Why I Love Bad Boys

What is the thing with bad boys? I mean, aside from the obvious things like the edginess, the raw energy, the angsty, broody, Johnny Depp-like pouts, the ‘I don’t give a shit’ attitudes and of course, the leather. But really, what is it with women and for that matter, even men and bad boys?

For as long as I can recall, I have always chosen the stupidest, douchiest, most arrogant, overconfident morons to be the loves of my life and I've openly ranted about this on my blog in the past. Aside from my first ever major crush (who was an innocent, blue-eyed, blond-haired Nick Carter clone, who was secretly one of the sweetest and smartest guys I’ve ever met, but vandalised by the company he kept and eventually fell permanently into). As such, my trend for the challengingly infuriating men thus begun from 6th grade and little do I know, this wild streak may never end.

Recently a friend of mine went through a break-up. Well, sort-of. He was 'seeing someone' for a period of time, that period of time being until that person no longer wanted to be seen. After having a frank conversation asking about space, room to grow, sorting issues, blah, blah, the person decided that they wanted to cut-off the relationship and end things because they didn't want to lead my friend on. That is after 2 months of sleeping with them. That's not any kind of leading at all, nope. Now my poor, broken-hearted friend is stuck trying to piece together a shattered vision of a future he saw with someone who thought he was more disposable than a red solo cup at a Frat party.

For the last 2 years of my life, I'd been up in arms falling head over heels for not even Mr. Wrong, but Mr. so-So-SO-SO!-WRONG. The embodiement of all things arrogant, self-consumed and sometimes downright intolerable, he was and can continue to be an insufferable human being that makes my blood curdle every time he’s in my presence. Any woman with half a brain and a morsel of self-respect and self-assurance runs from him with their eyes closed. Naturally, my instinctive reaction had been to turn the plugs off in my upper region where the ol’ brainium sits and give my palpatating heart a free run like a fat kid in a candy shop. He is the epitome of frustration, oozing with overconfidence, wit, attitude and somehow, charm (it’s beyond me, just beyond me please). He’s one of those, ‘hate ’em, but ya love ’em’ types.

When I first met him two years ago innocently enough at a work event, I never knew he was going to have the impact he’s had. He didn’t really stand out from the crowd, wasn’t the hottest guy in the room (or even in like the square metre he was standing in) and frankly, seemed like someone I would find pretty damn annoying to converse with. With his smug smirk and bright eyes, I thought he was, let’s be a honest, a bit of a tool. The minute he opened his mouth however, he pretty much outsmarted, outwitted and out-sarcasted (it’s a word now, shut up) me in every way possible and for some self-torturing reason, I took this as a cue to worship my own stupidity. Of course, as in every classic bad boy love story, he had to turn out to be one smooth operator and inspite of my (quite poncey) ‘Hmms’ and ‘Mmms’, managed to sweep me off my feet in about 34 seconds of conversation. It was truly a nekk minnit moment (I hate to use this phrase, but it so eloquently explains my point?!)

As these two years have passed, I’ve not known him at all, then known him a little, then a lot, then not at all, then a little and now, too well. I’ve endured all the taunts of ‘He is SUCH A DOUCHE, like you need to get rid of him’ to ‘He’s like fugly, you could do better dating a fat guy with moobs’ (sorry fat guys with moobs, you’re beautiful too, someone will love you, just not me…) to ‘Pretty sure he doesn’t swing your direction’ which is just ridiculous and so not convincing because no one looks at women with such conviction if they secretly want men. I’ve sat through countless therapy sessions with myself and a tub of Ben & Jerry’s Cookie Dough, reasoning that he is so not worth it, hoping he falls off a (metaphorical) cliff, moves country, decides he wants to pursue a career in space and ends up in a ‘Gravity’-style space dilemma where I can never find him again, espcially because Sandra Bullock comes back alone in the end, so she had to have left him out there for sure. Sorry if I ruined the end there for you.

He’s the type that doesn’t reply to your texts if he doesn’t feel like it, ignores you for days then suddenly calls you with a random story about some moron you’ve never met and probably never will, but you laugh the loudest anyway because, for god’s sake, you’re staring at the phone yelling, What’s in a ring? That which the phone rings on any other day, it would sound as sweet. WHY WON’T YOU RING!? WHAT RING THROUGH YONDER WINDOW BREAK?’ making a hot mess out of Shakespeare’s beautiful prose at all kinds of weird times of the night. When you’re not with him, you live off nasty portion control meals and run like a deranged psycho killer all week, only to see him one day in every month and eat 9,000 calories worth of ice cream when he basically ignores you until his only comment of the night is, ‘You should start running’, when you talk about how into health and fitness you are.

Frankly, he's also the type of guy who walks in and out of your life at his will and now I know better than ever before than to let him into my head, much less my heart. And to my friend, I implore you do the same.

And don't think for a second I don't know how hard it is. The truth is, no matter how many people tell you to date the Moobs guy, or move on and find peace in knowing you ‘deserve better’, the heart wants what the heart can’t have. For a girl that’s always been on her toes, the center of attention and too mature for almost every guy she’s ever met, the witty, snappy, shut-you-up type is just the kind of fire we seek. The delusional imbalance and total lack of normalcy is the spark that lights this fire. But where there's fire, you will inevitably get burnt and even though that sounds awful and cheesy to say, I have to. In the end, bad boys that give us attention for more than ten minutes, validate us. There's something about their broken, wounded souls that lets us look away from our own insecurities for a moment and feel like someone whose attention we crave for so much could really, truly be giving it to us. But I of all people know, the highs may be so high, but trust me, the lows are far lower than any other low you've ever felt. And that's why bad boys just aren't worth it and you will NEVER prove your worth. Also how dumb is it to try and prove you're amazing to anyone? You freaking are and that's the end of the story.

It's okay to fall in love with the danger and crave someone who makes us feel burning passion and desire. But that shouldn't come at the expense of being respected and treated well. If someone is so bad that you can't stop crying and your heart hurts everytime you think of them, that's not desire, it's abuse and there's no love in that.

Love R xx

#boys #love #men