An objective, partially superficial analysis of women’s magazines like Glamopolitan has led me to form the following conclusions:
The point is made: You ladies have dated lots of losers. But have you ever considered that maybe, sometimes, totes gasp, you’re the loser yourself?
Ahhhh, it burns! A “loser” seems to be defined as a person (who are we kidding, a guy) with a demonstrable character blemish. This blemish usually contradicts whatever Glamopolitan tells you is admirable in a man, like granite counter tops, emotional over-availability, therapist-like listening skills, a generous bankroll, and killer style.
To which I say: Nuts. Consider the flipside. Hey, we live like frat boys, but maybe we don’t want to live in a Bed, Bath & Beyond showroom. OK, we don’t call, but maybe you call, text, instant message, and Facebook too much? Yeah, sure, we talk about ourselves a lot, but only during the brief moments of silence when you’re not talking about yourself. And while we’re on the topic: We’re not cheap, your Daddy’s rich, not to mention that he was emotionally unavailable during your youth. And one other thing: That lipstick makes you look like the Joker.
When women talk about men being losers, it usually means that the man doesn’t live up to the standards of her fantasy. Much the way it is patently unfair for a man to judge a woman because she doesn’t resemble the absurd, airbrushed, and Photoshopped Frankenhotties in spank rags, it is unfair for women to write a man’s superficial shortcomings off because he’s not Mr. Sensitive-Rich-Hunk.
Whenever I read or talk to a woman about a recent loser or string of losers, I can’t help but think about that old breakup canard, “It’s not you, it’s me.” Maybe it’s not him, it’s you. Is he a loser, or are you projecting?
Which brings me to a bigger point: Really, we’re all losers. We’re all uniquely dorky snowflakes. Love, real love, not mutually-masturbatory infatuation, is forgiving someone for being human. And being human is being a loser, an embarrassing, spectacular mess of contradictions, insecurities, and pimples. It’s what makes us all so interesting.
Assuming that you are so put together that you’re above criticism is self-deception, pure and simple. The world, and men, are not out to get you and only you. To be fair, the world is out to get us all. But playing the dating victim means that ultimately, you and your potential dates lose, and the only winners are relationship columns about indulging the impulse to wantonly judge others, while sparing yourself. We’re all losers; live with it.
What gives a person character lies not how perfect they are, whether they are rich, stylish, or good-looking. It’s about how they persist despite their flaws. How they bravely trod forth into uncertain mists filled with Velociraptors and trolls, hoping to find the magic ruby or the space battle-station blueprints, all the while dragging their inner-loser behind them by the hair. Any worldview short of this is just shallow, fake self-esteem mumbo-jumbo. The sooner you accept your little defects, the sooner you can accept someone else’s.
Jedi pimp Abraham Lincoln once said, “If you look for the bad in people expecting to find it, you surely will.” Same goes for losers. Don’t go looking because you can find the loser in anybody, since losers are everybody.