Losing your virginity – is it a big deal?

Last week, someone forwarded me a link to this video about Lolo jones, an attractive 29-year-old athlete who (apparently) is still a virgin – a task she describes as, “harder than training for the Olympics.” Admittedly the topic of virginity isn’t something I’ve thought much about in recent years, and for most people post-college (or heck, even post high school), it’s essentially a non-issue.

A lot of the comments on the video muse that so much has changed about our society, and folks from older generations are a bit taken aback that an (unmarried) woman’s virginity makes the news. I think my generation may be more taken aback that this woman has made it to 29 and is actually quite attractive.

Either way – a lot has changed. I’d have to check if anyone has polled this, but would guess the “norm” for losing your virginity is closer to the teens and early twenties rather than 30 or beyond. But, it does happen that some people “wait” until fairly late by modern standards.

For example, a friend of mine was/is an attractive, social, late 20’s ‘modern’ woman, and still a virgin until only recently. This friend, “Lily” didn’t wait for religious reasons per se, but always said that she just “wasn’t interested.” In fact, she’s asked me more than once what the “big deal” is when it came to sex – something I never really knew how to explain.

Well, things changed about a month ago when Lily fell for someone she met through a mutual acquaintance, an older man who visits the states intermittently for work. After a few nights of making out and general flirtation, Lily called me while on her way over to his hotel bar to meet him for drinks. She was worried that the guy would be ‘upset’ by all of their half-way rendezvous, and wondered if she should go ‘all the way’ with him (a term I hadn’t heard since driving a car was still exciting).

I’ll admit, I tried to talk her out of it – in part because it sounded like she would be doing it for all the wrong reasons. Just because he was older and “used to” sex rather than more foreplay-esque activities didn’t mean he would be mad if she didn’t go through with it. And even if he was, that’s even more of a reason NOT to keep going.

And, however flawed my logic may be, it seemed like a mistake to get all the way to your late 20’s and then lose it to a fling. Lily wasn’t (and isn’t) dating this guy, and neither of them seemed to be under the delusion that love or a long term relationship was anywhere on the horizon. Regardless, a few nights of fooling around in his hotel room and … virgin no more. He flew back to his home country shortly after, and now she’s going through the same feelings at nearly 30 that most of us went through in college.

Trying to be a supportive friend in this situation is tricky – a bit like a 3-time divorcee attending the ceremony of newlyweds. “Excited” isn’t really the right term. Sure, I’m happy for her, but I’ve seen where this road often goes. Plus, perhaps because its been a while or perhaps because it was just a generally confusing time, I honestly don’t remember much about what the experience was like. I don’t really remember if I was happy or sad afterwards, or if it made me really attached to the boyfriend (we were already serious but I don’t remember how or if sex changed anything). I don’t remember WHY I did it, and I don’t remember if I regretted it at the time. Today, I don’t really have any sentiments about the situation — all I remember is where/when/who, and just that it happened.

Her situation begs some more convoluted questions, ones she’s debating and asking me to debate alongside her:

Was she doing herself a favor or a disservice by finally sleeping with someone, especially someone she didn’t really have a relationship with? Is it a good idea to “get it out of the way” once you get past a certain age?

Privately I’m starting to wonder if age even matters – losing your virginity at 18 or 28, on a personal level, might not be all that different.

If there is one thing about sex that definitely changes with age, it’s the outsider perception and how it’s viewed in the context of relationships. These days it seems like being a virgin is actually a hindrance in the dating field, especially as a woman – I’ve heard various male friends talk about how they would never date/sleep with a virgin, the rationale ranging from emotional liability (“she’ll be a stage 5 clinger”) to simply the physical aspect of it (ie a virgin won’t be much ‘fun’ in bed).

Maybe this is ridiculous, but I’m a little saddened by Lily’s decision. After so many years of being friends, the fact that she was a virgin had become a characteristic trait, and I feel a bit like a mother who has to face the fact that her daughter has finally grown up. It’s not that she wasn’t a grown up before, but there is “something” about sex that changes you. Some element of maturation and growth that all other life achievements and milestones — college, grad school, the professional life, or hell, even being an Olympic athlete — can’t replace. I won’t go as far to say that sex itself creates maturity, but they are intertwined in a way that escapes me. Maybe it is the “maturity” and weight of knowing that you’ve made an irreversible decision. Maybe it’s just the premium that we put on age and innocence, and sex means giving that up.

In the end, I wonder – if not for religious reasons or whatever else motivates people to “keep” it until marriage – Is losing your virginity really a big deal anymore, or just one more thing to cross off the check list of life? Is it just another “first,” like your first time driving alone after getting a license, first day of college, first trip out of the country, first time… in bed?

Why does Ex + Friend still hurt like the dickens?

Over the weekend, I witnessed a surprisingly painful encounter of the ex-boyfriend kind: An former beau and one of my best friends getting down on the dance floor.

Harmless? Maybe. Except it wasn’t. They were getting pretty into it, and weren’t mixing it up with other parties…Just grinding away on each other. Hmm. Not sure what happened next, because I left the party.
For first time I realized that a friend and an ex as ‘buddies’ could change me from the common denominator to an uncomfortable 3rd party.

Now, here’s the thing: I really shouldn’t care. Right?
This friend means the world to me. We met in college and have been “besties” ever since — she’s an incredible individual and we’ve been there for each other on everything from class work to personal to professional issues.

And, the ex and I are friends. At this point we’ve known each other for years, and comparatively only dated for a few months. Although I was the one who ended things, it wasn’t without good reason (he moved to another state and didn’t tell me until a week before it happened) and we’re both supposedly over all that. Now, over a year later and after he moved back to the city, I still invite him to hang out at times and genuinely wish him well with someone else.

The kicker, though — I never expected that “someone else” would be one of my closest friends. As much as I want the two of them to be happy in a relationship, I never thought that would be with each other. Not that dirty dancing equals a relationship, but for some reason I really, really don’t like the prospect of the two of them together in any capacity.

It seems like ex and friend would be the ultimate victory: Two people you care about coming together to a happy-ever-after life. Yet it’s not. At all. In fact the idea makes me want to throw things.

