Alright, first of all, I’m going out with him. You know I consider “just be yourself” perhaps the most dangerous and certainly the most generic attraction advice I’ve ever heard.
And with that bit of housekeeping behind us, I’m going to suggest that you avoid trying to be someone you’re not.
At first glance, I’m sure it sounds like a simple semantic variation on the same well-worn “just be yourself” cliché. Sort of like the “mirror image” of that or something.
And if so, it would be a discard. I agree.
Except there’s one problem that keeps bothering me. As much as I want to change things up, “stop trying to be someone you’re not” is absolutely the most elegant expression possible for an undeniable truth. A truth that many of us willfully and defiantly ignore.
And that prevents us from being great with the opposite sex.
So, in order to get your attention, today I am going to illustrate what this truism implies in a way that you may not have heard before. After all, it’s typical of dating advice clichés for it to be delivered in a decidedly “hit and run” manner. Crafting in any shape or form is virtually unheard of.
Consider this example:
Person A: “I just put someone cool, but he’s not my type at all.”
Person B: “Well, you don’t get to choose who you fall in love with.”
Person A: “What does that mean?”
Person B: “You know… you don’t get to choose who you fall in love with.”
Person A: “How do you know that?
Person B: [changes subject to the Red Sox and/or Kobe Bryant]
Conveniently, “Person A” above has given me just the step I need to stay on task.
This whole thing about what “guy” we like. We talked about it a lot, huh? But have you ever stopped to consider what “type” YOU are?
And here is an even deeper question: Are you YOUR OWN TYPE? If you’ve ever found time to ponder this topic, then you may have an idea of how MOTOS (Members of the Opposite Sex) tend to categorize it. And here’s the money question: Are you okay with that?
Look, it’s like that. Most of us, unless we’ve signed an NBA contract and are slated for a future episode of MTV “Cribs,” probably own a car. To get that car (or is it a truck?), you went shopping. My guess is that you knew from the start if you were looking for a four wheel drive SUV or a 2 seater sports car. Yeah, maybe in real life it was a minivan or an econobox, but for the sake of decorum here, let’s stay on point here.
If you need an SUV, the 2-seater won’t cut it. But if you want wind in your hair and autocross trophies, a foot and a half of ground clearance and a tailgate isn’t the ideal setup.
So if you’re looking for an SUV, you’re spoiled for choice. Most of us in that position would rather land a Hummer H2 in our garage than a Kia Sportage or Jeep Compass (which I personally wouldn’t wish on anyone).
sports car guy? It’s the Porsche GT3 on top of that new Saturn mower wannabe. (Does that thing even take real gasoline?) But the Ferrari F50… yeah, well. That’s what I call “never settle.”
Lots of options of varying degrees of quality, all easily categorized under their appropriate “type”.
I once saw a Hummer commercial that urged me to “Experience the H2.” Poetically, everything that goes into driving a Ferrari was coined long ago as “The Italian Experience.”
So what “Experience” are you?
Some great women are what I call the “Redhead Experience.” Others are the “Exotic Experience”. Still others, the “Girl Next Door Experience”. Some are the “Tomboy Experience”. The list goes on.
Some types are the “Clean Cut Jock Experience”. Others are the “Artistic Poet Experience”. Some are the “Executive Experience”. And so on.
Where the rubber meets the road here’s an ironic truth. We can CHOOSE which type we LIKE when it comes to MOTORCYCLES. If that’s sports car related, we might as well go out there and DESERVE the F50 over the ’91 Mercury Capri (Ha…remember those?).
But when it comes to ourselves, let’s be real… there is a “type” we almost always fall into naturally. This is how others “experience” us as individuals.
And we’re not always our own “type.” So we try to change the “experience”. And that can be counterproductive.
Emily changed the channel a couple of months ago while she was making dinner. From the other room, all I heard was “OMG…why is this kid wearing BLACK NAIL POLISH?” That was pretty much my introduction to “The Pickup Artist” on VH-1.
Indeed. The “boy” should have thought twice about the black nail polish. It is not the “experience” of him. Then again, if I were to try to dress as Sean Connery’s James Bond later tonight, it’s probably assumed that I’ll be going as Alex Keaton from “Family Ties.”
It’s all about the “experience”.
Ladies, tell the media to “stay” and avoid the “Blonde Experience” or the “Supermodel Experience” if you are the “Brown Eyed Girl Next Door Experience.” Trust us when we as guys tell you (or at least a solid percentage of guys tell you) that we’re cool with your “type”…even if YOU aren’t.
Yeah, we can kick tires on SUVs, sports cars, and maybe even a three-quarter-ton pickup whenever we feel like it. But finally, after all the test drives, we’re just going to park one of those shiny objects in our respective garages.
Who knows, we may have been drawn to the “Blonde Experience” or the “Supermodel Experience” at first. But maybe his tank always seemed to be on “E,” or we read a consumer report that told us that electrical systems tended to go bad.
But I’ll tell you, when we come across the “Brown-Eyed Girl Next Door Experience” in its final version, that might just stop us in our tracks. You know, she’s the one who DESERVES WHAT SHE WANTS. At that point, all of us buying on that lot will know we’re dealing with the Ferrari F-40 of its type, rather than the Mercuri Capri with the Earl Scheib paint job.
In the meantime, I’ll be here… at peace with the fact that I can’t fake “Cary Grant,” but many women (including “Brown Eyed Girl Next Door Experience,” F-40 such that she’s in the next room) have to do with the “Alex Keaton Experience”. So, I’m fine with that. I gave up fighting what I can’t control years ago in favor of being the best damn possible version of my “guy” instead of the poor version of another guy.
Perhaps not coincidentally, I’ve always loved how a four-door Audi RS4 (read: “wagon”) can smoke a Corvette. Whatever your “experience” is, accept it instead of fighting it. Then become the latest version of him.
Somebody tell my mother-in-law to stop pinching my cheeks, will she?