I couldn't help feeling like the ugly girl the last couple of times I went out with my friend. I was literally the one wingmen were hitting on.
"My friend saw your friend across the room and wanted to talk to her," one of them said to me.
Looking at the main dude, I told him, "She's right there. Go for it."
Even when they didn't have a wingman, they went through me first.
"Ask your friend if she'll dance with me," another one said.
And like a moron, I relayed the message only for my buddy to shake her head.
I didn't know what was wrong with me. I had always been told I was beautiful. I know that sounds conceited but that is the exact reason I don't believe in complimenting little girls for their looks, because we believe and hold on to those statements. I found myself doubting what appeared to be a lifetime of lies as I sat on a stool sipping on a margarita while my friend danced the night away. I have never been one to call attention to myself or post selfies so the number of Likes I receive can boost my ego. On the contrary, I just recently started accepting praise rather than humbly contradicting people's kind words. I will admit, though, that I assumed my physical appearance would draw dozens of men but they were obviously looking for something else.
Knowing looks were only half the charm, I followed the advice I found in Cosmo about how not to intimidate guys to raise my odds. I sat tall (to exude confidence) with a smile on my face (to appear friendlier). I didn't cross my arms (the gesture that apparently keeps men at arm's length) and made eye contact (says I'm available and/or interested). But the appearance/body language combo didn't bring more than a handful of men to me. They bypassed me all night to ask my friend out instead. And it's not that I was jealous of her. I really wasn't. I just wanted to know what was wrong with me. Naturally, I deconstructed myself, trying to identify what was keeping the dancers at bay.
1. I wore my hair wrong. Despite knowing that guys were turned on by long, luscious hair, I opted for the ponytail due to lack of preparation time. And even when I let it down, I ended tying it up because I got hot and sweaty and I always opted for comfort. 2. My eyes looked tired. I had gotten up at 6:30am and didn't have time to fit a nap in before the salsa class at 8:30pm. 3. My boobs were too small. The girls took a big hit when I lost weight last summer. 4. My butt was almost nonexistent. I strategically bought dresses, skirts, and jeans that didn't make me look like a board but even I couldn't turn away from the bootylicious options available. 5. I had chicken legs. I have been self conscious about my stems since the sixth grade after one of the few white-ish kids in my predominantly Hispanic elementary school told me I had chicken legs. I've been working out on my tippy toes and doing a lot of calf exercises trying to reverse that. 6. My hair was too dark. Guys like blondes and, well, that ain't ever gonna happen. 7. My voice was not girly enough. 8. I was too tall. Even without heels. 9. I looked mad even when I smiled; guys could sense my phoniness through my teeth. 10. I was just, plainly put, ugly. Men were just not attracted to my face.
For all of those reasons, I ended up with my friend's leftovers on two occasions. She didn't send them to me. They came on their own since I was the only single girl not dancing. One guy talked my ear off about his girlfriend/non-girlfriend. And another one made small talk about the 90s' TGIF lineup (can you say Step By Step, Dinosaurs, or Hangin' With Mr. Cooper?). They stood or sat with me for a couple of hours until closing time. While they ran their mouths, I enviously looked on to the happy couples on the dance floor. Neither fool took my hints. That was until they needed a break. We danced one song a piece before getting back to their conversations.
I was upset because A) I had gone to the club to dance while those guys wanted to chat and B) They prevented other men from asking me out. Did I tell them anything, though? No. That's because they entertained me. And since I'm shy, they took the pressure off from having to go through the formalities of meeting anyone else each night. So why I am complaining? Because I felt like I got the short end of the stick. I am a unicorn. I live in my fantasies. The dudes who came into my lives two hours at a time seemed to be unicorns too. I didn't want another unicorn. I wanted someone who was going to push me, take me out of my comfort zone, teach me and make me try new things. The guys who talked to me were male versions of myself only worse because they vented about their former relationships, something even I know very well not to do upon meeting someone.
My findings were thus inconclusive. I wasn't sure if I attracted the broken man, if I was ugly, or if I was just overreacting as a result of PMS. Maybe it was all of the above. Either way, my luck has to improve.