I’ll let my love for amateur psychology shines through here and list some possible reasons this could bother me:

- It makes me wonder if they were eyeing each other while we dated ( this one wouldn’t be a big deal, and would’ve been over 2 years ago, so doubt that’s it)

- I think it’s his way of getting revenge (but, that sounds more like my ego talking, like somehow its all about me)

- I don’t want to overlap the two worlds, and having the two of them date would mean I lose the ability to exclude/include him when it suited me (possible, but still doesn’t explain the emotional tsunami of that night)

- I still care about him (unlikely. But God I hope this isn’t it)

- I’m secretly evil and don’t want anyone to be happy (see above response)

When it comes to romantic relationships, I firmly believe it’s best to call a spade a spade: Upset? I say I’m upset. Happy? Not afraid to show it. For the first time in a long while, though, my emotions and their lack of rational logic have perplexed me.

I have no idea what to make of my reaction to this past Friday night. I got mad, Ieft my friends party early, and on the way home, said things via text to him (the ex) that were borderline (Ok downright) mean. Something about how he’s always been careless and toxic and that I might have been wrong for even staying friendly.

This morning I woke up and thought, “Now what the heck was THAT all about??” It’s a little embarrassing. What do you do when your emotions seem to have no rational logic, no basis that can be explained other than, “I don’t know why but I just feel this way, and it’s making me crazy…”

All sorts of things went running through my head at the scene. Like, we live in one of the largest cities in America, and these two can’t find ANY other options that don’t involve “me”?

Should I be mad, am I mad, or do I just think I should be? Is it really even my place to care? I wonder if it’s all my fault in some way, like maybe I set this up by inviting him out, and acting like I was completely emotionless about our relationship– to both him and her. But, I pretty much am. I’ve met other women he dated and it prompted zero emotional response.

When you’re over someone (and seriously, there’s nothing going on there), why does it suck so much to see them with a friend? Please. Enlighten me.

Ok, let me get this straight: Marriage = “Sexual Incarceration”?

Well, according to at least one researcher, that’s exactly what it is. Eric Anderson, a PhD who studies men and sexuality, is on his way to making a career off the notion that men just can’t keep it in their pants, or more importantly… shouldn’t have to. A recently published an article in the Huffington Post, “Is cheating the rational choice?” has garnered quite the response, as have his other write-ups on the topic – “Women must accept that men can’t help being unfaithful,” “Why men need to cheat,” and “5 Myths About Cheating.”

Aside from the fact that biological arguments for infidelity are getting kind of tired (yes yes ancient man blah blah blah), this and his other articles straight up suck for one glaring reason: Anderson completely neglects to take into account the realities of sex. Like, just overlooks them entirely. For a man who seems so concerned with facing that exact concept, he’s in total la la land.

At risk of posting my own controversial write-up, I’ll go ahead be honest: After reading his most recent article, hilariously my initial reaction was, “This guy doesn’t understand nor give a sh*t about women.” I say “hilariously” because a few days later I found out that Eric Anderson is in fact gay.

Hmm… does that matter for a guy talking about how men and women should relate? Normally in a research environment I’d say that it doesn’t, and people study groups that they aren’t a “part of” all the time. Heck, being an outsider looking in can be a good thing because you’re not entrenched in the problem.

The thing is, he’s not studying a group he’s not a part of, because he’s not really studying heterosexual relationships — all his big conclusions stem from 120 interviews WITH MEN. “Young men,” to be exact. Undergraduates. Forget that his sample size isn’t exactly grounds for reforming one of our fundamental social institutions, and that undergrads are a ridiculous group to extrapolate relationship musings from — He didn’t even bother to talk to women. Not one. I mean, c’mon. There are two people in a relationship, and when you’re hetero, that two includes a WOMAN.

Don’t get me wrong on this, personally I could not care less about whether someone is gay, straight, bi, asexual, or into feet. I do care about his ability to speak from an educated perspective, though, and this guy def doesn’t have one, and didn’t bother to try.
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His utter lack of insight on ‘the other side’ shines through in genius lines found in his various articles, like, “The problem is that, generally, when a man is unfaithful to a woman she blames herself and feels 100 per cent responsible.”

Is he for real? If he’d bothered to get anywhere close to a balanced sample, ie actually asked women (other than the handful of chick friends who come crying to him when they need a shoulder), he’d see that what we ‘generally’ think is: “What a skeezy prick/men are idiots/what a liar i cant believe I didn’t even know the man I was dating/married to/etc”. Sure, on some level we question ourselves and where we went wrong. But blame? Feel 100% responsible? Psshtt. No.

Other gems include: “Women normally make the mistake of believing that if a man is in love with them then he will be faithful…[but] countless men give themselves intense sexual pleasure watching beautiful women having sex on the internet but definitely aren’t in love with those women.“

Dear God. Someone hand me a gong, because that logic sounds like it came from too much daytime TV. We’re aware, Doc Anderson, that men have sex and think about sex outside of the context of love. We just expect them to restrain those urges, and we have to do that same thing ourselves. On some level we all get tired of bumping uglies with the same person after a few years. But it’s just not that simple.

I think my head might explode if I don’t go ahead and rant on this in some public forum, to combat the idiocy that is Eric Anderson. I’ll hit a few high points, with this post and probably keep it coming with one or two later…(sorry, I just hate when people say dumb things and call it research. Really, really, hate it.)

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1) From Anderson’s discussion of sex and relationships, you would think that it’s 100% feasible for men to just go bang a random and then be on their merry way. Sure, maybe in college. Or, possibly in the gay community (unlike Anderson I won’t act like I have any real knowledge on that area, but my gay pals do say that semi-anonymous sex is more common, and there’s always media madness on things like secret signals and bathroom stalls). In the real world, though, sex isn’t exactly easy to come by for most straight fellas.

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And here we come back to his forgetting the female factor: Most women don’t just drop trou for whoever asks, and that means that guys usually have to ‘work for it,’ aka put in some time and energy. Often women only want to hook up with someone who has relationship potential – so, for a married guy trying to do the ‘extra-dyadic’ sex thing, what can he do? Either be honest (“I just want to bang you and go home to my wife”) and further cut down the pool of prospects, or lie (“I could see myself with you forever”) and be a total bastard about it. So, Anderson’s solution doesn’t do anything but change who gets lied to – the wife or other women.

