This is an open letter to all the “nice guys” out there – I was once like you. I used to bemoan how unfair it was that my basic human decency didn’t get me some guaranteed poon. I used to sit and wonder why girls always went for assholes, while also constantly redefining “asshole” to mean any guy who wasn’t me. I used to wonder why the girl I had a crush on was attracted to other guys when someone perfect was “right next to them.” Then, something big happened: I graduated from high school and grew up.
More than a few hipster blogs have written of late on the subject of nice guys and the ladies who don’t love them. I’d link you to those pieces, but they make me so outraged and I don’t want to give the sites in question the hits. But you can guess where they are.
I find the pop culture fascination with the idea of the mythical nice guy to be unbearable. We see it all the time in films, in TV, in books – this idea that nice guys are somehow wronged by the fact that women don’t find them attractive. I find that to be dull, from a dramatic standpoint, and insulting from an intellectual standpoint. But that’s just fiction. I can ignore fiction pretty easily. I can choose not to watch or read fiction. That’s fine. Real life, however, seems to be caught up in the same lie.
I know men – grown men, adults, men with jobs – who post their sob stories of “nice guy” syndrome on their various social networks. And sure enough, people reply to their tales of woe with affirmation, supporting the idea that this is some sort of injustice and that they “deserve” something.
Didn’t you guys have someone in your life who told you early on you don’t “deserve” anything? I did. My dad was the best. When I was eleven years old, I was “dumped” and I took it hard. I cried. I didn’t want to go to school. I threw a tantrum on my way to the bus. And my father looked me in the eyes and said something I’ll never forget:
“If you’re going to act this way every time a woman rejects you, I suggest a life of celibacy. Maybe you should be a priest.”
That stuck with me. Even when I threw pity parties for myself for my alleged “nice guy” sufferings, I think I knew deep down that that was bullshit. That I had no business whimpering because someone didn’t like me “that way” and that I should just get on with my life. In my adult years, I met a woman through an internet dating site. We went out a few times. I made a move. She shot me down, but wanted to be friends. So what did I do? I became her friend and I pursued other women. And to this day, she’s one of the best friends I’ve ever made.
It’s sort of insane that guys can think that being nice means they’re owed something. Nice isn’t owed shit. And I’ll bet every one of those “nice guys” whining about being passed over would be quick to ignore the women they’ve rejected for the same reasons that they’ve been rejected.
I can think of at least two different instances in my adult life where I’ve been romantically involved with women who were perfect who I just didn’t like. They were beautiful, charming, ambitious, amazing — it’d take an absolute idiot to have not wanted to spend the rest of their lives with those women. Well, I was that idiot. I just didn’t like them as much as they liked me. I don’t know why, but I didn’t. And I’m sure those women are way better off without me in their lives. It’s too bad I didn’t like them as much as they liked me. And it’s too bad those girls don’t like those “nice” guys. But that’s all. Too bad.
You’re nice? Good for you. But that doesn’t mean you’re anything special. Hell, nothing’s special about nice. Nice is passive. Nice is inactive. The opposite of “bad” isn’t “nice”. So if you’re sitting next to her right now, wondering why she doesn’t recognize the “greatness” sitting next to her? She recognizes it. It’s just not that great. Not for her.
I’m pretty nice. I’m also happily in love with the most wonderful woman I’ve ever met, and I’m with her because I didn’t stop till I found her. I’m not sure if there’s someone for everyone, but I’m certain if there is that someone, you can easily tell who she or he is. They’re the one who accepted you.
“Nice guys.” Give me a break…