Why The Really Pretty Ones Are Just Not Worth It

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Spoiler alert: This article rises from the ashes of a broken heart.

However this should in no way discredit the insight I have gained from my experiences. It is no mystery that our media savvy society have created many monsters. The countless tirades on publishing titans and modern day Don Drapers, hawking cosmetics and designer clothes. A dream wrapped up in an octave so high, only impressionable young women are able to hear it. The tween pop celebrities, idolized and emulated by those very same women. They recite their song lyrics like gospel, bathe themselves in the toxic pheromones of their MTV Award heroines and sample every celebrity diet they can find in their endless quest to drop dress sizes. Yes, we have heard this all before. Blaming these people and corporations for sullying the minds of our female youth. Building the pedestal of external beauty so high that only the tiniest fraction of victimized young women can ever come close to reaching it Blah Blah Bloody Blah…blah. They are not the monsters I wish to talk about. My monster is far worse, for we do not see them as monsters, quite the opposite. They are the beautiful, hopeless and entitled women who have made their homes on the top of the pedestal.

Though I have bared witness to many of these monsters, I will focus on my most recent experience, in the hopes of avoiding generalizations.

To fight these monsters, we must first think like them. Who am I? A simple enough question. I am a thirty-two-year-old writer from Montreal. Tall, dark and witty. With a keen sense of comedic timing and a passion for all things Canadian, Anglo, Franco and Rogen…or is it Rogen and Franco? Wait, Franco’s not Canadian, not very funny either. That was until I got involved with my most recent beauty. To her, I am first and foremost a Pisces. A left brain, creative type, highly emotional, often short-tempered, unable to remove my heart from my sleeve. She was unable to differentiate between Serbia and Siberia but listening to her go on and on about our astrological incompatibilities, one would mistake her for a disciple of Plotinus, Cicero and Madame Jojo. My monster once lived in the same world as we all do, however she saw it very differently. In many ways, her world was conquered at puberty. Once she realized the effect she had on those around her, her sense of entitlement grew as quickly as her cup size.

As daddy’s little princess grew from a fledgling beauty to a full-grown knock-out, the need to live in our world became obsolete. Her pedestal had reached Olympus, she was no longer subject to the strife of mere mortals. In her defense, Olympus can be a harsh, less forgiving landscape than down on Earth. Just as the gods of Olympus before her, her survival was dependent on the worship of those below…therein lied the danger.

I loved her for the five years we were a couple. She would later confess that she loved me for two, at most three, if we chunk all the love minutes together. Of course, she stayed with me for five. She relied on my love. With her, like most relationships before, my love was truly unconditional. Unfortunately, such a notion never existed atop Olympus. She would argue that her love for me was unconditional, as long as she was always happy. Her problems trumped everyone else’s. A protest I took part in recently against the charter of values drafted by Quebec’s xenophobic government was abruptly cut short by a hysterical phone call. She removed her Pandora bracelet before her yoga class and was now unable to find it. Believe me when I tell you that the world, in that moment, stopped in search of those precious little charms…which I obviously bought for her.

SEX. Perhaps the shiniest example of a beauty’s sense of entitlement. They don’t need to be good at sex. Just as their minds and souls are stuck in the stars, their bodies are equally at home assuming that celestial position (or perhaps more like those lifeless creatures at the bottom of your aquarium). As I said, we mortals worship these goddesses. We bask in shadows and study every perfect curve of their bodies like the ancient sculptures crafted in their likeness. Their sheer beauty entitles them to reach coital climax, regardless of how unsatisfying the journey may be for us pilgrims. For them, sex is just like everything else. Why work at it when there are countless men lining up to do the work for them?

I have no doubt that many of you will read this article and write me off as some bitter ex, spitefully taking aim at Olympus the only way I know how. Perhaps that is true but that does not mean I am wrong. Of course there are exceptions and if you are lucky enough to land one of those rare beauties who is willing to make compromises, dare I say sacrifices for love, men of the world, don’t ever screw it up. At the end of the day, I believe love is a partnership and can only survive without entitlement. A relationship will never work if one partner believes that they deserve more, solely because society raised them to believe that such is true. If you just keep going after the really pretty ones, believe me your happiness will be at most temporary and the fruit you will bare will not be worth your labor. Worst of all, we will continue to neglect the rest of the beautiful women out there. Women who have so much more to offer than just really good looks. Women whose beauty is matched, inside and out. Women who believe that love, when truly found, is unconditional. They understand that it, like everything else, requires work, from both sides. These women are smart and talented and awesome in every way. They are the ones who deserve our love. Believe me, Olympus may never fall but there is far more beauty here on the Earth, we just need to stop staring up into the heavens. Thought Catalog Logo Mark

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