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Bottom line: For a man who wants to go out and have sex with someone other than his wife, it’s not going to take up 30 minutes of his time. (Ok, maybe if they pay for it.) It’s going to take some legit effort, especially for the older demographic who last saw a 6-pack in their fridge. Already strained relationships aren’t going to be improved by the husband wining and dining some other woman, giving her the attention he hasn’t given his wife in 10 years. Even if the sex won’t piss her off, the diversion of his attention certainly will.

A fairly foolproof definition for “cheating”

Between ‘work wives,’ ex-texts, and questionably scandalous Facebook postings, there’s been a lot of buzz lately around the definition of “cheating.” Sometimes it’s hard to know if you or your Sig Other are potentially crossing the line.

After some thought, I’ve come up with a delineation that works pretty darn well for me: I define infidelity by taking the Sibling Test — If there’s something going on with the opposite sex that I wouldn’t do with a sibling, then it probably qualifies as cheating.

Kiss on the cheek? Not cheating. Mouth to mouth or full blown make-out? Cheating. Talking about pros and cons of relationships? Not cheating. Sexting? Cheating.

My brother and I have a fairly comfortable, close relationship, but at the end of the day he’s still my sibling, a blood relative, and someone who used to chase me around the house / hide my favorite stuffed animals until near-hysterics brought parental intervention.

So, thinking about this relationship has made for a useful benchmark on what is allowable vs. taboo with male companions. When is it just being friendly and social, and when does it cross over the line of all-in-good-fun? I mentally run through the sibling test, and it gives me some pretty clear boundaries.

The hard and fast physical rules work well, and as far as I know, should be fairly obvious to most people: hugging, brief body contact in a conversation or while consoling someone = all things that wouldn’t be “weird” between siblings. Anything beyond that? No fly zone. Simple enough.

Interestingly, I’ve found this rule works well for the more intangible issues like conversation, too. If the conversation has content or context that would make me squeamish in the presence of my brother, that’s a sign it probably wouldn’t be acceptable with a guy who isn’t my significant other, either.
For example, talking about my favorite sexual positions totally would not happen. Neither would anything alluding to past or possible future physical interactions between the two of us (this one mostly applies with exes-turned-friends).

Maybe some people talk about these things with opposite gender blood relatives, but for more reason than one, that kind of exchange isn’t something I’d talk to my big bro about — even *writing* about talking about it feels wrong.

Overall, it’s kind of intuitive. For me and I’d imagine a lot of other people, siblings are our first lesson in communicating with someone of the opposite sex (aside from parents), but in a totally non-sexual context. As adults, they are a useful barometer on appropriateness for inter-gender relations — how we can still care about and be close to someone, but keep it kosher nonetheless. When I wonder if I should clean up my act (How close is too close?!) or be concerned about a BF, it’s a helpful thing to keep in mind.

Just a thought on the end-of-weekend festivities.

Tempted to check his e-history? Don’t. Or, do. But prepare yourself for the inevitable: Porn.

I re-learned an important lesson last night, unfortunately after violating a principle that I’ve advised countless friends and cohorts to remain diligent about observing. Sigh.

The lesson? If you look into your significant other’s electronic history, you will find something you don’t like. If you’re a woman and look into the browser history of a man, that thing will inevitably be porn.

After 10 years in the field and half a dozen semi-serious relationships, I seem to be epically unlucky in this regard. Just when I least expect it… bam! Blindsided by Debbie Does Dallas/Everyone and Sorority Sluts Volume XV. When/where/how/why? Let’s start from the beginning.

I first encountered the male proclivity for illicit e-viewing as a teenager, in an all-time uncomfortable family affair: One night I walked into the family den to do some homework (aka fire up an AOL chat with friends from school) — it was the only room in the house with an Internet connection and no, I wasn’t deprived, but this was the 90′s.

My younger cousin, the pre-teen offspring of my super-strict born-again Christian uncle, was staying with us for a few days and was already on the computer. When I walked in, though, he quickly clicked out the website he was viewing and in 3 equally quick clicks of his feet, exited the room. His behavior was pretty shady and pretty transparent — I knew *something* was up, so I reopened the browser and selected the history tab. Lo and behold, naked college girls galore. Ick.

As luck and painfully awkward teen movies would have it, my mother chose that moment to stage her own surprise visit. I’m not sure whose pulse shot up higher when she saw what was on the screen, but her eyes registered a look that, to this day, is the most surprised I’ve ever seen (the woman doesn’t scare easy).

I began a frantic explanation – “Its [pervy younger cousin who shall remain nameless]‘s! He was looking at it when I came in!”

Her face went from shock and horror to more of a grimace. “Oh Anna,” she waved her hand dismissively. “He’s just a boy. He’s just curious.”

Hummm… I thought she would be furious, or at least share my OMG eww sentiments on the ordeal, but her response was quite melancholy. Maybe she was just relieved that her adolescent daughter wasn’t scoping college girls. Or maybe she was unwilling to have “that talk” with her nephew. Or, genuinely believed that at 11/12, he didn’t understand what he was viewing. I’m not sure. But, she was right in one regard: boys sure are curious.

In college, accidental porn encounters continued to catch me off guard. Freshman year, I idly went to google a phrase on my boyfriends computer, and in the process was presented with a recent searches drop-down menu: a slew of obviously frisky phrases. The content was nothing particularly odd or strange (something about big breasted blondes and “Torrent passwords”) but still, it was unexpected. My sweet, faithful boyfriend was “not the type” to be interested in watching strangers get it on.

…Or was he? Overall I was less offended by the fact that he was checking out voluptuous ladies online than the feeling I hadn’t really known him as well as I’d thought.

Skipping ahead a few years, this has happened time and again — coming across the “stash” or elements of it when you’d least expect it. In the DVR listings of one guy, along with educational documentaries and Boston legal re-runs, were “Alien sex chronicles” (yes, plural) and something that had to do with adventures in Las Vegas (I didn’t check what exactly…Vegas scares me more than sex with E.T.).

The next BF pulled it up in front of me by accident — he was trying to find something on you tube, and instead accidentally let the autofill go to a you “porn” page. Apparently this guy had a thing for MILF’s…Which, feels a little weird in retrospect, since we ended things after I refused to take him home to mom.

Most recently, the computer was a culprit again. I was working at my BF’s place and using his desktop PC, and went to pull up a PDF file I’d downloaded. Let’s just say the download history was more than I’d bargained for, including a few items he *swears* were part of a prank on a friend. Something about a flash drive and … yeh, I’m not buying it either.

