I used to love men. Men used to love me. What the hell happened?
This isn’t about women of a certain age facing unrealistic youth and beauty standards or men their own age dating women twenty years younger. That is a whole other kettle of fish. This is about moral character.
First of all, to all the good men out there, sorry. Sorry there are idioms like, “Nice guys finish last.” Or that sports prowess is more rewarded than academics in high school and edge considered more attractive than honor. You may feel judged by the car you drive or income after dubious deductions. Or perhaps your figure is less than Greek and your mouth a little weak? (cue Chet Baker.) I’m sorry that your date’s friends ask if you were hot instead of if you were emotionally intelligent. That when someone says good boy we assume they are talking to their Schnauzer who leaves the goose poop when called.
Right now, there is a tsunami of misogyny and corruption and men behaving badly that is overwhelming. And, unfortunately, it is being rewarded. This sends a terrible signal to men and women and gives rise to endemic manosphere podcasts and Mar-a-Lago face.
I was lucky I grew up with a father who served in WWII and knew the strength and sacrifice it took to fight against autocracy for democracy and decency. He also called himself a “three handkerchief man,” proudly owning his sensitivity to the human condition. How he conducted himself as an honest, caring, and moral man was the secret to his success both professionally and personally. I wish we saw this more in contemporary role models for boys and men, and yes, as a way to attract women.
I have had some amazing men in my life and some truly destructive ones. Interestingly, the depth of the connection did not correlate to the length of the relationship. For the men who touched my body and my soul and remain embedded in my memory, whether it was pedaling a bike with me in the seat in the snow in Aspen or cuddling on a couch listening to the soundtrack from Jonathan Livingston Seagull or “tending to my roses” on my back deck, or hanging a banner outside my house saying “Go Lady H” for my film premier or giving me a bullet to put in my bra for protection or writing poetry on my mirror in lipstick in French, or leaving me a beautiful cardinal at my door (okay, that one was a cat), I thank you.
I remember a guy I dated only once a long time ago seeing me at the vet in a bloody shirt with my injured Bichon Frise and immediately giving me his. And a gentleman who had my favorite song playing on the piano when I arrived at Café L’Europe. And the younger summer love who happily agreed to be my guinea pig on a survey of female-friendly condoms. A man I met in Rome who continued a correspondence to let me know he still prayed for me daily.
These men exuded confidence but not arrogance. They valued manners and chivalry. They made me feel not only seen but safe. They knew how to handle their anger and their ego… and mine. They had curiosity and listened and were present.
In this day and age, you don’t have to be married or cohabitate or even have to stay the whole night for a one-night stand. But how you approach each romantic interaction should not be as disposable as a paper straw. We need good boys and we need good men. We need them as our classmates and our colleagues and our partners and our leaders. Because I really, really do want to love men again.
And as for do men want to love me again? Well then back to that kettle of fish.
