I am beginning to think that I will never learn; that due to my own shyness and stupidity I am going to end up either: single and longing for hot boyfriend for rest of life, or, having a relationship with someone uninspiring and unattractive whilst longing for hot boyfriend for rest of life.
You see, I’m just way too passive. Not even a little bit passive (the kind that can be passed off as being almost attractive and alluring), nope, I’m just about as damn passive as an inanimate object, I’m basically, well, dead.
Of course, I’m not always like this; I can be bubbly, entertaining and as enthusiastic as you like…it just so happens that I am much better at embodying all those qualities people actually like in front of people I don’t like…well not like like anyway.
As you can imagine, this can become somewhat of a hindrance, as while I am very much still of the opinion that it should be a guy that makes the first move, if the girl said guy is trying to woo is always seemingly staring off into space, with the facial expression comparable to that of a dead, upturned, glazed, goggle-eyed goldfish upon sight of him, he isn’t exactly going to think she’s interested now, is he ?
I am the classic shy-girl case…only I am not shy at all: With adults older than me especially, I am very forthcoming, starting, maintain and manoeuvring conversations wherever I want them to go with ease. I actually enjoy being sociable an incredible amount and I would even consider myself to be quite good at it, until a bit of young, male, testosterone comes along that is, at which point I revert to my ten year old ways, hiding behind the legs of adults and avoiding any chance of communication.
Upon seeing someone attractive my confidence collapses on itself: The face I thought I’d done up quite well, and the clothes I thought well chosen instantly get over-analysed and deemed mistakes. I become paranoid, overly self-aware, and very anxious. I cannot bring myself to make eye-contact, let alone speak with hottie in question. I will choose seats across rooms, wait longer in shop lines and even abort plans completely just to avoid any unnecessary embarrassment with said hottie, who could ironically, if given the chance, potentially be the love of my life.
And so I go to the uglier boys: The boys around whom I feel comfortable, the boys I make laugh and the boys whom will never, ever, not in a million years, end up being the loves of my life.
I have recently realised I am not the only one who is like this; among the girls who take pleasure out of batting their eyes in the street and seeing how much they can fill up their ego-meter, there are girls who, like me, would rather die than do anything of the sort.
Why do we do it to ourselves? I am always complaining about how I fancy no one I know, how there is no one for me to go after, no lead to follow, when really, it’s all my own doing. How are we meant to fancy people if we won’t even give ourselves the opportunity to have our avoiding eyes caught?
As a feminist, I feel my behaviour is especially bad. Feminists are meant to be empowered, self-loving, confidence-filled power houses, and yet, I see a hot guy and run a mile. I don’t know what it is that stops me from throwing caution to the wind-it’s not even that I feel it’s shameful for women to make the first move-but whether it be the fear of rejection, being judged or perhaps even opening up to someone, something always freezes me in my tracks.
One day I’m going to stare at that guy in the street until he melts; I’m going to pass my number to the gorgeous guy behind the till at the supermarket; I’m going to go dance with a guy that I’ve spotted across a bar. One day.
But for now, this day? I guess I’ll keep doing my goggled-eyed-goldfish expression until I get the hang of batting my eyes without getting eye-ache.