Blargh.

These days, “privacy” has become a hot topic. We have a hard time defining it, discussing it, deciding where to draw the line. Lately the conversation has centered on how big companies may collect or use our data, and what this means for our personal well-being. While I worry about targeted advertising and the like, what happens when strangers can discover things about us that are eerily too-much-information, etc etc, it may not be the biggest obstacle of a digitally recorded past and future.

The biggest issue may be: what about discovery by people who know us personally? Or alternatively, who we (think we) know?

Honestly, I kind of hate that all guys watch porn. Not only is it weird to me in theory (watching some strangers who are paid get it on?), but it’s hard to compete with in real life. I’m all about keeping things interesting, but …aliens? 6 barely legals in a jello wrestling contest? I give up.

I also know that when it comes to bad habits (and yes I classify porn as one)– availability is a hard temptation to conquer. “Can” has become irrelevant, replaced by “should” as the verb of the future. Like fast food, technology presents us with the option to make bad decisions any day of the week. (Can we cyberstalk an ex? Sure. Should we? Maybe, if you think masochism is a good thing. Can we waste hours playing angry birds? Sure. But not if you plan on doing something productive for society.)

Usually the best thing we can do for ourselves is just remove the temptation and the possibility of bad choices, but the Internet makes that kind of hard (ha!). If nothing else, though, we should at least make sure that no one gets caught in the crossfire.

So, fellas, do us a favor and clear your naughty history. Sometimes, despite all the best intentions to respect your privacy, we can come across things that we didn’t (and don’t want to) know. Un-tag photos of you and your exes, and dear God, please hide your porn. Especially the “joking” stuff you’re putting on a friends flash drive. Wink wink.

Why Facebook officially scares the #%£* out of me.

As a freshman at one of the first few Facebook “inductee” colleges and general member of the social media savvy techno-generation, I’ve seen a lot of the of pros and cons of this new way of interacting. Back in the day, it was all fun and games — is that guy in your chem class single? Isn’t it hilarious that it’s “complicated” between you and your best friend?

Sure. It WAS.

But I think the games are over, and it’s officially no longer fun. Facebook has taken on a life of its own, and I’m not sure I like where this is going. Why? Reasons outlined below. Feel free to add a few. Honestly, I’d love to know I’m not the only one a little freaked out by this unregulated techno-trend.

1) Facebook can keep you from getting a job. A job, people. Your livelihood.

This one is (thankfully) more of an observation at this point, but who knows. My fellow undergraduates from 2004-2008 were the first casualties of “social” technology — Meaning, we were among the first to learn the hard way that employers can and will review your online activities as relevant to your employability. More than once, I’ve had acquaintances call and ask me if they can look at someone’s Facebook page through my account, to see what that person is “really like.” Although i’ve always declined (and maintain a firm belief that such review violates the separation of church and state), odds are they found someone else willing to give up the goods. Either way, today some employers aren’t even bothering to disguise this voyeurism. New reports come out everyday of people who have requested (or demanded) an applicants password for Facebook, to review their accounts. Really? I’d like to blame the employers for being invasive, but this is the 21st century drug test. Maybe it wouldn’t be due diligence for them to *not* check.

2) Facebook is lobbying congress.

Ok, now why would this dorm-room invention be worried about government interference? That’s a good question. And one that historically, no good answer has come from asking. Whether it’s oil, Big Tobacco, or PhRMA, typically those who spend millions getting into the pockets of politicians are doing so because they care more about their control and income rather than the public well being. These companies don’t lobby congress to save the whales or out of the goodness of their own hearts — no no. The cause is protecting themselves. Big Tobacco and PhRMA are among the two who have done massive damages to public health, and honestly I wonder if their control would still be in place if their products hadn’t started killing people.

3) IT’S RUN BY A 28 YEAR OLD KID.
Look, I love that our generation is proactive and wants to change the world. But I’m 26, and I know the kind of mistakes that people my age are prone to make — starting with naive arrogance. We tend to think our beliefs are unique and superior, and really…they rarely, rarely are. Zuck may be able to code and market like a mo’fo, but has he *really* changed anything about the problems present on our globe? Um, no. No he hasn’t. Otherwise Facebook would have better things to worry about than monetization and whether or not GM pulled out its advertising.

(Oh, and also — in our 20′s, we operate by trial and error. Largely because we’re still figuring ourselves out. 2 years ago can seem like a lifetime. Really though…it’s not. )

4) A corollary to point 3 — this guy has no kids.

I’ve heard from many older individuals that having children completely changed their world views, and gave them new insight into how we should evaluate the future. Zuckerberg doesn’t have anyone but himself to take care of, and advocating Facebook for kids under 13 is a prime example of how little he understands about youth and technology. It’s like if Chevy said that we should hand our pre-teens the car keys. Really?

Many kids use the online medium to mercilessly bully one another, or spend hours on video games, or “socialize” with peers online rather than develop their own independent thoughts. Plus, they tend to post their whole lives in a public sphere, no holds barred. All misuse, all common among pre-teens. All things that if Facebook really had kids best interest in mind, they would acknowledge as pitfalls that drastically outweigh the gains.

5) The “one identity” concept, and calling it a lack of integrity if you don’t agree.

One self? Really? Only if you’re a robot. Thats the only explanation. Humans are more diverse than that — the world demands that we change our self presentation depending on the situation, and that’s ok. I mean, Raise your hand if there are things your friends know about you that your mom, dad, and employers do not. And that you wouldn’t want them to. If you’re not raising your hand, maybe now is a good time to stop reading, because we have absolutely nothing in common (other than literacy, perhaps). Zuckerbug’s concept benefits no one but advertisers who want to target you.

Oh, plus, for someone who advocates “one identity”… This guy sure was a douche a few years ago. An article in business insider does more justice than I can, but bottom line:
The fact that Zuckerberg was calling people “Dumb f*cks” for trusting him says a lot.

Not to mention his school yard pressure on the one identity thing is just ridiculous. The fact that he wants to tell other people how to exist with their own friends and family is … Well, I’ll just say this:

Yes, Mark, there are things about me and my life that my mother, father, and the rest of the world don’t need to know about. It’s not about integrity. It’s about reality.

