I get told fairly often how handsome I am, have 3+ GPA, work full time, have a shit load of hobbies Im passionate about, and Im in three bands that are actually good, one of which is signed to a record label. Im a very good kisser, solid in bed, lived in Paris for a while and learned French, have a lot of rad friends, why can't I find a decent girl that wants to stick around?
Most Helpful Guy
Mr Anonymous, that is how things go in your age range. If you are a young man who has all the attributes that you mentioned you will likely be alone until you are past the age of 30. Without trying to pen a sob story intentionally, please permit me to share my history. You will see that you are not alone.
By the time that I turned 30 I had graduated with honours, earned an army commission (reserve), was a television and radio presenter, a newspaper columnist, I had been prevailed upon to do some modelling, liked European cars, designer clothes and fine dining and had the money to indulge my tastes. My IQ is in the top 2 per cent and I am working currently on a doctorate in history.
Do you think that at your age I could get a date, much less a girlfriend? Not a chance!
Between the ages of 15 and about 30 women pass through the bad boy phase. They pick the most worthless piece of criminal-looking crap whom they can find and throw themselves at him crotch first. These bad boy types treat the women like crap and the women come back begging for more. This is because their whole lives they have been programmed by Hollyweird to think that the bad boys are more 'exciting'. Reference the James Dean, Danny Zuko (Grease) and Fonzie (Happy Days) character archetypes.
After I passed the age of 30 I gave up. Whatever it was that women wanted, it was not me. I observed the first principle of military tactics, which is to fight only the battles that you can win. Then, a strange thing happened. Women in their late 20s and older began to hit on me, sometimes in ways that were not subtle. Apparently, as they near 30, a large number of women have an epiphany and realise that the minimum-wage retard in welfare housing might not be their best possible choice as a future husband.
How you react to that is, of course, up to you. In my case I was so filled with angst and bitterness that I did not want to know. Ten years earlier the same women would have told me to fark off.1