in my own love life. Fiona was no Lucy, but she was a sweet, gentle creature, and I wouldn’t have hurt her for the world; so I pushed my feelings for my friend further to the back of my mind. But when Fiona and I split up just before Christmas, the person I called to pour my heart out to was Lucy.
A couple of weeks later, after working late one evening, I decided to surprise Lucy on my way home. The voice on the intercom was breathy. “Come up!”
I was greeted at the door by Jennifer Beals. “Sorry,” said Lucy. “Yoga.”
I offered to come back in a few minutes. “God, no—exercise is so boring. I could do with the company.”
So as Lucy stretched and sweated and moaned and the smooth, firm flesh of her arms glowed in the light of the TV, I made small talk, and tried my hardest not to think bad thoughts.
In early January 2003, after a swift one that turned into a slow five, Lucy was in even more candid mood than usual. She told me about an incident a couple of years before, when she’d been to a party with someone, and even though she wasn’t interested, he’d talked his way into her flat, then her bedroom, then her bed. He had suggested sex; she had declined. He had suggested it again, and when she had declined again, he had had sex with her anyway. The craziest part was, she was worried that she had done something wrong.
I walked the three miles home that night planning in minute detail the alterations I would make to the scumbag’s anatomy if he ever had the misfortune to cross my path.
She was the most available women you will ever find & you blew it through lack of confidence & ability. Beautiful women are like racing super motor bikes – you can either handle them or you can’t. You couldn’t & if this was a motor bike like a Ducati 996 you would have been hurt very badly.
Beautifully written story. I worry that I might be exactly like Lucy, and it makes me feel horrible. I’ve got amazing guy friends (one stands out in particular), but tend to date hot, rugged assholes, and confide my frustrations about my piss-poor luck in love in my friends- several of whom I’m pretty sure have feelings for me. It’s senseless and illogical, I know. My best guess is that I’m just really shallow, and am drawn to conventionally attractive dudes who woo me like crazy at first, and then treat me like shit after. I’m mad at myself for being… Read more »
Wow, what a miserable story: TWO people with lousy self-esteem. *She* kept throwing herself at undeserving guys, probably because she didn’t think she deserved better, and *he* kept pining for silly her, never once thinking that he deserved better than some gal with such low self-esteem (was she ever going to be able to appreciate him, under those circumstances? Doubtful!). That story should have ended a LOT sooner. is As for the New Mexico study, perhaps this is one partial explanation: self-confidence by itself is an attractive quality, and narcissists never doubt themselves. Whenever something goes wrong, it’s always someone… Read more »
Been there, but its your own fault my friend. If you don’t value what you have to offer a woman then how is she to do so. Sounds like she gave you all the opportunities in the world on the first date, and you failed to take them. Nice writing.
I sympathise, having basically been through the same thing. But eh, like you, I never told her how I really felt early on. That kinda lays the foundation for all the frustration to follow. The other part of the problem is building up of one person into this potential life-partner. It’s good that people know men do feel these things and can want them even when it’s entirely one-sided. Ultimately though, I don’t think it’s really beneficial to anyone. Which is why if I ever return to the dating game, the candle-holding thing is well and truly over and done… Read more »
Not that men don’t have the right to not have sex with someone. Of course they do. But to a horny woman it’s rather taxing hearing these fallacies of women getting all the sex they want, whenever they want it, whoever they want it with.
Shunned Lady It is impossible for anyone to obtain sex anytime, anywhere, with whoever they want, merely due to limitations of logistics and time and space. I am not claiming that. You are making that up because this claim is very easy to refute. My claim is that all other things equal, an average woman can obtain sex much more easily than an average man. Its a comparison I’m making not some absolute claim. You should ask yourself why you’re not having sex. Why do you feel the need to blame it on sexual unavailability of men. Are you afraid… Read more »
I’ve been single and horny many times in my life, yet the thought of going to a bar and meeting some random guy for sex sounds revolting. It sounds like a good way to catch an STD. I’ve had a few casual experiences in my life (with friends or acquaintances) and the sex was mediocre at best. It’s also a good way to ruin a friendship, because afterward it’s just extremely weird and awkward. So, while I’m not denying that it is probably easier for women to find casual sex, it’s not an appealing option. I’d always prefer to have… Read more »
Ah, female advantage in the dating marketplace rears its head again.
Women get to worry about the “quality” of the sex. They never have to worry if they’ll never get any.