6) THE KICKER: We no longer have a choice in the matter.

More and more sites and applications have begun using Facebook as a way to log in or start an account, some not even allowing for an alternative option. So, now, if I want to log in to comment or use certain software, I have to do it through an invasive and unregulated social networking site? Pass.

Its forcing us into a corner — to use something completely unrelated, we must use Facebook. They’re officially over reaching.

Ugh. Writing this has exhausted my mental resources. Facebook just sucks nowadays. That is all.

“Familiarity breeds contempt” — Bewildering research about the male mind

Every other summer during my childhood, our family took trips to Harbor Island, a small, mostly native (i.e. non-touristy) locale where Goombay punch and golfcarts were a way of life. Along with our small nuclear unit of mother + father + brother + me, 6 other families were always in attendance – all Catholic, all with children, all super-strict on the rules of pretty much everything except imbibing.

Some of my fondest island memories come from a summer that 7 of us young teens were handed the greatest gift that parents can allow their offspring: Independence. In a welcome break from babysitting and sibling squabbles (we were the oldest out of the about 30 children overall — these were Catholics, remember?), the 7 of us were allowed out of our parent’s houses and consolidated in a separate location on our own. The house was only about 3 paces from the others, but regardless was, to put it mildly, a huge freakin’ deal. Our own place away from the parents was like a paradise inside paradise, even if it was technically the house was right next door.

Everyone was ecstatic except for one of the oldest and most ‘adult’ of the girls, “Betsy.” She somberly informed us that she wouldn’t be allowed to crash at the teen two-story mansion because her mother feared that mixing the male/female sleeping arrangement would lead to, and I quote: “Breeding familiarity with one another’s bodies.”

At the time I wasn’t sure what exactly this meant, and Betsy couldn’t fully explain – her mother wasn’t worried about any actual sexual activity taking place per se (most of the families weren’t technically related but may as well have been, and either way Betsy was the most conservative 15 year old you could imagine). I assumed it was just overly strict parenting and/or one more Catholic fixation I would never understand, kind of like Hail Mary’s and confessing your darkest sins to, of all people, a priest.

Years later, now in my 20′s, I think I’m starting to understand why Betsy’s mother was concerned. Rather than being overbearing or attempting to put out the non-existent fires of her daughter’s adolescent desire, perhaps she was concerned about preserving the mystery between men and women, and what happens when we become too familiar and know too much too soon.

What I mean is: It’s starting to seem like the more the genders know about and ‘understand’ each other, the bigger the rift between us has become.

These days, there’s no secret password needed to get the scoop on what men think about and generally want [out of] women – it’s on magazine racks, pick-up artist websites, and popular banter generated by research. Apparently, men think about sex a LOT. And…That’s fine. And interesting. But even as someone who absolutely loves knowing the facts and doing the research, it’s starting to make me realize that there are some things I miss about ignorant bliss.

Like, when I learned that some men picture just about every woman they interact with naked, or engaging in some sort of sexual congress (especially if this interaction requires the woman to bend over for some reason). This…interesting… insight that was revealed to me one night in college while sitting around with a group of guy friends. The topic of attractive female classmates came up, and one guy remarked it made class more bearable to think about them naked. Every male around us nodded in agreement. Really?!? I thought. By the time the topics turned to intramural events, bus rides, and basically every interaction that you would think was not remotely sexual, I couldn’t stay silent. I asked if this happened with all women, or just attractive ones — they said it was “most,” and cringed at when their imaginations had gone overboard. (Ok, even if it’s not literally EVERY woman, and coming from a small sample of horny college guys, it’s a question I’ve asked a number of male friends and had it more or less confirmed.)

To this day, it’s still a little disconcerting to me knowing that anyone I have or ever will be dating will probably think about what every semi-attractive female in their life looks like naked, in various positions, in whatever fantasy land happens to be available at the moment…including their co-workers, my best friend, and dear God, yes I’m sorry to say it but maybe someday even my mother.

After college, it’s been an essentially inescapable avalanche of education about the male mind, and it might be necessary to get some sort of “Eternal Sunshine” pill to maintain the peace – Already I’m starting to worry about things like my (currently non-existent) husband driving babysitter home our babysitter, wondering if he’ll be thinking dirty about some 17 year old. Ick. Maybe it sounds like I’m being paranoid, but I doubt it. Innumerable sources say that even if they don’t act on it in any way shape or fashion, apparently an overwhelming majority of guys are fantasizing about someone other than their partner… probably right now.

Anyway, just when I think I’m starting to get my head around the latest study, survey, or revealing article about guys and girls and how information will help champion the male/female cause (or shock us into surrender), WHAM.

The majority of all penile fractures occur during an affair i.e. with the mistress? Hell, serves them right. Visual tracking studies show that men automatically look at the rear end of any woman exiting a room? Hmmm. Will keep that in mind. Because I definitely needed something else to worry about in between meetings.

I wonder — Does “familiarity” indeed breed “contempt,” as Dan Ariely describes in his paper, “Less is more: The lure of ambiguity, or why familiarity breeds contempt”? Can getting to know someone can make us less endeared toward them rather than more? Sometimes the slew of information is just too ridiculous:

Investigators halt research protocol because they can’t find a single North American male who hasn’t seen porn? Yeah, that’s believable.

Men get an average of 9 erections each night? Um, a tad freaky.

50% of men report having had sex in the workplace? …What?!? I mentally picture every guy on my office floor, and divide them down the middle into “Ok, I can see it – I bet he totally would” and “OMG mental image overburden blagh! delete delete delete”. Frightening. (Interestingly enough, I should also note that the same survey reported only 10% of women admitted to using the workplace for anything more risqué than inter-office memos– indicating that either the women aren’t fessing up, or perhaps there is a five-takes-one 9-to5’ver who really gets around. Oh, and forget that nowhere near 50% of men work with their significant others or spouses. Yikes.)

Knowledge may be a lot of things, but it is *not* the key to happiness. That’s right, I’ll say it — sometimes I just don’t want to know. Especially if something is out of my practical or reasonable ability to control, mere information isn’t helpful. I’m not a fan of total obliviousness in most situations, but c’mon. Some things are just TMI. And the male mind… just may be one of those things.

