Goofy little star
Way back when I was a teenager, I came across an article, in 'Cosmo' of all places. I'm not sure why my mother had brought that particular magazine home; it wasn't generally something one found about the house. Being both curious and a voracious reader, I gave the magazine a good look-through. Mostly I was unimpressed, but this one article caught me. It caught me so hard that I read it over and over, typed it into my computer just so that I could share it if I wanted to, and have remained inspired by it to this day.
I honestly can't think of many other things that have remained inspirational to me like that, I've changed so much. It's pretty much Madeline L'Engle's best stuff, some of Heinlein's best stuff, and this one article.
I took from it some beautiful, essential, absolutely revolutionary ideas about love and about beauty. It helped me learn how to be more honestly and joyfully myself, and even now I find myself sometimes thinking back and reminding myself again of the things I learned from it, relearning them, sometimes deeper.
And all this despite the fact that the article was called, "How to Find a Man (I'm Serious)".
No, really. That's what it's called. Yeah, I almost didn't get past the title, either.
I was thinking about the article recently, and using my mad google skillz I finally managed to find the text of what I'd thought lost so long ago.
I don't know if it will do anything for you personally, but since it's given me so much, all things considered it seemed like a good thing to share just in case. :)
How to Find a Man (I'm Serious), by Cynthia Heimel
This is what men want.
Men want women to be feminine.
Men want a gourmet cook. Men want a woman who can serve a four-course meal at a moment’s notice.
Men want a woman with a sense of humor.
Men don’t like a hard, competitive, tough woman. She makes men feel threatened. If they feel threatened in one regard, they feel threatened in all regards. This way lies impotence.
Men don’t want a doormat. If they can walk all over you, they won’t respect you. If you want a man to marry you, be a demanding bitch.
Men want a certain air of mystery. Don’t tell him where you’re going, what you’re doing. Smile enigmatically. Keep secrets. Have flowers with suggestive notes attached delivered to yourself and blush with confusion when he notices them.
Men want an athletic woman, an outdoorsy woman, a woman who is in fine, muscular shape. A woman with a decent tennis serve.
Men want women who will share their interests and hobbies.
Men want a good pair of legs.
Men want a virgin in the living room and a whore in the bedroom.
Men want well-groomed women with clean, shapely fingernails and a dainty scent.
Men want women to wear high heels so that their butts project outwards.
A man wants a woman who will understand him. A woman who knows why he gets melancholy on Sunday afternoons.
A man wants a woman with a small, trim waist.
A man wants a helpmeet.
A man will want you much more when he thinks he can’t have you. The way to get a man is to come on strong and then run away.
A man wants a woman he can show off to his friends.
A man wants a woman who can hold her liquor.
“How dare you decide what men want? As if all men were the same. Don’t you realize how demeaning that is?” says this man in bed beside me.
“I know, don’t you think I know? I’m just trying to whip the reader into a frenzy of rebellion! I’m bludgeoning her with the conventional wisdom! I don’t mean a word of it okay?”.
The thing is, dear readers, when we get lonely and scared, we believe things.
Say it’s raining outside, you’re coming home from your boring office-temp job, you throw open the door to your apartment and collapse into a frenzy of tears.
You just can’t bear the idea of spending one more hideous evening on your sofa, staring at the same old knickknacks, misting your goddamn philodendron, popping another stupid TV dinner in your microwave, and sniffling over another sad movie. You need a life. You need a man. Or you’ll go crazy.
You call your Aunt Susan. She tells you to buy a garter belt and seamed stockings and wear red lipstick. You read a magazine which tells you to match your body language to his, and to use positive imaging. You practice picturing every aspect of the man of your dreams so that he will ring your doorbell, preferably within 10 minutes.
You read a self-help book which gives you a 15-step program at the end of which you’re supposed to realize that wanting a man is just an addiction and a stupid addiction at that.
Your head swims with man-getting information. Your brain is so jangled with advice and instruction that you get dizzy and have to put your head between your legs.
What to do?
Okay, pay attention now: I have the ultimate man-getting advice. You don’t have to listen to anybody else. Just listen to me. Okay, here’s what you do:
Nothing.
If he’s the wrong man, you can turn yourself inside out with wiles and perfume and French-maid’s outfits and nothing will work. You’ll never get him, you’ll never keep him. You don’t have a chance.
If he’s the right man, you can have greasy hair, spinach between your teeth, and your skirt on inside out, and he’ll still be entranced and follow you to the ends of the earth.
You don’t have to believe me, but what I say is absolutely true. You just have to follow your own personal, weird, goofy little star and some guy is going to come along and die for you.
Let me tell you about Nora, who was heartbroken. She hadn’t had a real boyfriend about ten years, and the man she had been dating and crazy about had just vanished. She was depressed, discouraged, devastated. She couldn’t understand why men never noticed her.
