Or hamster heaven: you decide.
I stumbled on a post by Tessah Shoenrock from 2011 that answered the question that plagued the minds of all Americans every night. No, not why on Earth we still had a recession and nobody seemed measurably better off from 3 years of so-called stimulation. She answered what it’s like to be a pretty girl.
Judge ye for yeselves
She has a couple dozen pics up here. I personally don’t think she’s anything special. I’d call her a 7 if these photos are trustworthy, especially considering all of these photos are professionally done and therefore primped and edited to flatter and improve.
Let’s take a read at what Ms. Shoenrock has to say.
Being pretty has some major benefits. I’ve definitely passed a few classes I shouldn’t have by batting my big brown eyes and crying crocodile tears. I used to be a hit at the bars (back when I still went to bars) because I could get free drinks just by asking for them, and I’ve avoided arrest a few times when I probably shouldn’t have. If you’re funny and smart, people tend to think you are a legitimate genius – probably because people never have expectations for pretty people anyway – except to stay pretty.
True on all points discussing pretty girls. Society has an exceptionally low bar for them due to their natural aptitude at attracting mates through positive features which ensure children will survive birth and weaning. Anything else is just icing on the cake.
It ain’t always easy, though. People expect you to be an idiot, and when it turns out you have brains too, they tend to get freaked out. Prepare to get passed over for jobs with female hiring managers, and prepare for a string of jobs working for pervy male managers who gave you the job because they could see down your dress during the interview. Move to a bad neighborhood, and you better get a bodyguard or a boyfriend because the prison bodies down the street WILL say something inappropriate to you every chance they get. Something like, “Hey girl, you look like you taste sweet!” or “Dang, mama – lemme take a bite outta THAT!” “Can I be your sugar daddy?” or even just bark at you like a dog as they drive by (yes, all of these things really happen, sometimes even when I’ve got my glasses on).
And here the rationalization kicks in. She didn’t get the job because she was pretty and her intelligence threatened her ugly female employer. Even if studies have found this claim completely mercury-is-good-for-you-level wrong.
Also, men only hire her because they want to go hard in her love garden. No, really….why are you laughing? She’s just that gorgeous. Men hire her underqualified keister so they can stare at it. Women don’t hire her overqualified ass so they don’t have to compete with it. What’s that? She’s copping to being underqualified and qualified at the same time? Well the important fact is that she’s pretty and that’s been the biggest factor in her search for employment. Trust her.
As for needing a bodyguard for “inappropriate” comments, methinks this woman doesn’t understand what purpose bodyguards serve. They intervene between a charge and bodily harm. Cat-calling doesn’t constitute bodily harm in any way unless one happens to be one of the poor elevator-riding feminists who go into convulsions when a member of the opposite sex says hello and asks to get coffee.
I guess the real problem rests in the fact that these guys, instead of putting in years of beta supplication, take the direct route to propositioning for sex.
Nice guys will never, ever hit on you (presumably because they’re intimidated), but you will have more undateables flirting with you than you even thought existed. The #1 attempted pickup line will be, “Hey, are you a model?” which will embarrass you because A) obviously you’re not a model, and B) what are you supposed to say? “No, I’m not a model, I’m just NATURALLY GORGEOUS. SOAK IT UP.”
How did I guess that one? She wants a beta harem. I’m glad that she at least has the balls to draw the direct association between “nice guys” and “undateables” by using the terms interchangeably. Pay attention, gentleman. This is what happens when the newspeak translator lodged in modern enlightened women goes offline.
You will get so used to creepers creepin’ that it won’t faze you when the gas station attendant tells you he won’t accept your money because his payment is watching you suck on one of the Blow Pops you like to buy before work. And once you get to work, you will be forced to play nice when men try to hold your hand over the counter and give you “business cards” that are very clearly just a phone number written on the back of a Rite-Aid receipt.
She hates cads. She really hates them. She hates when they play that evil twisted “game” with her by making her do things like give her hand and giving her what is obviously not a business card while pretending it is. She hates them so much that she calls them and tells them. It always just magically comes out, “when can I see you again?” Of course they get the voicemail because only a chump takes the first call off a girl, especially one who goes head-over-heels for the fake business card bit.