So -
Ladies, do you feel like sometimes less is more between the genders? Gents, do you think we should stop asking so many questions and let y’all keep some mystery? Or are we better off with it all out in the open?

Radio silence? His reason might be weirder than you think.

One of the more gratifying things about being in an long term relationship is that (at least briefly) you get to sit back and watch everyone else play the dating game. Even better, if you’ve been around so long that your boyfriend’s friends see you as just one of the fellas, you can learn a lot when the real “guy talk” begins.

In my last boyfriend’s male posse, there was one guy, “Sam,” who stood out for both his comments and his conquests: Tall, good-looking, athletic, and quiet minus occasional sarcastic interjections — he embodied that elusive combination of masculine detachment and humorous flirtatiousness that drives women to distraction. Unfortunately, he was also a big player. Like, a makes-you-question-their-entire-gender-as-guilty-by-association type player.

In the first year or so of dating my BF, Sam cycled through a ridiculous array of females without an ounce of hesitation or regret. Bartenders, random encounters, co-workers, cougars all came and went… each time he cast them off and moved on like most people shed dirty clothes at the end of the day.

There were a few instances when Sam would seem to like one girl more than the rest, and he’d say something along the lines of, “Yeh, she’s really cool, I really like her.” But, by the time we hung out again, if I asked about the “cool” girl he “really” liked, it always seemed to end the same way — inexorably he’d shrug,“Who? Oh, her? Yeh, turns out she’s crazy.” (Turns out that ‘crazy,’ by his definition, was when a girl he was sleeping with caught /got mad about him sleeping with someone else. Duly noted.)

Along with these urban dictionary style updates to my vocabulary, Sam also revealed some telling tidbits about the social anatomy of a player.

For example: One night out with the BF, roommate, and friends, Sam showed up with a girl he’d met in a bar just a few nights before. It was their “first date,” but something was off. He was completely inattentive to her, not saying a word and completely absent the game he usually exuded with new prospects. Although his approach to women was ~subdued, their interaction was icy to the point of uncomfortable. When Sam’s date went to the bathroom, I took the opportunity to ask him why he was being so weird towards her (and making things insufferably awkward for the rest of us in the process).

Maybe I’d hoped for some kind of romantic musing, “She makes me nervous” blah etc etc. But that wasn’t happening. His response was simple and straightforward, with no hesitation: “She wore a cross. On a first date.”

Ok, for the record, he meant that she wore a necklace with a cross on it. Not like a giant “Jesus Saves” ensemble or anything. It was a simple, fairly unobtrusive piece of jewelry that most people probably wouldn’t have noticed.

So — Was religion a dealbreaker with this guy?

A question to which the answer would be… no. It’s not. At all. In fact, he probably wouldn’t have cared if she was ardent follower of Apollo the sun god, Buddha, or an Old Testament-style Mother Nature that demanded she only wear hemp and eat organic.

It wasn’t the cross, it was the connotation. In short, he explained that a “cross” on a girl wasn’t a religious symbol so much as a clear message — Basically: “I want you to think you’re not getting anywhere sexually with me quickly or easily.”

This was a little amusing, a little odd. Rather than argue the finer points of theology with Sam, at the time I just pointed out that people with the most conservative exterior, eg “good Catholic girls,” can have the most interesting closets (ie shocking wild sides). He wasn’t buying it, and regardless of what her choice of neck wear meant (if anything), he didn’t want to take the time and find out. In his mind she was going to be “high maintenance” one way or another. He also explained that he only brought her to meet up with us because he “wasn’t interested in sitting around talking to her” and “couldn’t figure out how to ditch her quickly.” Yikes.

Given that his intentions were fairly skeezy and his assumptions highly questionable, it was interesting to hear what was really going through this guys head. (Note to self: wear more crosses to scare off the creepers.)

The bad news, however, is that his date didn’t get the same courtesy/luxury of full disclosure. For the rest of the night, the cross-bearer kept asking me and my roommate questions: “Do you think Sam likes me? He’s being so much less friendly than he was the other night. Did he say anything to you?”

I felt cornered – it didn’t seem like a good idea to start a war with a BF’s close friend, or to tell a girl I’d just met something pretty cruel, that she may or may not believe/react well to. So, I tried to play it off. “Oh, he’s just quiet,” I said, “Pretty laid back guy.” Ugh .

In retrospect maybe should have taken one for the female team and told her the truth, but there isn’t really any non-awkward way to tell a stranger that they’re dating a shallow a-hole. Plus, it almost didn’t sound believable (“He thinks you purposefully wore that necklace to come off as a high-maintenance purity princess, and to tell him he’s not getting any. And, even though that might not be the case, he doesn’t think you’re worth the effort to find out otherwise.”)

As Sam continued to ignore his date for the rest of the night, the girl suctioned onto me and the other females in attendance. Maybe it was meant to show Sam what he was missing, or maybe it was just out of sheer discomfort, but she went out of her way to keep up appearances of a good time — fake-laughs, overly enthusiastic responses to standard questions (“what do you do for a living” rarely has people jumping up and down).

We watched the fake-fun charade with a mix of pity and annoyance, and at the end of the night when she asked for my number — so we could all ‘hang out again’ sometime — I prayed she wouldn’t use it to harass me with follow up questions about Sam. (She didn’t.)

Overall, I hope that most guys don’t have similarly low thresholds when it comes to first dates and unintended social cues. Then again, that might explain why so many females seem so confused – who would have guessed that sudden radio silence or a 180 cold shoulder could derive from an accessory?

Sadly, knowing my gender, I’d guess she went home with her self esteem in the toilet and spent the next few days re-hashing all the potential reasons he didn’t “like her” anymore.

Sigh. If only she knew.

“DNA-Based Dating” …and other pseudo-science you can totally ignore.

Our understanding of the human body and its biochemical inner-workings has grown by leaps and bounds in recent decades. As this knowledge progresses, so have attempts at its application to commercial products and consumer goods.

Sure, many developments marketed by their scientific ingenuity are for real, and responsible for improving the quality/convenience of everyday life– but an increasing number seem to be merely riding the coattails of progress, twisting facts to fit indications that are speculative at best.

