I Used To Be A “Nice Guy,” But Then I Woke Up

solarseven / Shutterstock.com
solarseven / Shutterstock.com

Ever since the genesis of my existence, my mother and the rest of society have stressed the utmost importance of espousing a particular sentiment. Up until two years or so ago, I blindly regarded it as gospel. I cannot pinpoint the moment I first heard my mother articulate the sentiment. It must have been around the time I was stumbling around like a miniature Michelin man, bumping my head into tables, shitting myself, and being introduced to other Michelin creatures whose sentience was as questionable as mine. The hammering of this idea into my malleable skull accelerated throughout kindergarten, primary school, and high school as it became more and more relevant. It was everywhere I went: in every movie, in every magazine, on every TV show, in every facet of culture. Even now—being that I’m 19 years old and despite having awakened from the cocoon-like coma years ago—I keep being spoon-fed the same regurgitated bullshit from the unfaltering hands of both my mother and the behemoth of society. I just don’t swallow anymore.

This sentiment can’t be summarized in one sentence. It’s a cultural idea, an element of the current zeitgeist that is intangible and elusive. It is a relic from a bygone era, an era in which it was very much applicable and necessary, but one that has persevered into a century where it is incongruent with reality, where it is very antiquated. I shall try to dilute it into something you can stomach by narrowing it down to a few sentences:

“Treat girls with respect.”
“Be a gentleman.”
“Girls want a sweet man.”
“Girls want a man to hold the door for her.”
“Girls love romantic men.”
“Girls love it when you give them flowers.”
“Girls want to be treated like princesses.”
“Girls love compliments.”

I think you get the idea. These rules seemed like they were commandments and my mother was a slightly less hairy Moses. I believed in it all without questioning any part of it. It made sense, and why would my own mother lie to me and lead me astray? Society, the mountain from whence she had descended with her tablet, seemed to me a flowery hillock, something a harmless Hobbit would live in, so why would it want to deceive me?

I didn’t get to heaven for meekishly following the Lord’s commands—far from it. The first 17 years of my life were a disaster when it came to girls—it was all quiet on the woman front. Pre-puberty wasn’t so bad; relationships consisted of nothing more than holding hands, kissing at most, and I wasn’t compelled to engage with girls as anything other than playmates.

However, as hormones started buzzing around like horny hornets in my blood, things started to go south quickly, and not in the good way. My voice broke, my arms (all three of them) grew immensely, a peachy fuzz spread above my upper lip, and girls became the only thing on my mind. Suddenly girls were not just boys with long hair, silly clothes, and a penchant to play with boring pink things. They started growing weird lumps on their chests, they started smelling nice, and their hip bones seemed to hate each other because they moved further and further away from one another. Suddenly they were something I desired with every cell of my being.

I just HAD to get with them. My biology was kicking me in the ass repeatedly all day telling me to chase after them whatever the cost. So what did I do? Why, I pulled out that tablet of commandments, thinking to myself that it would be a breeze to get girls. After all, I had gotten such great advice for more than a decade, I was going to be Casanova out there!

I was bulldozed. I went out of my way to be Prince Charming. I complimented girls. I held the door open for them. I made romantic gestures and tried to always be a gentleman. I asked a few girls out on dates by sending them love letters and giving them flowers. A few of them said yes to a first date, but there was always some excuse when I asked them to meet up again.

I started doubting myself. What was I doing wrong? I was following all the rules, but I wasn’t getting anywhere near the magical “doing it” scenario that was the only topic me and the other boys seemed to talk about in our cracked voices. The girls my age seemed to always go for boys who were two or three years older, and these guys seemed to be the most horrible, arrogant dickheads at school, the kind of guys that always wanted to pick fights, who skipped class, and who smoked cigarettes.

It didn’t make any sense. Here I was, doing everything my mother had told me to do, and I was getting nowhere. When I asked her for advice on getting a girl to like me, she repeated the same mantras all over again…Just be yourself…Be a gentleman. At fifteen I jerked myself to sleep every night, and the prospect of ever losing my virginity waned with every load I blew.

Then something happened when I was about 16. I don’t know what exactly; it was as If someone flicked a switch. I was tired of being treated like dirt and not getting anywhere. I decided that I needed to change.

The easiest part of myself to transform was my body, so I started lifting weights. I gained a lot of muscle fast and noticed that people were interacting differently with me after only a couple of months. My mindset started to change, too. I adopted a more “I don’t give a shit” attitude and soon, as a result of how others now perceived me, my confidence went through the roof. About three months after I first started lifting, a girl approached me at the gym. When we started talking, I heard my own voice, but it didn’t sound like me. I sounded cocky, arrogant, and full of myself (maybe because of all the testosterone coursing through my body). I would have quickly adjusted my attitude back then and there—snapped out of it and become the boy I used to be—if it wasn’t for the fact that she was looking at me with interest, excitement, and maybe even lust. That girl became my first girlfriend a few weeks later. I lost my virginity shortly afterward.

I couldn’t believe it. I wasn’t being particularly nice to her at all. In fact, I was being a bit of a douche, and yet she couldn’t get enough of me. I dumped her a few months later because I was bored of her and I wanted to try out my new magical abilities on other girls. And they worked; boy, did they work. I started having sex with multiple girls, and I gained a reputation of being a player. This reputation made me even more desirable to girls. It all happened very quickly, but I was loving the new me and my new powers.

Now at 19 I am proud to be a real jackass, a douchebag, a player, and an asshole. I am the most selfish son of a bitch, the most “I don’t give a fuck” jackass you ever met, the most disrespectful dickhead in the universe when I am around women—and they love it. I treat the women I want to fuck like dirt, I call her out when they’re being stupid, and the only compliments I give are backhanded ones. I never pay for her drinks or her dinner; I get her to pay for mine. I don’t call her. I don’t answer her texts. I call her “sugartits” and talk down to her.

I do all the things you girls love to hate. Girls are insane in what they want. They are illogical and contradictory, but once you figure them out, nothing can stop you. I am still the same guy on the inside, but I have new knowledge—vital knowledge. Cultivating the chauvinist part of me has been the best decision of my life.

My story is not unique. Many guys I know have had the same experience, and both online and IRL I see other young men waking up. I don’t know why society and our parents lie to us; I just know that they do. If my mother knew how I now behave around girls she would probably call me a misogynist. But I don’t hate women, I love them. I give them what they want, don’t I?

I know I can’t claim to be anywhere near wise at the age of 19, but that’s not going to stop me from giving kids younger than me a little piece of advice. Here it goes: Maybe you’re 14, 15, or 16 and you’re getting nowhere doing what you’re currently doing. So don’t just be yourself like everyone tells you to; instead, stop doing what you’ve been told to do and do the exact opposite. It works.

Girls, to finish off—and not on your face this time—I’m speaking for many douchebags, assholes, and players. I wasn’t born like this. You made me into this monster, the monster that you love to hate. Thought Catalog Logo Mark

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