Like many of you (I'm sure) I've been mesmerized by the Internet’s response to the events in Isla Vista this past weekend. I've consumed almost every article about the #YesAllWomen hashtag and misogyny and entitlement and how the media and society and the police all failed these victims.
Then I came across this piece and it occurred to me: I’ve been rejected. A lot. By hot guys. By not so hot guys. Once by a guy I never met but who (after a lengthy and excellent phone conversation) requested my friendship on Facebook and then never called to schedule that date we talked about. Once by a rather heavy fellow with Republican hair and breath that reeked of last night’s bourbon. Through it all though, I have never once (and again, I have been rejected a lot so there has been plenty of opportunities) blamed the dude.
Sure, after a bottle (or six) of wine and some much needed time with the girlfriends and possibly a pack of cigarettes, I might have exclaimed, “You know what? Fuck him. He’s the one missing out.” But prior to that, all my thoughts were inward: What’s wrong with me? Why aren’t I good enough?
Maybe it is because the same television shows and movies and books and magazines that tell men that hot women are something they are entitled to tell me I’m a commodity. That my value is in how I look, how much I weigh and how old I am. And that the heavier I am and the older I get the less my stock is worth. Oh, but wait, spend all this time and money and effort doing all these things to make yourself more attractive and then maybe you will find love. But probably not. Because men have a lot of choices out there and only get better with age. So. Yeah. Sorry.
And even after drunkenly declaring I was over it after some hot guy laughed at my advances, it never occurred to me to pick up a gun and shoot the guy who rejected me. Or any random guy who even remotely looked like him. Or even the woman at Sephora who sold me $60 highlighter that promised to bring out my cheekbones in pictures.
Of course, I don’t have a mental health disorder (insecurity isn’t a mental health disorder, right?). Still, this isn’t just about Elliot Rodger. This is about all the nice young men out there tweeting and posting on Facebook, and riffing into camera phones and uploading their messages on YouTube about the bitches who friendzoned them after they were so nice to them for so long. Take a piece of advice from someone who has been both where you are and on the other side of the rejection:
It’s not her. It’s you. She isn’t a bitch. You weren’t friendzoned. You were let down gently by a woman too polite or too scared to go into detail as to why she doesn’t want to have sex with you. And that's her right. To choose with whom she is going to have sex. And if you want to continue to pursue her – that is on you. But it is also fuckin’ creepy and will only lead to you getting pushed out of the friendzone and into the “please-don’t-leave-me-alone-with-him” zone.
Or, to put it another way: She’s just not that into you. There’s a whole book written on this. You should read it.
Also, stop calling yourselves nice guys and using words like friendzone.