[Paracelsus]

http://www.news.com.au/lifestyle/sunday-...7524632253

Normally I wouldn't encourage the brothers to go delving into a female typist's head, but this column makes for interesting and amusing reading, albeit not for the reasons the typist thought.

The first thing is the front that the girl puts on for no apparent reason, as a result of a series of shitty millennial romance movies she's seen, that being a fictional attitude called the Cool Girl out of Gone Girl:

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Repeated almost verbatim in the movie version, it states the Cool Girl must be “brilliant, funny… and above all hot.” Subsuming her own tastes, emotional expression and desires, this chick can skull through poker night without ever busting a man’s balls with any female emoting (ugh).

The passage resonated instantly. This dude in a hot girl’s body is “performance-art femininity”, according to feminist blog Jezebel – and best grown out of by your thirties as you learn who you are.

"As you learn who you are" = as you learn that your tits are sagging, your career isn't hooking the hot guy, and you realise you worked the cock carousel for fifteen years without considering a suitable man for marriage. It's also amusing that Jizzabel calls it "performance art", while women taught to be pleasant don't have to put on artifice at all.

That aside, let's remember the Cool Girl in question is the one from Gone Girl. As in, a fucking psychopath who sets out to frame her husband for her own murder.

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Cool Girls are “just a mirage” said Helen Coffey of The Telegraph (UK), citing characters played by Olivia Wilde in Drinking Buddies, Anne Hathaway in Love & Other Drugs and Zooey Deschanel in (500) Days of Summer. You know, those non-naggy Kate Hudson-type gals, brimming with self-sufficiency and athletic prowess.

It’s not the personality attributes that writers like Coffey take issue with – “Laid-back, into sports, genuinely enjoys a burger while maintaining the figure of a Broadway dancer” – but the pretence that is actually required to never, ever, get pissed off.

Let me tell you, this fool’s paradise is bloody exhausting.

This is intriguing that she finds it necessary to never get pissed off. Why is there that concern, I wonder?

Is it because they begin to realise with mounting horror that a modern guy actually really just wants a wife who will give him minimal shit, as opposed to the boyfriends or husbands of their mothers who buckled under and took every explosive temper tantrum their mother dished out? And the fact that the guy in fact has a lot of choices?

Leave that aside for a second. Here's where she starts talking about the recipient of her Cool Girl persona:

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Long before Gone Girl was a gleam in Gillian Flynn’s eye, I set out to become the coolest girlfriend in the world. Having always been enthralled by the gothic intensity of 19th-century novels, I was delighted when I was thunderstruck by instant love in the noughties.

Felled like a wildebeest, I knew this was the man for me. He was gorgeous, had a coiled masculine reticence – à la Michael Corleone –

Alpha. Game. She even names a fucking Mafia gangster -- a ruthless murderer nonetheless devoted to family -- as her chosen clit-flick.

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and played into every tall, dark and brooding fantasy I had ever had.

Game.

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He was also an eternal bachelor who’d ducked and weaved his way out of marriage past the age of 40, with an allergic resistance to talking about either ‘his’ or ‘her’ emotions.

Game recognised.

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What he did take to was my cheeky, cocky, party-girl personality – which went into overdrive in his presence. So I thought: what if our time together was one big, fat play date? What if I was just my best fun, fizzy, fabulous self all the time?

Like a true buddy, I sympathetically heard about the past affairs that had unravelled as women left increasingly abusive texts wondering, why won’t you give me more? Note to self: don’t be a drag.

This, my friends, was a brother who had the upper hand in the relationship: because he wanted it less.

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I answered brightly when he called after weeks of silence. I’m busy and fabulous, what do I care? I told myself. I partied hearty with one-of the-boys gusto. (OK, that bit was authentic – probably the Irish gene…)

Under the guardianship of my alter ego – never a cross word, never an attempt to define our relationship – a genuine friendship blossomed as he unfurled like a flower in the safety of my Cool Girl setting.

In some weird way, I even got off on subsuming all feelings to what made life fun and easy (bad feminist). So much was awesome. The chemistry was off the hook; he was loyal, smart, intense, great company and what intimacy we did have felt hard-won and precious, like getting a wild horse to finally let you approach. Because we never broached where ‘we’ were at or how we felt, we evolved into being a couple at a glacial pace, he always just out of reach.

I give you the alpha widow. Should we say it again? Yeah, let's say it: GAME.

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But I’m not that cool. Poor guy – when my jammed-down desires (buy house; make babies) started to surface and I unravelled, my Cool Girl carapace split open to reveal tears, drama, frustration and the fact that I’d always been bananas about the guy. Not what he signed up for. It must have been no picnic for him, knowing he was going to devastate someone he was so fond of by breaking up with me.

Basically, the biological clock was ticking. Nothing less. And the very fact she said "it must have been no picnic for him" suggests she never got in his head at all, even when she exercised the nuclear option. That, my friends, is iron-clad frame control.

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Being a phoney was my fault, and in the end it turns you into the craziest biatch of all. Now, my mature self loves how my life turned out, and remembers that yummy chocolate of a man with a grin – and currently believes in truth in advertising: ‘Over-emotional Irish pain in the arse seeks relationship in which we’re deliriously free to be ourselves.’ Now that’s cool.

Note no beta boyfriend smugly paraded for the world to see, but truth in advertising is not going to get her an alpha any more than her Cool Girl persona did. And note that the truth in advertising is not, in fact, truth: because of her alpha widowhood, I guarantee you in any future relationship she's going to insist on pushing the drama on her side, but any man who doesn't have rock solid game and rigid frame is going to get rolled over. She will be free to be herself. He will not.

[Gmac]

Guy is turned off by a girl calling him "dude" or "man." Girl can't understand why after she acts like a typical vulgar feminist using phrases like "beer diets" and "absolutely shitting myself" that guy doesn't feel enthralled or attracted to her. Girl admits to not being able to act like a normal human being. Go figure.

[StrikeBack]

(09-13-2015 06:48 AM)Gmac Wrote:  

Guy is turned off by a girl calling him "dude" or "man." Girl can't understand why after she acts like a typical vulgar feminist using phrases like "beer diets" and "absolutely shitting myself" that guy doesn't feel enthralled or attracted to her. Girl admits to not being able to act like a normal human being. Go figure.

This sadly describes about 80~90% of Aussie girls (the one in the OP is Australian), whether they call themselves feminists or not.

The first time I was aware of this was when an older, well-travelled American man pointed it out at a party.

It was a moment for 18 year old me.

The second time was when I saw, at an international event, a group of Aussie girls behaving like this next to groups of girls from various nationalities who do not.

That was the moment I started working on my plan to get out.

[The Beast1]

When I saw the line "Clit Flick" I died. Good line sir, I will start calling rom coms "clit flicks". Genius!

[AFS]

I couldn't get through the first few paragraphs. Just a bunch of mindless dribble from a TV-brainwashed zombie. Literally, I did not understand what the words on this page meant.