It is strange, that men are so easily familiar with telling girls what we want. A narrative that seemed unshakable, a golden crown that touched any head who wanted our satisfaction.
Girls want jerks. They care too much about cars and looks.
our love of cars has nothing to do with men; a corvette has never made me want to sleep with someone when i could be driving. we develop methods of avoiding the predators; call them fuckboys, tell her not to answer. We develop a single look shared between two girls; an immediate stay back or i’ll step in if you need help that comes in the shadow of shallow men. and those of us who fall for the wrong man: we never dreamed our lives would be full of this, our love turning bitter - and we’re blamed for it.
Girls don’t want nice guys.
I am dating a genuinely kind person when I’m told this. when he approached me in the library he was banking on hope; becomes angry in the moment i refuse him gently. i watch him transform and i’m trapped by the desk: he goes from nice to cruel in a matter of seconds. he tells me i’m ignorant, that he could have been there for me, been there until the end. he doesn’t need to meet my boyfriend. i’m just incapable of making my own decisions because of my silly hind brain that belongs to all women. It is the first exchange I have with him and the last one. i am now a “dumb bitch” forever on his list, sadly “one of them” even though frankly i don’t mind it.
drunk girls are asking for it.
drunk girls have to have perfect habits; go out in pairs together, tell each other goals and secrets, promise at the start of the night that they’ll be going home together even if the other one has to pick up the pieces. count liquor in secret codes, say, i’m just going to the bathroom with my girl so later we can say i just want to go home; drunk girls get caught and when we say do you want him they say no, take me home, i do not.
girls just want someone who compliments them.
he follows her from class to class, eyes wide but mouth never speaking. he texts her under the desk and i see her shudder, just a little, but visibly. later when we’re drunk we’ll laugh about how he talks about her glorious titties but for now he’s posting on facebook about how women are shallow and know nothing. in the meantime, i watch her flinch every time she meets his eyes. in the last message he sends, he tells her, fine bitch, you were ugly the whole time and i never meant any of it. later on his blog he’ll talk about how he hates these stupid women.
girls in tight clothes are flaunting it.
girls just want to get home in one piece. we wear baggy clothes and are harassed for being slovenly in the same train station that we were harassed for looking nice for a moment. we stand just a little closer to each other when the words start coming. men look at videos of women being catcalled and they scoff and say, can you blame him? and are surprised when we say, yes, i can, they tell us that they know what we mean when we wear a black turtleneck. what we mean? we just want to get home in this.
girls want an alpha male. girls want someone who puts them in their place. girls want a real man, girls want an asshole, girls want violence.
girls don’t believe in the alpha male myth because girls spent too much time studying wolves from middle school to college; girls would rather be a wolf than put up with this. girls believe their place is just where they are, for as long as they want to belong there; girls are quite fine making their own place; girls would like their place to be the white house. girls want girls. girls want someone who will love them, the way most people do. they just want to be alive and have a good time of it.
but then, i don’t know if all girls do. because we’re not one hind brain, not one orb of desire that can be cracked by following an equation that someone developed by making up rules; put in nice, use compliments, send dick pic and hope she falls in love with you. there’s no right way and that’s the fact of it. treat us like we’re people. like we each want different things. like we have something new called a personality.
“I know what women want,” the man announces, “trust me.”