“Women get to worry about the “quality” of the sex. They never have to worry if they’ll never get any.” I worry about the quality of the sex all the time. What she says is true. Casual sex is mediocre. The basic fact is math doesn’t lie. There are as many women as men.. Every time a women has sex, a man has sex. Women simply don’t have it easier than men and its a lie that they can get casual sex easily. That said men have the role of initiating and if you can’t perform that role as a… Read more »
@Byay Area Guy — WOW, you are so completely wrong it’s mindboggling. Age has a lot to do with it, too. Hit 35 or 40 and be female and single, and you soon discover that many of your male contemporaries are eyeballing younger women. Hit 50 as a single woman, and too many of your male contemporaries are chasing 20-somethings to convince themselves they’re still attractive. It’s ugly. Your choices and chances are *much* slimmer than guys think. Especially true if you’re a really intelligent woman: the average guy really isn’t for you anyway, because you’re looking for a peer… Read more »
Webdiva Your choices and chances are *much* slimmer than guys think. Especially true if you’re a really intelligent woman: the average guy really isn’t for you anyway, What about intelligent men? Why don’t they have your mentality of ‘if you’re an intelligent guy the average woman really isn’t for you anyway’ ? Why don’t they complain that they have a smaller pool of women who are good enough for and measure up to them? Why are only women obsessed with men ‘measuring up’ to them? Why are you using hyperboles like dating a brick layer? No one is talking about… Read more »
Would you agree that there’s a qualitative difference between going to bed hungry because you haven’t been to the store in a while and there’s nothing appetizing in the kitchen, versus going to bed hungry because there’s no food in the kitchen because you can’t afford to buy any?
I’d be curious to know how much interest Lucy was actually showing in these guys.
If she was essentially just picked up, then that at least is an example of the gender disparity here.
Low-confidence guy goes home alone. Low-confidence girl goes home with someone else.
We are told she is gorgeous in looks. So even if she had low confidence its understandable that men were interested in her. But what I cant help but notice is that, to a young woman, as long as she is alright in looks and above, literally no man in the world is off limits. No man is beyond her league. Even men who are larger than life – the real life Christian Gray’s, Br Big’s and Don Drapers…they’re all within reach as long as they are in physical proximity. These men don’t mind if a woman is much lesser… Read more »
Tim: Sadly, not so with the sex part, either. (” Women face romantic rejection but rarely sexual rejection from men”) 🙁 I’ve had it happen to me more than once, that the man I was romantically intrested in wouldn’t reciprocate my love, BUT wouldn’t “give” me any sex, either. And no, I’m not ugly in any way.
I guess they just thought it was too intimate. Which of course is their right.
Really awesome article. Bravo, Andy. Before this conversation gets too Mars-and-Venus-ified, I want to point out that the male/female dynamic here can be easily reversed. Twice in my life, I’ve been in the position of a male “Lucy,” where my close (female) friend fell in love and/or lust with me. The first time this happened, I denied the girl’s advances, because I was at a point in my life where I just wanted to be free and have fun, and I knew that I couldn’t hook up with her without it becoming a “big thing.” The second time it happened… Read more »
Jay Let me point out some nuances in the “dudes can do this to women too” 1) Women face romantic rejection but rarely sexual rejection from men. Even when a woman has a huge crush on a larger than life, way out of league, amazing male, she can still, in most cases, have a sexual relationship with him. 2) Breaking hearts, rejecting and playing…its something few men can do to women. Most men aren’t amazing enough to hurt women. But most women are amazing enough to hurt men. Many women in their lives get to be in a position to… Read more »
Tim – you’re grouping apples and oranges in your second point. I agree that rejection is predominantly a woman’s instrument of selection (not always, but a clear preponderance), but breaking hearts implies a connection has been somewhat established, and I don’t think that the casualties of broken hearts are primarily men.
Hey Tim, Definitely agree with your first point. For reasons partly biological and partly socially-conditioned, I think men are much more likely and willing to have sex with just about anyone reasonably attractive. Your second point is ridiculous though. “Most men aren’t amazing enough to hurt women. But most women are amazing enough to hurt men.” What, are you serious? You’re telling me the average woman is just plain better than the average man? Better in what way? Smarter? Stronger? More talented? Better sense of humor? Nonsense. That’s some real internalized misandry there. XY folks are awesome, too. Start telling… Read more »
I too disagree with Tim. I have rejected women sexually twice. I have been sexually rejected once. And I really suck with women. I rejected the one because I didn’t like her and i thought if we had sex I would feel obligated to have a relationship with her. I was actually on the verge…we were making out and I was touching her but said I had to leave because it was getting late. The second I rejected because I thought she would end up growing attached to me and getting angry because I didn’t want to have a relationship… Read more »
@assman….
I rejected a woman I really wanted to have sex with while I was married and in a sexless marriage. But, I just could not bring my self to be an adulterer. I am not a very religious man. I just that there are lines I will not cross.