"My friend saw your friend across the room and wanted to talk to her," one of them said to me.
Looking at the main dude, I told him, "She's right there. Go for it."
Even when they didn't have a wingman, they went through me first.
"Ask your friend if she'll dance with me," another one said.
And like a moron, I relayed the message only for my buddy to shake her head.
I didn't know what was wrong with me. I had always been told I was beautiful. I know that sounds conceited but that is the exact reason I don't believe in complimenting little girls for their looks, because we believe and hold on to those statements. I found myself doubting what appeared to be a lifetime of lies as I sat on a stool sipping on a margarita while my friend danced the night away. I have never been one to call attention to myself or post selfies so the number of Likes I receive can boost my ego. On the contrary, I just recently started accepting praise rather than humbly contradicting people's kind words. I will admit, though, that I assumed my physical appearance would draw dozens of men but they were obviously looking for something else.
Knowing looks were only half the charm, I followed the advice I found in Cosmo about how not to intimidate guys to raise my odds. I sat tall (to exude confidence) with a smile on my face (to appear friendlier). I didn't cross my arms (the gesture that apparently keeps men at arm's length) and made eye contact (says I'm available and/or interested). But the appearance/body language combo didn't bring more than a handful of men to me. They bypassed me all night to ask my friend out instead. And it's not that I was jealous of her. I really wasn't. I just wanted to know what was wrong with me. Naturally, I deconstructed myself, trying to identify what was keeping the dancers at bay.
1. I wore my hair wrong. Despite knowing that guys were turned on by long, luscious hair, I opted for the ponytail due to lack of preparation time. And even when I let it down, I ended tying it up because I got hot and sweaty and I always opted for comfort. 2. My eyes looked tired. I had gotten up at 6:30am and didn't have time to fit a nap in before the salsa class at 8:30pm. 3. My boobs were too small. The girls took a big hit when I lost weight last summer. 4. My butt was almost nonexistent. I strategically bought dresses, skirts, and jeans that didn't make me look like a board but even I couldn't turn away from the bootylicious options available. 5. I had chicken legs. I have been self conscious about my stems since the sixth grade after one of the few white-ish kids in my predominantly Hispanic elementary school told me I had chicken legs. I've been working out on my tippy toes and doing a lot of calf exercises trying to reverse that. 6. My hair was too dark. Guys like blondes and, well, that ain't ever gonna happen. 7. My voice was not girly enough. 8. I was too tall. Even without heels. 9. I looked mad even when I smiled; guys could sense my phoniness through my teeth. 10. I was just, plainly put, ugly. Men were just not attracted to my face.
For all of those reasons, I ended up with my friend's leftovers on two occasions. She didn't send them to me. They came on their own since I was the only single girl not dancing. One guy talked my ear off about his girlfriend/non-girlfriend. And another one made small talk about the 90s' TGIF lineup (can you say Step By Step, Dinosaurs, or Hangin' With Mr. Cooper?). They stood or sat with me for a couple of hours until closing time. While they ran their mouths, I enviously looked on to the happy couples on the dance floor. Neither fool took my hints. That was until they needed a break. We danced one song a piece before getting back to their conversations.
I was upset because A) I had gone to the club to dance while those guys wanted to chat and B) They prevented other men from asking me out. Did I tell them anything, though? No. That's because they entertained me. And since I'm shy, they took the pressure off from having to go through the formalities of meeting anyone else each night. So why I am complaining? Because I felt like I got the short end of the stick. I am a unicorn. I live in my fantasies. The dudes who came into my lives two hours at a time seemed to be unicorns too. I didn't want another unicorn. I wanted someone who was going to push me, take me out of my comfort zone, teach me and make me try new things. The guys who talked to me were male versions of myself only worse because they vented about their former relationships, something even I know very well not to do upon meeting someone.
My findings were thus inconclusive. I wasn't sure if I attracted the broken man, if I was ugly, or if I was just overreacting as a result of PMS. Maybe it was all of the above. Either way, my luck has to improve.
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| I was bloated that day. Can someone please Photshop this picture? |
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