position on the show he worked on. After the meeting, I stopped by his desk to say hello.
I wore what I always wear to interviews: a suit, with heels and makeup. I did not wear a ball gown and a beehive.
David asked how my meeting with his boss went, then did that thing he always does where he smiles and cringes at the same time. It’s sweet, but it also makes you feel a little awkward, so you’re compelled to counter it with false stoicism or cool. And when the neurotic Jew is the cool one, well.
Then David lowered his voice a bit. “Let me give you a bit of advice,” he told me, on his turf. And I listened for his tip because I wanted that job.
“When you’re around an office like this one,” he continued, “Well . . . you might want to turn down the glamour.”
I can’t pile on when it comes to David. He was a great boyfriend at a time when I needed a great boyfriend more than anything, and I broke up with him , then displayed a novice’s ignorance when insisting that we still be friends, unaware of the rule that the person who initiates a breakup has no say about what the relationship then becomes.
But that advice coming from him to “turn down the glamour” gave me a bedrock Legally Blonde moment that propelled me into sweet, revenge-fueled action. It is what has motivated me to succeed in my field. Because as frequently or insistently as nerdy, quiet guys may claim that they are outcasts, the reality is that once high school is over, they are the ones who get the jobs. And those jobs include but are not limited to writing for television, art direction, graphic design, songwriting, blogging, video editing, copywriting, filmmaking, working for public radio, and so on and so on, and whatever job you do can probably go here too. Right now, in the places where I live and work and date, the timid, geeky guy prevails. And the only way to pass in their world if you’re a girl is to play the game and blend into the herd. David illuminated something about the way things are that made me furious, despite what his intentions were when he gave me his two cents. And no, I didn’t get that job.
What I have since learned is that the girls who thrive in Boytown, professionally and personally, are the mousy ones. The ones who don’t know how to walk in heels or do their own eyeliner. The girls who don’t know how to play hostess to a good party or that they need to write a thank-you note and bring a gift when visiting someone’s home. They wear their “nice” New Balance sneakers when they go out at night, and a clean T-shirt when they go to work. They blend in with the guys they scare; the ones who hate them for not chasing them in high school.
“You wear too much makeup,” David would tell me when we were together. Like I had any business taking advice from a guy who’d wear a T-shirt with a Chinese-food restaurant menu printed on it to a dinner date. You can’t throw the first stone when you dole out what you assume are compliments, but what is really just backhanded armchair criticism from somebody looking to create the ideal girl.
I’M FASCINATED by what men think is the perfect woman. Cameron Diaz in There’s Something About Mary is just one of many man-made dream girls. Remember? Mary was a sports surgeon, a beer-swilling football enthusiast, and a golfer, but she was also feminine, leggy, lithe, and blond, with a bottomless well of compassion for her retarded brother. She was basically a guy with a woman’s big heart, wrapped up in a “tight little package.” She wasn’t funny, but she had a great laugh, which is perfect for making funny guys feel appreciated.
Scarlett Johansson’s “Cristina,” in Vicky Cristina Barcelona, is another creature constructed in a lab by a male mind. Cristina is sprung from Woody Allen’s dirty old ’mangination—a fabrication, really, of qualities attractive to him that no real girl has in one spot. Her lack of focus in tandem with her raw creative talent
I wore what I always wear to interviews: a suit, with heels and makeup. I did not wear a ball gown and a beehive.
David asked how my meeting with his boss went, then did that thing he always does where he smiles and cringes at the same time. It’s sweet, but it also makes you feel a little awkward, so you’re compelled to counter it with false stoicism or cool. And when the neurotic Jew is the cool one, well.
Then David lowered his voice a bit. “Let me give you a bit of advice,” he told me, on his turf. And I listened for his tip because I wanted that job.
“When you’re around an office like this one,” he continued, “Well . . . you might want to turn down the glamour.”
I can’t pile on when it comes to David. He was a great boyfriend at a time when I needed a great boyfriend more than anything, and I broke up with him , then displayed a novice’s ignorance when insisting that we still be friends, unaware of the rule that the person who initiates a breakup has no say about what the relationship then becomes.
But that advice coming from him to “turn down the glamour” gave me a bedrock Legally Blonde moment that propelled me into sweet, revenge-fueled action. It is what has motivated me to succeed in my field. Because as frequently or insistently as nerdy, quiet guys may claim that they are outcasts, the reality is that once high school is over, they are the ones who get the jobs. And those jobs include but are not limited to writing for television, art direction, graphic design, songwriting, blogging, video editing, copywriting, filmmaking, working for public radio, and so on and so on, and whatever job you do can probably go here too. Right now, in the places where I live and work and date, the timid, geeky guy prevails. And the only way to pass in their world if you’re a girl is to play the game and blend into the herd. David illuminated something about the way things are that made me furious, despite what his intentions were when he gave me his two cents. And no, I didn’t get that job.
What I have since learned is that the girls who thrive in Boytown, professionally and personally, are the mousy ones. The ones who don’t know how to walk in heels or do their own eyeliner. The girls who don’t know how to play hostess to a good party or that they need to write a thank-you note and bring a gift when visiting someone’s home. They wear their “nice” New Balance sneakers when they go out at night, and a clean T-shirt when they go to work. They blend in with the guys they scare; the ones who hate them for not chasing them in high school.
“You wear too much makeup,” David would tell me when we were together. Like I had any business taking advice from a guy who’d wear a T-shirt with a Chinese-food restaurant menu printed on it to a dinner date. You can’t throw the first stone when you dole out what you assume are compliments, but what is really just backhanded armchair criticism from somebody looking to create the ideal girl.
I’M FASCINATED by what men think is the perfect woman. Cameron Diaz in There’s Something About Mary is just one of many man-made dream girls. Remember? Mary was a sports surgeon, a beer-swilling football enthusiast, and a golfer, but she was also feminine, leggy, lithe, and blond, with a bottomless well of compassion for her retarded brother. She was basically a guy with a woman’s big heart, wrapped up in a “tight little package.” She wasn’t funny, but she had a great laugh, which is perfect for making funny guys feel appreciated.
Scarlett Johansson’s “Cristina,” in Vicky Cristina Barcelona, is another creature constructed in a lab by a male mind. Cristina is sprung from Woody Allen’s dirty old ’mangination—a fabrication, really, of qualities attractive to him that no real girl has in one spot. Her lack of focus in tandem with her raw creative talent
Similar Books