On the flip side, you’ll get so used to this kind of attention that you’ll feel a misplaced sense of disappointment when you fail to attract catcalls from construction workers and garden-variety weirdos. You will also inevitably start to lean on your good looks in sticky situations, which will make you wholly unprepared to deal with the occasional hardass that doesn’t fall for pseudo-meaningful eye contact and flirty smiles. You are aware of this tendency, which gives you increasing levels of anxiety as you grow older and too broke to afford expensive skin-tightening cream from Sephora. You will, at least once, have a minor meltdown over morning pillow face, hyperventilating in the mirror over the overnight appearance of fine lines
I swear this woman’s cat, in an occurrence of pure statistical improbability, ran across the keyboard and produced the above paragraph. That’s the only logical explanation I can entertain for how such a sensible paragraph got lost in this trainwreck.
You won’t have many girlfriends; that much should be obvious. And when you start dating someone, you’ll have to get rid of all your non-gay guy friends because your boo factor will assume they all want to date/fuck you (which, to some extent, is probably true). On that note – be careful whom you choose to date, because years of only getting attention from losers with (excuse my pun) nothing to lose will do a number on your self-image.
Girls typically don’t have platonic friends. Men who have zero sexual interest in their female acquaintances are the exception, not the rule. As for having unrealistically low standards for men due to the worship of the beta and omega hordes, a word of caution to this type of self-assessment.
And women hate competition. Really attractive women tend to surround themselves with chattel to intercept and diffuse any betas or omegas while they focus on pulling an alpha. Women’s innate sense for game has remained largely intact despite the collapse of male wisdom in this field, hence why men need at the very least a basic crash course in game to compete.
When you go out, you always end up getting too messed up due to a combination of accepting too many free drinks from losers and drinking by yourself in the corner while your friends meet nice, college-educated guys with jobs. You take home a lot of gross guys out of boredom and loneliness. Your friends inevitably tire of taking you out because you end each night rolling around on the couch/bathroom floor clutching a bottle of CVS Chardonnay, crying “why don’t any cute boys LIKE ME??” while your friends roll their eyes because you got more attention from guys than anyone else.
Standard: a woman’s drunken tendencies always feature as the fault of society (run by men), or some man somewhere. But I wouldn’t let this overshadow the real gem here.
Her friends are more attractive. How do we know this? Because the marriageable men ignore her and go straight for the friends. Don’t let the rationalization fool you. They don’t get threatened by Ms. Shoenrock’s intellect or attractiveness. They have goals and standards and her friends satisfy them more than she does.
Desperation is a completely alien emotion to alpha females. The fact that the romantic successes (and the ability to extract commitment) of her friends creates such hopelessness in her should leave no doubt as to what this woman is.
Obviously I would rather be good-looking than average or even (gasp) unattractive, but once in a while it would be great if someone commented on something other than my appearance. “Wow, you’re so exotic, you should be a Laker girl” sounds like a compliment, but what I hear is “You should be a Laker girl because you look vaguely Puerto Rican and nobody cares that you can spell ‘facetious’ without looking at the dictionary.”
Why does Aaron Rodgers have to put up with people constantly telling him what a great arm he has or how flawlessly he executes plays? Can’t they recognize his solid grasp of Franciscan Theology and praise him for that? Why does everybody go on and on about Felix Dennis’ business savvy? Can’t they talk about his enthusiasm for flora?
Superstars of either gender imbued with desirable traits earn praise for those traits and those traits alone, typically, because this is what people value in them. All of the other things in their lives, while having great personal value to them, determine nothing in regards to the public’s image of them. Even if a star’s vanity project gains notoriety as did Mr. Dennis’ poetry, it typically features as an attachment to the person and not an independent figure of interest.
I guess ultimately I would rather have all the advantages that good-looking people have, because we really do have it easier. But sometimes it would be nice to just be a face in the crowd. Sometimes I just want to go to the donut store down the street without having to bring my pepper spray with me just in case the neighborhood teens decide to follow me there and threateningly back me up against the counter while demanding my phone number and address again, ya know?
I thought she just said they catcalled her. Now we’re jumping up to threat of assault? And now instead of the “prison bodies” she mentioned that hit on her, we’re talking about teenagers. This woman needs to get her story straight.
Also, her ode to “normalness” imbues me with the same emotional reaction as I have when multi-million dollar movie stars complain from their mansions about those pesky paparazzi.
So ends the rant of a pretty girl who doesn’t get jobs and does get jobs because she’s pretty and can’t get a boyfriend despite her friends’ successes in the field and her prettiness. If this seems like a heaping mass of contradictions, you must be one of those old-fashioned male bigots.