“Maybe it’s the way you dress”, I said.
“What’s wrong with the way I dress?”, she asked.
“Well, like right now you look like you’re wearing a series of lampshades. Is there a body under there?”
“This is the way we dress in Kansas”
“We’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto. Buy a miniskirt. Show some cleavage. Men like that.”
Stubborn girl wouldn’t listen. Soon she didn’t have to. Mr. Perfect reappeared. “I miss you”, he told her. “I miss those ragbag outfit of yours”. That was a year ago. They are now discussing marriage.
Everybody’s different. Some men (okay, only a few) hate garter belts. Some hate all makeup and adore enormous, clunky shoes. Some men wouldn’t even look at Michelle Pfieffer if she appeared at their door in a negligee and begged for it. Men, yes even men, are human. And you can’t second-guess a human being. Try and make a science of romance one minute, the next minute you’re checking into a loony bin.
That man over there on my bed? I used to doll myself up. One Tuesday morning I went to the post office in ratty sweats, zero makeup, and my hair a frazzle. There he was.
“Don’t look at me!” I shrieked, hiding behind the wanted posters.
He looked at me. “You look adorable,” he said, and kissed me. I could tell that he mean it.
Okay, the second part of my advice is just as simple but infinitely harder:
To get a man, you have to be ready for a man.
Taking a man into your life is an enormous risk. Can you open your heart to a man, can you be trusting and vulnerable knowing that you’re also opening yourself up to the possibility of rejection and heartbreak? Can you let another person inside your defenses, let him know who you really are and what you’re really like, knowing that he might someday leave you? Can you bear it?
No, neither can I. But I’m trying. It’s quite a trick to build up your defenses against heartbreak and yet not be defensive against men. And the trick is to develop self-confidence. Which is quite a trick, especially when you’re feeling needy and desperate.
But be brave. Have a good look at yourself. Are you torturing yourself for your singleness? Punishing yourself for your alleged failure? Eating hundreds of thousands of M&Ms to atone for your neediness and desperation?
Our society has made a practice of punishing its victims; we are being flayed alive for feeling weak and dependent and in need of love. Society has taught us to hate ourselves.
Society sucks. Pay it no mind. Of course you feel lonely and desperate and want love! You’re human! Wanting love is an honorable wish!
When you stop practicing self-hatred, when you start feeling affection for yourself and your little ways, when you are able to follow that weird and goofy little star of yours, then your fears and defenses fall from you like a thistledown. Then you’re ready for a man.
If you're lucky, he'll be ready for you, too.
I love you.
Lady Serafina
I honestly can't think of many other things that have remained inspirational to me like that, I've changed so much. It's pretty much Madeline L'Engle's best stuff, some of Heinlein's best stuff, and this one article.
I took from it some beautiful, essential, absolutely revolutionary ideas about love and about beauty. It helped me learn how to be more honestly and joyfully myself, and even now I find myself sometimes thinking back and reminding myself again of the things I learned from it, relearning them, sometimes deeper.
And all this despite the fact that the article was called, "How to Find a Man (I'm Serious)".
No, really. That's what it's called. Yeah, I almost didn't get past the title, either.
I was thinking about the article recently, and using my mad google skillz I finally managed to find the text of what I'd thought lost so long ago.
I don't know if it will do anything for you personally, but since it's given me so much, all things considered it seemed like a good thing to share just in case. :)
How to Find a Man (I'm Serious), by Cynthia Heimel
This is what men want.
Men want women to be feminine.
Men want a gourmet cook. Men want a woman who can serve a four-course meal at a moment’s notice.
Men want a woman with a sense of humor.
Men don’t like a hard, competitive, tough woman. She makes men feel threatened. If they feel threatened in one regard, they feel threatened in all regards. This way lies impotence.
Men don’t want a doormat. If they can walk all over you, they won’t respect you. If you want a man to marry you, be a demanding bitch.
Men want a certain air of mystery. Don’t tell him where you’re going, what you’re doing. Smile enigmatically. Keep secrets. Have flowers with suggestive notes attached delivered to yourself and blush with confusion when he notices them.
Men want an athletic woman, an outdoorsy woman, a woman who is in fine, muscular shape. A woman with a decent tennis serve.
Men want women who will share their interests and hobbies.
Men want a good pair of legs.
Men want a virgin in the living room and a whore in the bedroom.
Men want well-groomed women with clean, shapely fingernails and a dainty scent.
Men want women to wear high heels so that their butts project outwards.
A man wants a woman who will understand him. A woman who knows why he gets melancholy on Sunday afternoons.
A man wants a woman with a small, trim waist.
A man wants a helpmeet.
A man will want you much more when he thinks he can’t have you. The way to get a man is to come on strong and then run away.
