What's the cure for the male loneliness epidemic? Is it improving oneself? Is it a wide social network? Or is it a bullet from a fucking gun? Of course, it is none of these things. The answer is maddeningly simple. Once you find out you’ll smack your head, eyes and mouth open wide, looking around the room for someone to share this eureka moment with, but unfortunately, you are alone. Until we arrive at the answer, we must go back to the beginning. Like trying to read a recipe online, first we must read two thousand words about how we got there. And what that means. And how this changes everything.
I’m sat beneath an oak tree smoking a cigar (Romeo y Julieta), wearing shield sunglasses and a diamond quilted leather jacket. In front of me is a cardboard sign with ‘Men’s influencer’ written on it. Within ten minutes a group of teenage boys have gathered round me, eager to hear what I got to say about being a man, fidgeting, whispering to each other. I silence them with a karate chop in the air.
“I can tell by looking at you all, you’re all virgins. The last time any of you touched a pussy was when you were born. You’re probably waiting til you’re old enough to visit a prostitute, and even then you think you’ll fumble. Well gentlemen, I’m here to sort your shit out. I believe you got what it takes to get what you want. No matter how ugly, stupid or ugly you are, I’m here to give you hope. All your life you’ve been at sea, and I’m a lighthouse, got it?”
“Sir, yes sir!” says one.
“Don’t give me that sir shit. Are you a fucking butler? All people are equal. There’s no hierarchy, it only exists because you want it to.”
“But what about alpha males?”
“Yeah, I’m kinda sigma low key.” Another says.
“That’s not real. Humans aren’t wolves, or monkeys, or anything beside human. Its not even animal psychology, its just astrology for dorks. Our first real experience seeing relationships is in high school, like when the jock gets the cheerleader-”
“That doesn’t really happen anymore.” Calls someone at the back.
“Whatever, a few guys seem to get attention off girls and then people seem to base their whole perception of what women want based on some shit that happened at school. Gimme a fucking break. You going to build a lifelong narrative about yourself based off some awkwardness when you were thirteen?”
“But I’ll never get a girlfriend, I have bad posture!” One wails. Some of the other boys hold onto each other for comfort.
“Any of you guys seen Quantum Leap? With Scott Bakula and Dean Stockwell?” I say. They all shake their heads.
“It’s a show where a guy sort of possesses people’s bodies and he goes on adventures. Anyway, the moral of Quantum Leap is that what we think of our ‘selves’ doesn’t really exist, it can be replaced with Scott Bakula at any moment. Although Bakula tries to play the role of the body he inhabits, he is also Bakula. He’s confident, has good morals, he gets shit done. If I Quantum Leaped into any of your bodies, I could go out and do whatever I want. Nothing would hold me back, you see? Because I don’t have your life experience, I have mine. What I’m saying is, your personality is a narrative construct you have built for yourself, so if you don’t like it, just change it.”
“But how?”
“You need to go to a party and take MDMA.” I say.
“So you take it with girls and they sleep with you?”
“No. That’s kind of date rapey. I mean, you feel different towards other people, as well as yourself. You have to learn to love yourself, so taking some MD helps jumpstart your heart. Besides, it’s difficult to get an erection when you’re off your nut.”
“I’m not a rapist!” the boy calls. I rub the stubble on my head.
“Have you guys heard of rape culture? It’s the idea about gender dynamics, objectification of women, that sort of thing. Anyone? Anyone?”
“Men can get raped too. People don’t even take it seriously.” Says one boy.
“Yeah, I got groomed on Roblox.” Says another.
“Precisely. This affects everyone. A lot of boys first sexual experience will be with someone older than them, particularly marginalised groups who have less social power. Its important we can talk about that, acknowledge it, fight it.” I say. One of the boys stands up.
“I’m sick of being called that! I’m sick of all men being called rapists!”
“Hey buddy. Chill the fuck out. Nobody is calling you a rapist, I’m talking about a cultural expression across society. Men and women both uphold it, from slut shaming to victim blaming to minimising it. How many of you have joked about Diddy Freak Offs or Epstein? You watch Andrew Tate videos after he’s been convicted of human trafficking and rape?” I say
“Look, there’s no shame in doing something, learning, then not doing it. I’m trying to explain something to you to help you and others around you. Wanna know what women value in a man?”
“Muscles.”
“Muscles and a car.”
“Muscles and a car and a mansion.”
“Well. Maybe some. That’s a bit boring though, isn’t it? Its very much based on material things, as if the idea of a man relates to the things he has. Masculinity has been commodified, it’s become a product, you know?”
“So what does a girl want? What a girl needs?” asks one of the boys.
“Safety. They want to be safe with you, that’s it. Are you a safe guy?” I say.
“Like fighting muggers?”
“No, you’re thinking of Batman. I’m thinking more like a guy who won’t shout at her, make her do things, have her back, won’t cheat on her, that kinda thing. Are you strong enough to listen to how she feels?”
“Bro, I go to the gym every day. Course I’m strong.” One says, squeezing his arms.
“Okay, when do you need to use those muscles though? How often would a woman need you to deadlift a 100 kilo barbell rather than say, do the dishes? Cuddle up and watch some movies, you know? You’re trying to interpret what a woman wants through what you think a man should be, you’re performing at being a man because you don’t know.” I say. The boys start talking amongst themselves again, so I do another karate chop in the air to silence them.