She no longer talks to me, at all. Even if I text her Happy Birthday, she never replies. So, I stopped.
But most women are amazing enough to hurt men.
While I agree with most of what you say, Tim, I disagree with this statement. Most women are hardly “amazing.” I guess the point you’re trying to make is that since men find a wider variety of women attractive than vice versa, they are more alluring and influential over men than vice versa?
I’m sorry she didn’t love you back, but it sounds like she really did in a way. Just not the same way you did. I hope you see how valuable you were to her and don’t think the value is diminished by the fact that she didn’t want to have sex with you (which is really what all of this is about). Guys are bitter about the friend zone, but I will say this: a friend is someone you love but don’t want to sleep with. So she did love you back, she just didn’t want to sleep with you.… Read more »
I take all your points on board, and I have over the intervening years learned to find the positives in this (after a period of estrangement, I’m pleased to say that Lucy and I are friends again). But it most emphatically was not all about sex. I’d spent a year being her best friend. Yes, I fancied her – but I also wanted to marry her, have her babies and spend the rest of my life with her. Phil’s attraction was only physical; that’s why it hurt so much.
But here’s what I’ve noticed: Of course, women don’t date men because they are louts. Of course, they date them in spite of the fact that they are louts. But the kicker is that the traits that make men louts are the same traits that give rise to the qualities that women often seem to prefer… Confidence? The grandiose self-image and entitlement of narcissism begets a lot of confidence. A focus on his own self-interest and a disregard for what she wants also helps a guy display confidence. Excitement? The thrill-seeking impulsiveness that makes a guy exciting goes hand-in-hand with… Read more »
^^^^Comment of the day.
Too true. It wasn’t until I built a cold, hard exterior that I started becoming successful with women, and it really is a shame. I feel like I had so much more to offer, before this.
I think its the same with women. Those average looking girls with shy personality have no better deals I guess. Maybe they are just invincible to many men ( who only think of attractive girls as a potential lover ). Sometimes we see many attractive and charming girls all have been taken and feel bad and lonely about it, but we never saw the average and shy girls who were not popular back in school. I’m guilty of that one too. Statistics showed that there are more single women in USA. But where are their voices? Because in the internet… Read more »
John I am more inclined to sympathize with a person who has zero options, than someone who has 5 but feels they aren’t good enough. There is an important difference between men and women who are single and lonely. Most women who are single don’t necessarily bemoan their inability to attract men. They complain about the dating landscape being full of ‘players’ and ‘losers’ – Players being the men they find attractive but are only available for sex while losers being men who are available easily but not good enough for them. That is totally fine. I don’t judge them… Read more »
Now I try to remember many girls who are invisible to me ( or I never think of them seriously ) in high school. Those average girls, those fat / skinny girls, those shy girls, those quiet girls, those nerdy bookworm girls. And I really really doubt if they can get sexual relationship with any hot guy they want. I wasn’t really a popular guy back then but I was well known as a great guitarist in high school, although I’m quiet shy. There was this average looking girl who are not popular and she kept approaching me, gave me… Read more »
Average girls who stick to their principles definitely cannot get any guy they want. There are some who bemoan the fact they can’t attract anyone and then get a reputation as ‘easy’, but while they might be able to get sex they still can’t get any guy they want. I’ve been approached by average girls and pretty girls, but if I don’t like how they act or their personalty I don’t go for them. I was attracted to an average looking girl back in high school that not many people liked. She was religious and a goody two shoes as… Read more »
John & Jamie
All I can say to you is that I’m not talking in absolutes. The difference is of degree. Stop looking for chinks in my armor.
Katherine
You dont have to sound apologetic. Its patronizing to men.
What’s attractive is attractive
“a short, thick Essex paparazzo who’d known her for 90 minutes”
On a complete tangent, here it is again: When you want to disparage the romantic potential of a man, one of the common go-to words is “short.”
I have a similar problem with “bald” (and before that, “ginger”). Please understand that I don’t routinely disparage people because of their height; but I can’t deny that those thoughts passed through my head at the time. When it comes to competition in the mating game, our primitive brains don’t play fair.
Understood, Andy. Our primitive brains don’t play fair, and they go to “short” because it works, fair or not. I point it out in hopes of spreading the word that height bias is a real thing.
You know Andy. I am a thinker much like yourself. I found myself in a stage of my life, tired of being hurt, by people and circumstances. So I decided to be the cold hearted ahole that always gets that girl. And it worked. But it made me cold and even more bitter. Cause as soon as I dropped the fasade with the once I actually fell in love with, they lost interest. This just made my hole of darkness deeper. Finally I found myself dating three girls at the same time, in three different cities. The worst part is… Read more »
Nice writing!
You got played. Sorry man, I really am.