The Phidelts had Wing Night this past Sunday in Westdale.
After gorging on the delightful parts of some hapless, mass-produced chickens, me and the younger guys chill for about ten minutes before they head off to another pub.
During that time, two lovely young ladies emerge from the restaurant, walk past the bunch of us, and get into a car to light a cigarette. Long story short, one of our entourage - driven by courage, apathy, and a deeper fortitude located somewhere in his pants - walks over to the driver's side. I have no idea what he says - I'd later find out he opened with "I'd like to see some ID" - but the girls seem to enjoy it and the rest of us are quite entertained.
"I love the way he sauntered over there," I say aloud. "It's such a balls-out approach."
At that point, a brother - who I shall deem "The Moustache" until he gives me formal permission to reprint his name publicly - responds with a cool point.
"The trick is not giving a shit if people think you're a douchebag".
Think about it. How many "nice guys" worry about looking like anything but "nice guys" when it comes to impressing the ladies? That's why nice guys fail so frequently and so hard when they try to be less "nice" at bars and at parties: they're aware that they're putting on an act. They're too afraid of saying something wrong that will make them look like complete assholes to the women. Their fears become their focus, and thus become their experience. There's nothing as confidence sapping, as emasculating, as the feeling that you have to choose between being a dick and being the Pillsbury doughboy to succeed at dating, and life.
The trick is to lose yourself in the part. And also to eliminate the word "douchebag" from your self description. All you're doing is just walking your confidence.
Much like Jack the Clawless Tabby did in 2006.
Call it a biological Napoleon complex all you want, this cat is one mean pussy. Never once did it occur to him that the bear cub could easily take him out with the slightest of swipes, or that he was about five times smaller. The cat had his turf to protect. Jack the Clawless Tabby never dwelled on his shortcomings: instead, he pushed his natural strengths to the max and harnessed them behind a single goal: telling a wandering bear to get the fuck off his property.
Issues of confidence are rampant in my daily existence, mostly in the assertion department. Assertiveness remains a challenge for me, especially in the presence of stronger, go-getter personalities who are way more cock and balls than I'll ever be. They give me little room to maneuver: if you push, I'll either dig in my heels or I'll just walk away, start some lone wolf time.
Or, if you're really being direct, I'll push back a little more out of proportion to what's called for, but that's a last resort. I don't much care for pissing matches with people, but if you're on my territory - my home, my office, my arena - I will do what's necessary to protect my sovereignty.
And yet, in situations where I'm not forced to beat my chest, I'm damned good at the confidence game. I've landed a couple of jobs where I only barely met the requirements, based mostly on the interview. Aaron pointed this out a couple of times when I've had moments of doubt: he's one person who sees that strength, and he's one of the most confident guys I've ever met.
We have an archetype in Western culture of the disgruntled office clerk. That person who occupies a lower station in a greater organization who is so much more capable than what he's getting, if only he had the guts to just speak up for himself. Frequently, the place where he paralyzes himself is one concept, this all-too-familiar fear:
"I don't want to be an asshole."
Nor is it just guys. Alice remarked to me today, in a somewhat related discussion, her own qualms with self-assertion. After showing her the story on Jack the Orange Tabby, she said this:
I'm always afraid that I'll look like a bitch if I assert myself like that.
Back to the Moustache for a moment.
"You know," I say to him, back at the parking lot of the restaurant after Wing Night, "I've always struggled with issues of authenticity, especially when it comes to meeting girls, but you know..."
I steal another look over at Mr. Ballsy, chatting up the two girls.
"It's nothing new. I've summoned that kind of confidence at job interviews, why not here?"
The Moustache agrees. "Real douchebags don't care what people think. That confidence is attractive and they know it. You can be a good confident person without being a dick."
Plus, as much as pretty girls can't initially tell the difference between an asshole and a confident good guy at a bar, I'm willing to bet they enjoy the process of sorting them out.
Simple concept, right? And yet, so many people fret over it.
Losing yourself in the role doesn't mean putting on a show. It's the acquisition and continued accumulation of a genuine feeling, and then just running with it. It's like summoning a comic book superpower and then swaggering around.
Easiest way to summon this power? Do what Ben Affleck's character talks about in Boiler Room - which Michael is watching over at his place as I type this:
"Act as if".
Assume you're a superstar, then lose yourself in the part. I do this a lot lately as part of my visualization for acting. Since I started, not gonna lie, my swagger's gotten more attention from all the right places (and a few of the wrong ones).
As that superstar, walk up to someone today and strike up a conversation like it was nothing. Unless the other person has some malfunction in that moment, I promise it'll go smoothly.If anything, that other person should feel anxious talking to you. Be polite, kind, say whatever comes to mind, thank them, shake their hands if the chat was meaningful, then make your way out.
As you leave, notice that feeling - high, energized, certain - and carry it with you as long as it lasts.
And remember it the next time you see that cute girl you've been dying to talk to.
To the naturally confident, extroverted A-types, this seems so basic, but to guys like me, it's always a new revelation, like a monolith from 2001. Some people need to have this literally beaten into our skulls with a proto-human femur bone to make sure we never forget.
And yes, lately I've been following my own advice and doing this with women. More on that in a later entry. Back to the novel, in the meantime.
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