Take, for example, the companies claiming to use some kind of “science” to tap into romantic compatibility, talking about everything from hocus-pocus gene typing to testosterone measurements and finger length. (Note this is NOT a reference to specific genetic tests, like those used for Huntington’s or within certain ethnic groups, like Ashkenazi Jews and Tay-Sachs – those are legitimate.) I mean companies who market the use of biological tests to determine some kind of broad, romantic notion of relationship potential: ScientificMatch.com, GenePartners (Genepartners.com), findyourfacemate.com… and anyone else who claims they can help you figure out your love life with their handy, couple-hundred-dollar-test.

With everything we understand about genetics, reproductive success, attraction, etc etc, right now even our most advanced knowledge isn’t much help for complex real world systems- especially in terms of undefined concepts like successful man/woman relating. Claims otherwise are (ballpark figure) 99% utter, total, and complete horsehockey.

What’s more, ironically the same things that many tests claim to measure are what we are hard-wired to do, and have been doing for thousands of years: Suss out the “best” mate in terms of fitness. In fact, the genetic compatibility tests that sell for hundreds or thousands of dollars are based on a 1995 research* project which showed that women are more attracted to more (theoretically) “ideal” genetic partners. By the definition used by GenePartners and ScientificMatch, and from what their research supposedly has shown…attraction and genetic compatibility are one and the same thing. Unless you need test results to tell you how attracted you are to someone, cut out the middle man: Think he/she’s irresistibly hot? Great. There’s your free genetic compatibility test.

Or, if you need more proof of your genetic destiny for coupledom, sniff the other person thoroughly. That scent appeal to you? There’s a good chance you’ve got ‘dissimilar’ MHC, which, in theory could produce more viable offspring through genetic diversity. (Ladies, please note this only applies when you’re off birth control, otherwise the sniff test might actually steer you opposite. Hormonal contraceptives mess with the natural systems…as well they’re intended to.)

Anyway, the point is that we simply don’t have any science worth trying to blow over who-knows-how-many-years of biological attraction wiring that allows us to quickly and “unexplainably” find a genetically compatible mate.

If there is any question about how often BS (Bad Science) gets by regulators, take a look at the Federal Trade Commission (FTC) newsroom or Consumer Reports Safety and Recalls section, and watch as the government plays whack-a-mole with questionable products appearing in industries across the board. You’ll probably recognize popular advertising campaigns that have been going on for years before they finally get pulled- Take Activia commercials, for example, which for the longest time aired looking something like this:

First, target market-appropriate model appears rubbing stomach, appearing discontented. The shot moves to much illustrated digestive tract and ‘flowchart’ movement of dots and arrows, over which a voiceover cheerfully narrates about “irregularity.”

Then, cut to the good stuff: Yogurt in all its glory. The background narration continues, “…With the natural culture Bifidus Regularis, Activia eaten every day is clinically proven to help regulate your digestive system in two weeks.”**

Final scenes usually showed the spokesperson, obviously thrilled with his or her recently regulated bowels, with a superscript boldly appearing across the bottom of the screen: CLINICALLY PROVEN WITH BIFIDUS REGULARIS.

Well, turns out the FTC begged to differ on just how effective this fruit-flavored foodstuff would be for defeating IBS or other tummy troubles. After dealing with 39 states, a $21 million settlement paid by the company, and some harsh words on aiding and abetting BS, it appears to all be over. But, for anyone who bought the product or threw away their collection of adult diapers, this was years of marketing too late and a whole lot of Jamie Lee Curtis appearances too short.

Perhaps Activia could have re-thunk their use of terms like “regulate” to avoid stepping on government toes, or backed off of the bacteria talk. In the end, the only thing proven in this situation was that science-sounding terms will sell yogurt.

*MHC-Dependent Mate Preferences in Humans Claus Wedekind; Thomas Seebeck; Florence Bettens; Alexander J. Paepke

Proceedings: Biological Sciences, Vol. 260, No. 1359. (Jun. 22, 1995), pp. 245-249.

** Classic case of misleading language – apparently “that eating three servings a day is required to obtain the benefit” Tricky bastards.

The Ugly Duckling Complex

“Give a woman a compliment she’ll remember it for a minute, insult her and she’ll carry it for a lifetime” – (Or something like that)

A recent post on You Monsters are People, “Born Beautiful: Advantages of Pulchritude,” had some brilliant insight: Thinking you’re unattractive can do more damage to your social life than actually BEING unattractive. It’s true. I really think it can. But his musings — the author is a “he” — took me back in time to memory lane, and my own experiences with ‘attractiveness’ (or, lack thereof) and how it has changed me. For women, life is a little different when it comes to appearances. Given that more than one person has remarked that I have what is called the “ugly duckling” complex (still not sure whether that’s a compliment or an insult), I’m pretty convinced that women can’t just overcome being sub-par in the looks department — mostly because the rest of the world won’t let you. Feel free to disagree, but that’s just what I’ve seen.

A little background:

Up until about the 5th grade, I was just an average looking kid with an average looking face. Slightly on the skinny side, always sporting a messy ponytail of straight blonde hair, I never really received any comments on my looks, positive or negative. At that age, we were just a group of M/F androgynous bodies and the difference between being a guy or a girl didn’t seem all that important.

Enter: Puberty. Acne, bad hair (bangs – I want to go back and kick whatever “stylist” thought it was a good idea), and an awkward period of growth where suddenly many of my features became noticeably out of proportion. Really, I was Awkward. Capital A.

This wretched combination would have been sufficiently problematic, but what really iced the cake in these “off” years was probably my choice of social company. My best friend and constant companion, “Catherine,” was legendarily good looking — quite literally a beauty-pageant winning, Hawaiian tropic model. I kid you not. Not only was her face the perfect combination of delicate and striking (think Cindy Crawford), but at 13/14, she had the body of someone much older. At one point, she was hired to be part of a Pageantry Prom compilation…about 4 years before she’d be “of age” to actually attend prom.

Anyway, trying to keep up with her in the looks department only made things worse — While she’d had years of practice mastering the art of makeup and personal grooming, my youth was spent as a Tom Boy, climbing trees and running wild in tie-dye shirts and peace sign necklaces. I was a journal-writing, socially unaware introvert… Trying to become a boy-crazy, makeup wearing mall dweller who read Teen Bop/Tiger Beat (ok that last one was a joke, but you get what I mean).

