The Evolutionary Break Between Man and Bro
Am I supposed to write things at the top or the bottom? It seems like it would make more sense to let people read the whole thing first to get some context, but what do I know? Anyway, through many empirical experiments of my own, I have discovered that this is the wrong way to handle a bro. All these ladies talking about their horrid “it’s complicateds” are good writers, but y’all need to take some responsibility for your own relashes. If a “bro” acts in a manner you find as abhorrent as Natasha here seems to have found this one’s shenanigans, the correct answer is not “oh, no problem” (bolded at the bottom). Maybe Natasha fled the ‘sitch right after, in which case, kudos to her. Sometimes there really is no way of knowing a dude is going to diss you until he already has.
It seems disingenuous to me, though, to habitually put up with this kind of treatment and then complain about it, unless of course, you like having something to complain about, in which case you should take up a healthier hobby, like shark hunting or heroin. I’m not saying it’s not shitty when guys behave this way, but you do have the ultimate power to walk. I’d rather not date anyone at all than have a man who makes me wanna kill (note: this does not mean you can’t fuck anyone; it’s that nebulous in-between thing that trips most ladies up). In the immortal words of Katt Williams:
If you 25 years old and you still walkin around talkin bout “niggas ain’t shit”…you need to figure out what it is about yo pussy that keep attractin ain’t shit niggas.
A man-friend who reads this tumblr was like, “I’m not sure where you draw the line between man and bro.”
I spent the past week pondering that question. Here’s a passage that has put a lot of it into perspective:“I know way more women than girls. There’s a whole generation of us who rode on the wings of feminism’s entitlement like it was a Pegasus with cornrows, knowing how smart we were and how we could be anything. The problem is that we ended up at the mercy of a generation of guys who don’t quite seem to know what’s expected of them, whether it’s a earning a double income or texting a someone after she blows you.”
I would say that one of the traits that divides men from bros, is a sense of decency. I don’t mean politeness per se, like NOT trying to stick a finger in your butt on the first hook up (DON’T DO THAT) but rather, the power of facing difficult situations like an adult. Sexual and romantic entanglements are hard on everybody, every one knows the risk of rejection and folly runs high. I think what defines a bro is a retreat from dealing with these complex situations. Scuttling into their emo caves, their Lil Wayne mp3s, or some confused sense of stoicism as masculinity when it’s actually juvenile response for shirking adulthood. Children, developmentally, have an underdeveloped sense of empathy. Adults, unless you like to skin women and make fat suits out them, do not. They have the ability to empathize. What’s worse is when a bro recognizes he’s done wrong and tosses just the right amount of bullshit to put you at ease.
Let me kick some shit about this bro I used to know. This bro did something stupid. He said he was going to meet me at a party where I didn’t really know any one and I asked him to escort me, like be by my side because I had only been in _____ for a few weeks. Bro shows up like 45 mins late, I am in heels by the bar looking at strangers. I see him enter. He sees me. But then spends twenty minutes shmoozing with 2.0 douches before making his way over to me, saying “OMG, I’m sooo sorry I’m late, I should buy you flowers or something.”
Do you see the lack of decency in all of this? I don’t like telling people I’m not into them, I don’t like synthesizing their desires and needs into mine, it does not come naturally but I think people deserve me to take that sort of thing seriously. That’s what makes me a woman not a girl. Keep your finger out of my butt and never say you’re going to buy me flowers to make up for you being a child.
CODA: I said, “Oh, no problem” because who wants to be the pouty date? And I never got any flowers.