The weight of your attraction
“I’m glad we stayed in touch! The little time we had to chat about your company at the party made it sound really promising — and of course, those big blue eyes helped too.”
Ah. Here we are again.
I duck your compliments, remove your hands from my knees, repeatedly speak of the man I’m currently dating; the man I was clearly with the evening you met me. You’ve honed in on me; you’ve molded me into your eccentric, manic-pixie fantasy — one you’re still delusional enough to think you have the power to seduce.
Plus. You like a good challenge. But not one you can’t actually win. Those — as anyone who has seen you bouldering your way through life would know — are not really an option. It’s a philosophy that’s worked well for you so far. You’re wealthy, you’re successful, you’re well connected and probably well liked.
I text my perfectly well-intentioned Man-Friend to scope out the situation. He suggests one meeting shouldn’t do too much harm; that I could walk out clear on where things stood.
I’m pulled back in time, to a similar evening a decade ago — one that had inflicted great harm. Incidentally, I had been sitting with another older man, another well-connected client who seemed convincingly interested in my professional prowess. That evening though, I was sitting at the bar, just a few feet away from where I sit now.
Pop Reference One
Though I’ve only recently become a more voracious consumer of popular culture, there seem to be moments in which stories around me have serendipitously aligned to help me put words to my own experience. This time (like so many others, of course) it started with an episode of This American Life. In it, Nancy Updike explores the anatomy of an apology through the lens of the Dan Harmon and Megan Ganz story. And while so many of the elements of her story struck a chord with me, the most poignant was Ganz’s constant attempts at explaining to Harmon what kind of harm he was doing to her mental health and her ability to trust her own talent.
“It took me years to believe in my talents again, to trust a boss when he complimented me and not cringe when he asked for my number. I was afraid to be enthusiastic, knowing it might be turned against me later. You want relief? So do I. Figure out how to give me that relief and I’ll return the favor.”
As Nancy Updike so aptly puts it: how are you supposed to tell that someone who says you’re really talented has another agenda when you are, in fact, really talented?
That. That is the weight of your attraction.
I’m barely a few months into my freelance career, you’re actually one of my first clients. You’re an older man, but one that has worked hard to maintain a physique and lifestyle that feeds your ego and vanity. You’re handsome. You’re also newly married and your wife just had twins — I think they’re about 4 months old. I love babies, we talk a bit about my young niece. We met at a conference, I helped you out of a bind with a quick turn-over on translation and editing, you were impressed with my work. I was flattered. You wanted to talk about other opportunities and get a sense of my background. Now here we are.
After two drinks comes the dreaded question. Most women know it; it comes in countless flavours and variations, but always in the same slimy spirit.
How come a smart, beautiful woman like you doesn’t have a boyfriend?
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So where’s your boyfriend tonight?
So tell me about your boyfriend.
So what does your boyfriend do?
What could possibly keep a woman like you single?
Is there a lucky man in your life?
Is your boyfriend jealous that you’re out with me?
Hope your boyfriend appreciates how lucky he is.
You lean in, I can smell your cologne. I freeze, still slightly unsure if I’ve misread the situation or if I’m being overly dramatic. I smile and toss out a toothless comment about you minding your own business.
Wrong move: your eyebrows perk up in surprise and I realize you’ve taken my words as a feisty, coquettish challenge — yours for the conquering. I manage to shift the conversation back to careers and technology as I dodge your wandering hands on my knees and shoulders. Your compliments about my work and talent intermingle with those about my eyes, lips and sharp wit. I drink. It escalates, I politely call it quits — still naively hoping to salvage what you’ve promised could be an important relationship for my professional network and freelance career. You could open so many doors for me.
Speaking of doors, you’re on my heels as I exit the bar. You plead, you appeal, you apologize, you try again, you lean me back against the brick wall. I’ll always wonder if you truly saw talent and promise in me. It’ll take me years to stop caring. Fuck. Who am I kidding? I still care.
A decade later
I run my fingers through the grey streaks gaining ground around my Dom’s temples and beg him to fuck me with his suit on.
Pop Reference Two
The second stroke of recognition came from a fantastic episode of Easy. In it, Marc Marron is confronted with the impact of his selfish lack of awareness and dismissal after having bolstered, coached, fucked and discarded one of his former young students.
He then has to hear straight from her that she was crushed by it; immobilized both in her career and her personal life. She was made to feel small, insignificant. She learned to question whether she deserves any success, or has any talent, because the most important arbiter of that slept with and then discarded her — the worst review she’s ever had for her work.
Once again, I was hit with the precision of the insecurity and self-doubt that overtook her after her encounter — the utter inability to trust her own judgment and sense of self. I was floored: I’d been looking for those words for nearly a decade.
That. That is the weight of your attraction.
I recently launched a company. And let’s face it: in order to succeed, I’m going to need access to capital, power, and influence. Gatekeeping those institutions and infrastructures of capital, power, and influence? These kinds of men; men consistently rewarded for their ability to intimidate, persuade and project blind confidence. Men moved up the ranks as they get their way, men placed in our highest courts and given access to limitless wealth and impunity.
Well then. This is going to be great, isn’t it?