“Catherine” tried to impart some tips on her less fortunate best friend, and taught me things like how to curl your eyelashes and go from dishwater blonde to a shimmering shade of Golden Wheat. Sadly, genetics were far more relevant in the end, and all the effort to keep up with her just made my awkward stage that much more obvious. It also made me an easy target for equally insecure middle school peers. Among other names I don’t care to repeat, pretty sure they called our duo “Beauty and the Beast”. Ouch. Kids are cruel. And middle schoolers are often the embodiment of evil.

Internally, I tried to console myself on the ways I excelled outside of looks department: straight A’s, athletic, a large group of friends I’d had since childhood. Catherine didn’t play any sports, scraped by with C’s and special tutors, and was generally disliked or ignored by other girls (likely out of jealousy). In the surging sea of adolescent hormones, however, she was rolling in the male attention, and I was always in the shallow end. Sure, sometimes I’d win ‘em over with my humor and wit, but the minute Catherine turned her big brown eyes in a boys direction, whatever middle school love affair we had going became immediately DOA. I had lots of male “friends,”but she was inevitably the one they wanted to date (whatever “dating” was back then, having your parents drop you off at the movies or if you were really cool, an older sibling). Basically, she was the one they always wanted to claim. I was at best a second choice, if a choice at all, when Catherine had another boyfriend or broke someone’s heart. (Glad back then I’d never heard the phrase diving on the friend grenade.)

Then… Another magic transformation.

The summer between 8th and 9th grade, I started hanging out with a few girls on my soccer team who went to another school. We spent the summer at the pool, rollerblading, goofing off, and generally doing all the things that kids do when they aren’t in class (funny I say “kids” now, considering how grown up we thought we were at the time). I was away from the usual crowd, and went nearly 3 months without contact … or getting mocked.

When summer ended I dreaded going back, but the first day of high school classes, right away I noticed something was different. The same guys who teased me mercilessly in middle school were no longer guffawing behind my back. They shied away, giving timid glances in the hall and acting very much the way the would around Catherine (punching each other and acting all nervous and sketchy). At first I thought this was because my older brother was a popular senior, a BMOC “commanding officer” of the upperclassman guys, all of whom would’ve been more than happy to put some freshman in a trash can. Or, a high school giant at 6’4″, my brother would’ve probably just done it himself.

I was slightly perplexed by the whole thing until later that week, a female friend plopped down next to me at lunch and said something that I had been beaten down past even DREAMING of hearing: “Jason, Kent and them can’t stop talking about how hot you are now.”

Ok. In previous experiences, every time someone was talking about me it was always something awful or just downright cruel. I looked at this friend carefully – Was she kidding? The rest of her spiel was a blur, my mind still reeling from just that first sentence, but I do remember the one other phrase she kept repeating: “They’re intimidated” — Likely her words rather than theirs (what 9th grade guy has the vocabulary or emotional awareness to recognize their own intimidation? most adults can’t even muster that one up)– By how “hot” I was.

WHAT?!? Rather than happy, the whole thing just made me uncomfortable. Internally I was the same person I’d always been, maybe even slightly less outgoing and more damaged after all the years of teasing. Indeed, some things had changed – the braces came off, the bangs grew out to a tuckable length, the botched bottle blonde was corrected by a professional (going into high school my mom finally agreed to let me get “highlights”), and the gangly limbs toned and bronzed by summer activities, so that I no longer looked like awkward boobs on a stick (although oddly enough, now I’ve seen a number of adult women attempting to revert to that exact look).

The popular guys and their 180 reaction towards me should have been a glorious victory, but even today, is not one I could fully embrace. Despite the flirting and the totally world-rocking reversal in the nature of rumors I was hearing about myself, with the boys from my school, I could only remember their meanness. Even years later, I felt my position was precarious, that someday they would wake up and see me again in the old light…That I would hit a reverse transformation and lapse right back into heinously ugly. So, both out of my own insecurity and admittedly a slight bit out of vengeful anger, I never dated anyone in my class.

Anyway, those years were a complete education on the fact that looks don’t just matter, they overrule. Sadly, while my grades in Middle School made me a nerd, as a “hot” chick in high school they were actually considered a boon – pretty AND smart. Wham. While I’d like to blame this on the immature world views of adolescence, it was actually a microcosm of how things operate in the real world. If you’re gorgeous and successful, more power to you. Just successful? Eh…

I’m a big fan/proponent of moving past whatever adolescent trauma may have occurred at the hands of family or peers, but some things, intentionally or no, are harbored long into adulthood. These things rear their ugly head (ha!) when it’s least expected, convenient, or even apparent to the individual. We see others so much clearer than we see ourselves. Sigh.

After the key developmental years I spent years giving counsel to boys who wanted Catherine’s attention – many times secretly pining for them myself – I don’t need a PhD Psychologist to tell me it *may* have impacted future relations with the opposite sex. Sometimes called the “ugly duckling effect,” this period of social exile is often cited as why some girls won’t ever see themselves as attractive. It can also mean they care about other things — I’d guess because they forcibly had to develop personal attributes for social survival, and had to prove their worth other ways because they couldn’t always get by on looks. Much like the ‘fat guy’ stereotype of being funny– They’ve been developing tactics to deflect negative attention for years.

Arguable remnants of my early life and knowing what it’s like on the other end, (ie the brutal teasing at the hands of my peers), I’ve always been more attracted to a career and self sufficiency rather than just attracted to finding a man. A career is the ONE place where you can be judged on skills and talent (and no, not the kind of “talent” guys use as a code for hot chicks in bars). Sexual harassment laws have at least been an attempted equalizer so we can all technically only be judged as people, not our clothing covered underparts. Well, in theory anyway.

Along with self-armoring, middle school experiences taught me early on about one of life’s brutal truths: As a female, aesthetics and attractiveness will be crucial to anything you do (to a lot of the world, anyway). Without it, you might find yourself struggling for acceptance and hoping your accomplishments will fill in the gaps of physical deficiencies. While it may get less pronounced as women get older, in your 20’s, 30’s, and possibly beyond, it seems like any given set of superb attributes – knowledge of 5 languages, high paying job, ability to whip up delicious French cuisine, whatever – can only serve to enhance interpersonal appeal IF the looks are there too.

Maybe not the right lesson to take away from all this, but as I see it, for women…
Physical beauty can compensate for a lot, but not much can do the opposite – Compensate for its absence.