The Tragically Unhip

Why does it seem like all the good girls are taken—usually by totally jerky, undeserving men and women? What is it about a detached, cocky asshole that is so desirable to females? Is it the thrill of the chase; or wanting something you can’t have; or seeking the challenge of taming someone; or a combination of all three? I am a single, independent, and modestly successful lesbian living in what most spoiled Manhattanites consider “the ghetto” that is East New York (even Astoria girls are fearful, despite their typical 12+ block walk to the subway), but being, for the most part, a non-sexually-driven person, I am what you could call a mythical creature in terms of sex: I rarely want it before actually getting to know someone.

You know, really getting to know someone. As in taking them on a few dates before inviting them back to the ‘hood. Listening to what they have to say. Being genuinely interested in learning more about them. And this—like the old saying about nice gals finishing last—has not proven successful thus far. So I decided to embark on a scientific mission with one overall goal: To see how different my results are when I go from “the nice, chivalrous girl who wouldn’t dream of sex on the first date” to “the biggest, most scorched and testosterone-infused asshole to every female I might remotely take an interest in.”

My logic is this: I see men every day on the train, at the bar—everywhere—talking to and treating “their women” like dogpoop. Literally, as if a woman’s only reason to exist is to provide an orifice that will gladly accept their manhood on any given weekday—as long as it ends in “-day”. It truly is an inspiring work of art to see someone whose behaviour makes my stomach turn walk out of the bar accompanied by what used to be an intelligent and possibly attractive woman who is falling all over herself for the biggest jerk in the room. How could this be?

I tried out my new asshole persona last Thursday. I was approached by a girl in a bar, and instead of being sweet and charming, I asked nonchalant, blunt questions. Sure, I had that snake-charmer grin that I always sport, sure I stared intently into her eyes when she was saying something important—just far less than ever. I acted borderline-disinterested the entire time, and it worked! Far better than I even expected it to; she ended up throwing herself at me and insisted that I take her home. Astounded, it has now become my mission to see just how far I can push this envelope.

Now, testing out this process did not come without doubts. Two nights, I grew feverishly concerned as to whether or not I had behaved appropriately. Did I not hold the door for her at all? What’s wrong with me? You might be saying to yourself, “Wow, Laurin, you must be a grade-A douchebaguette.” Or maybe, “Geez, are you one disrespectful degrader of women.” Whatever it was, I don’t mind—because (shhh!) it’s all a front anyway. The fact of the matter is, if (and that’s a pretty huge “if”) I ever find a girl worthy of my sweet demeanor and charitable personality, I’ll drop this whole routine. But then and only then will I stop acting like the one thing we are all familiar with:

An asshole.