A man wants a woman he can show off to his friends.
A man wants a woman who can hold her liquor.
“How dare you decide what men want? As if all men were the same. Don’t you realize how demeaning that is?” says this man in bed beside me.
“I know, don’t you think I know? I’m just trying to whip the reader into a frenzy of rebellion! I’m bludgeoning her with the conventional wisdom! I don’t mean a word of it okay?”.
The thing is, dear readers, when we get lonely and scared, we believe things.
Say it’s raining outside, you’re coming home from your boring office-temp job, you throw open the door to your apartment and collapse into a frenzy of tears.
You just can’t bear the idea of spending one more hideous evening on your sofa, staring at the same old knickknacks, misting your goddamn philodendron, popping another stupid TV dinner in your microwave, and sniffling over another sad movie. You need a life. You need a man. Or you’ll go crazy.
You call your Aunt Susan. She tells you to buy a garter belt and seamed stockings and wear red lipstick. You read a magazine which tells you to match your body language to his, and to use positive imaging. You practice picturing every aspect of the man of your dreams so that he will ring your doorbell, preferably within 10 minutes.
You read a self-help book which gives you a 15-step program at the end of which you’re supposed to realize that wanting a man is just an addiction and a stupid addiction at that.
Your head swims with man-getting information. Your brain is so jangled with advice and instruction that you get dizzy and have to put your head between your legs.
What to do?
Okay, pay attention now: I have the ultimate man-getting advice. You don’t have to listen to anybody else. Just listen to me. Okay, here’s what you do:
Nothing.
If he’s the wrong man, you can turn yourself inside out with wiles and perfume and French-maid’s outfits and nothing will work. You’ll never get him, you’ll never keep him. You don’t have a chance.
If he’s the right man, you can have greasy hair, spinach between your teeth, and your skirt on inside out, and he’ll still be entranced and follow you to the ends of the earth.
You don’t have to believe me, but what I say is absolutely true. You just have to follow your own personal, weird, goofy little star and some guy is going to come along and die for you.
Let me tell you about Nora, who was heartbroken. She hadn’t had a real boyfriend about ten years, and the man she had been dating and crazy about had just vanished. She was depressed, discouraged, devastated. She couldn’t understand why men never noticed her.
“Maybe it’s the way you dress”, I said.
“What’s wrong with the way I dress?”, she asked.
“Well, like right now you look like you’re wearing a series of lampshades. Is there a body under there?”
“This is the way we dress in Kansas”
“We’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto. Buy a miniskirt. Show some cleavage. Men like that.”
Stubborn girl wouldn’t listen. Soon she didn’t have to. Mr. Perfect reappeared. “I miss you”, he told her. “I miss those ragbag outfit of yours”. That was a year ago. They are now discussing marriage.
Everybody’s different. Some men (okay, only a few) hate garter belts. Some hate all makeup and adore enormous, clunky shoes. Some men wouldn’t even look at Michelle Pfieffer if she appeared at their door in a negligee and begged for it. Men, yes even men, are human. And you can’t second-guess a human being. Try and make a science of romance one minute, the next minute you’re checking into a loony bin.
That man over there on my bed? I used to doll myself up. One Tuesday morning I went to the post office in ratty sweats, zero makeup, and my hair a frazzle. There he was.
“Don’t look at me!” I shrieked, hiding behind the wanted posters.
He looked at me. “You look adorable,” he said, and kissed me. I could tell that he mean it.
Okay, the second part of my advice is just as simple but infinitely harder:
To get a man, you have to be ready for a man.
Taking a man into your life is an enormous risk. Can you open your heart to a man, can you be trusting and vulnerable knowing that you’re also opening yourself up to the possibility of rejection and heartbreak? Can you let another person inside your defenses, let him know who you really are and what you’re really like, knowing that he might someday leave you? Can you bear it?
No, neither can I. But I’m trying. It’s quite a trick to build up your defenses against heartbreak and yet not be defensive against men. And the trick is to develop self-confidence. Which is quite a trick, especially when you’re feeling needy and desperate.
But be brave. Have a good look at yourself. Are you torturing yourself for your singleness? Punishing yourself for your alleged failure? Eating hundreds of thousands of M&Ms to atone for your neediness and desperation?
Our society has made a practice of punishing its victims; we are being flayed alive for feeling weak and dependent and in need of love. Society has taught us to hate ourselves.
Society sucks. Pay it no mind. Of course you feel lonely and desperate and want love! You’re human! Wanting love is an honorable wish!
When you stop practicing self-hatred, when you start feeling affection for yourself and your little ways, when you are able to follow that weird and goofy little star of yours, then your fears and defenses fall from you like a thistledown. Then you’re ready for a man.
If you're lucky, he'll be ready for you, too.
I love you.
Lady Serafina