The New York Post asked on Tuesday, July 16, 2009: “Why Do Women Date Jerks?”
“Why is it so easy for men to date above their pay grade with women who could do so, so much better”
Photo credit: "Preponderance" by Joey Kennedy
Many men dating above themselves are beta males, not jerks. In fact, they may enrich a woman ‘s life. And then there are the “nice guys”, an amorphous group of men who seem to treat a woman well enough but know how to get her where it hurts.
The Zola and I have moved from discussing his sexual proclivities—He is the Spanking Man—to analyzing the new power dynamics between men and women. He concedes that he is the beta male, an under-achiever, dating---if “dating” is the word for spanking assignations—alpha women, high achievers who out-earn him. What he has to say about these women often surprises me. He may feign a respectful stance before them, but behind their backs—he cuts them down to less than his size, making jokes as he describes how they like to have sex (all the intimate, embarrassing, details).
And he’s quick to attach the label “crazy” to any woman any time.
I’ve run The Zola interviews and conversations past several guys, in their early 20s through late 40s. Another surprise: Most concede that this is how many men, particularly under-achievers, do talk about women. Certain types of independent women in every generation have brought out the meanness in American men. Feminists in the Seventies. Executive women in the Eighties. Hillary Clinton in the 90s—and the 2000s. Overtly sexual women in every decade. In the early 21st Century, dominant alpha women are the lightning rods.
Some men know how to hide their anger at women behind the “nice guy” façade. I read Alex’s post “Too Nice A Guy" on The Zola System—and I guessed the ending from the title. (I was right.) How many times have you heard a guy who’s not all that nice complain that women don’t appreciate “nice guys like me?”
I have Alex held captive somewhere in Gramercy Park. “No wine, cheese and crackers for you until you answer all my questions honestly,” I say. He looks hungrily at the cheese board. If you’ve read these conversations before, you know he’ll crack soon—even without the cheese.
“Let’s start with that title, Zola. You’ve written a piece on how you and three other guys in an upscale bar “goofed on” —in other words, made fun of—a lovely woman whose greatest sin was probably the ability to buy her own drinks while subtly signaling an interest in one of the men.
“First, who is the ‘Too Nice Guy’?”
“Why me, of course,” he says, giggling.
“Okay, I want readers to get the full story in your post, but we have to do a short recap here. Briefly, describe what happened in that bar when one egotistical guy, Bob, the bartender—who complains of ‘crazy women always chasing after my tattooed ass’— attempted to hand off one of his admirers to you.”
He’s eyeing the cheese. There’s no need to water board Zola.
“She was a beautiful brunette with a perfect heart-shaped ass,” he says. “At his urging, I went up to talk to her and found we had something in common—similar backgrounds. I thought I had a chance to spank her ass. But she got up, whispered to the bartender that I was ‘too nice a guy’ and left.”
Oh, yeah? Too nice a guy?
To Zola, the young woman was little more than a potential shapely ass across his lap. He, his two drinking buddies and Bob indulged in “casual putdowns” of her after she left. They called her “crazy”—though nothing in Zola’s own report of the non-event indicates that she behaved in the slightest way crazy, except perhaps for giving any of these guys the time of day.
Men and women in bars dismiss one another for superficial reasons. I’ve been out with women who turn their backs on a hopeful man if they don’t like his shoes or suit or haircut. Most of the time, we all have two or three minutes to make a good impression on a stranger. Good luck with that. It’s a wonder anyone ever meets anyone else.
But I’ve never been out with women who made cruel fun of a guy or called him “crazy” unless he was guilty of some atrocious behavior, like touching, drooling, leering and talking loudly about the power of his cock,
“Why,” I ask The Zola, “did you guys put this woman down and call her ‘crazy’?”
“She was indicating that she wanted a guy. No coy games. It was out and out. She wanted Bob. He didn’t want her.”
“By that reasoning, aren’t most men crazy?”
Zola laughs and replies, “By that reasoning, we’re all fucking nuts.”
Thank you. I let him reach for the cheese.
That reminds me of a discussion I had recently with a guy pal in his early forties.
“My dad called my mother ‘crazy’ whenever she nailed him on something he didn’t want to admit, like one of his affairs. “’Crazy’ is the male accusation of last resort. The word hurt my mother. My wife, on the other hand, looks at me like I am the crazy one when I use it.”
For the four men in that bar, ‘crazy’ wasn’t the accusation of last resort. It wasn’t even personal. A woman had the power to pay for her own drinks while signaling a sexual interest in a guy. They didn't like it.
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