“Let me ask you boys a question. What do you think of Sabrina Carpenter?” I say. They laugh.
“She’s mid.”
“Yeah, like, I’m not attracted to her at all.”
“Mid for real.”
“Congratulations. You got shit for brains. Here’s why: sometime a few years ago, a bunch of incels decided to run an internet psyop where they call attractive women ‘mid’. You can see it on reddit, that TrueRateMe page, posting comments below thirst traps saying they ugly, that kinda thing, you guys know what I’m talking about, right?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Yeah well it stinks. Trying to lower women’s confidence in themselves with the intention that they will then lower their standards is stupid. Instead of calling women average, you should be complimenting other guys. We need to build our confidence up so it better reflects who we are as people. Rather than spending hours on the internet rating women from one to ten, you should look in the mirror and think, damn. I’m handsome.”
“But I’m not.” Says one.
“Stand up little bro. Stand up for a second.” I say. He obliges.
“I think you’re a good looking guy. Don’t believe me? Try hitting a gay bar.”
“I’m not old enough to drink.”
“Yeah, well I wasn’t finished. Remember when I talked about objectifying women? Do any of you know what that means? Has anyone ever explained that shit to you?” I say. They shake their heads.
“It’s looking at a woman and not seeing her as a person, but seeing her as someone to fuck. You might check out their ass, their chest, imagine yourself fucking them, that kinda thing. I’m not saying don’t ever do that, we’re only human, right? But if you do it to every woman you walk past, talk to, think about, that’s not really seeing them for who they are, you’re thinking of some fuck doll.”
“What’s that got to do with me being ugly?” says the kid standing up.
“My brother, you are objectifying yourself! You are reducing all your brains, experiences, personality, everything, down to looking at yourself in a mirror and thinking you’re too fucked up looking to get a girlfriend. You’re stopping yourself from even talking to women because you have low self-esteem. But that’s only natural if you’re going to compare yourself to Henry Cavill. How about you compare yourself to who you were a day before? A year before? Can’t you see the progress you’ve made?”
“Actually I had a girlfriend before but she dumped me.”
“Good!” I say. He looks as though he’s about to burst into tears, so I do a calming karate chop in the air between us.
“It’s only from mistakes that we ever improve. If you’re too afraid to take a chance, how will you ever learn? Your girlfriend left you, that sucks, but now you know two things. First, you can get a girlfriend. You did it before, you can do it again. Second, your next partner is out there somewhere. You got to practice being in a relationship already, learned from it. All our lives are a series of triumphs and failures, you just gotta get back on that surfboard and hit the next wave, comprendez?”
“B-b-but I loved her.”
“Just because you’re not together now doesn’t take that away. I loved everyone I’ve been out with, I’m glad I got to be with them, each of them were different as I was different at that point in my life. Your last relationship changed you, right?”
“Well, yeah.”
“And so you are a different person than when you were together! Which means you get to share that with somebody new!” I say, slapping my hand. One of the guys next to him pats the guy on the shoulder. Another kid stands up.
“But how does any of this help us get girlfriends? Look around bro, there’s no girls out here! How we ever going to meet people if they aren’t there?” he says, gesturing. I look around. He’s right. The only other person around is an old fella watching the sermon from afar.
“Thank you. That brings me to my last bit of dating advice. Usually you get stuff once you stop trying so hard. Like Yoda said, if you’re trying to hit it, you gotta quit it.” I say. Many of the boys are exasperated at this wisdom, holding their heads in their hands.
“That advice is dogshit.” Says the kid.
“How many of you punks read?” I ask. A few put their hands up.
“I mean actual books. Not that self help shit, like ‘How To Unf*ck Yourself’, or ‘Billionaire Habit Hacks’ or whatever. I’m talking Dostoevsky. Nabakov. They don’t even have to be Russian, but read some fiction.”
“I read the Horus Heresy books.” Says one of the boys.
“Well, that’s good, that’s a good start. What about Moby Dick though? One Hundred Years Of Solitude? Brave New World? Broaden that palette.”
“What’s the point in reading fiction when I could be improving myself?” calls a boy from the back. I pinch my nose.
“Reading fiction does improve yourself. Increases vocabulary. Insight into the human condition. Something to talk about with others. It’s fun. What do you get from listening to your seventeenth self-help audiobook? Has any of that self-improvement shit actually improved your life at all, or is it just another set of rules from which to judge your failure?” I say. The cigar is finished, I drop it beneath my Airforce One and crush it into the dirt.
“So you’re telling us to read literary fiction and take drugs, and that’ll help us get a girlfriend?”
“Yeah, basically. Listen to me or don’t, whatever. I just want you to live a happy and interesting life, because that’s better than the alternative. Don’t just listen to me though, go out and try new things, talk to strangers, try and be human, think critically. You’ve got nothing to lose and everything to gain.” I say, shrugging. I get up to leave, though one of the younger boys pulls at the sleeve of my leather jacket.
“Mister, how did you get to know so much?” he says. I kneel down.
“I was once like you are now, and I know that it’s not easy to be calm when you’ve found something going on. But take your time, think a lot, why, think of everything you’ve got. For you will still be here tomorrow but your dreams may not.”
