Stunt or Not Part 2

So the response was pretty much evenly divided. A few women actually admitted that some of their sisters (not them, of course) were so interested in the flashing lights that it would be to my benefit to be a bit ostentatious. It’s not that they necessarily think badly of these women. they’re not bad people, it’s just they’ve grown accustomed to certain things and like the trappings of success. They’re still educated, kind, do-right women. They’re just more attracted to 43mm Cartier Roadsters than they are to Swatches.

And who am I to really fault them for that. I’m a kind, educated do-right guy. And I’m more attracted to big butts and small waists than I am the converse. Doesn’t make me a bad guy. You could argue a little shallow, but hey, I like what I like.

A couple people blew me up for even making the claim that “some” women are into a little flash. They argued that those that would be swayed by cars, suits, botle service, etc, were just the kind of young and dumb status-chasers that I should be avoiding at all cost, no matter how cute and stout-butted they are.

So I decided to look back on my own general past and see what I could surmise from my own experience. So here it goes:

When I came out of college, I was making pretty much nothing. I started as a temp at a banking outfit and they liked me enough to hire me full time. it was a great entry=level position with a wonderful boss. And it paid terribly. I moved into my mom’s basement. Hot as hell in the summertime and cold as a witch’s titty in winter. But from a dating standpoint, I did just fine.

When I first moved to the city, I started dating an ex investment banker who worked for a major finance company. She was smart as the day is long, beautiful, and sarcastic. Just my type. She probably made double or triple what I made, had a luxury car, and a beautiful apartment. We fell apart because I think she was worried that I wasn’t as into her as she was into me. She was wrong, but nonetheless, it kiled the relationship.

After her, I dated a gorgeous slim chocolate older woman who had a child, and boobs the size of my head. It was exasperating taking her out because people (especially older white men, go figure) stared at her to no end. I came very close to fighting a couple guys over them leering at her. She was sweet and kind, picked up the bill at about the same rate I did, and was overall a great person. She could have done much better than me. She wanted to be exclusive, but I didn’t really see a future with someone in her mid 30’s with a child at that point.

I got a new job and briefly dated one of those wannabe urban model chicks who I met at a friend’s barbecue. The friend has postgrad degrees from MIT and Harvard, so I was a little surprised by the intellectual level of this one. Cute as all get-out but dumb as a brick. Not even the regular bricks, like the slow, chipped bricks that have to take the short bus to the construction site. But agan, she had tons of options much flashier than me. The modelish chick had a little Benz coupe her ex had bought her. I was driving a company Ford Taurus at this point. We went to the opening of some club once, and they were tripping on letting me in cause I had jeans on. She made a call to her “friend” to have him get us at the door. Her friend was a well known NFL wide receiver with a diamond chain that weighed about what I did. She came home with me that night. I found out later that he was the ex that bought her the car.

About the same time, I started dating another brighter woman, and pretty quickly stopped dealing with the urban model. She had her own place, was extremely pretty and had tons of options. She went to a great school and had a good job, was sweet, and while she never really reached for the bill, I got the sense that this was more her being a traditional woman than a hardcore leech. We dated exclusively although we didn’t have a title for 8 months or so. We’re still friends.

After we broke up, I started dating a woman who was a college dropout. But she had a great job managing her family’s contracting business, was drop dead gorgeous and unbelievably nice. I met her while she was bartending at cute little boutique hotel (for fun, apparently). It was close to Valentine’s day and a lot of her single friends were there getting hammered. I automatically assumed she was out of my league because of her looks, but she was so friendly and kind, I felt immediately at ease with her (I’ll be talking more about this in a future post for some of you women who complain that you “intimidate” men. You don’t. You just drive them off.) She insisted on paying for our first date because the restaurant was her choice. I almost had to fight her to pay the bill but she would have none of it. I later found out she was a Miss *insert African Country here* and was going to be participating in the Miss world pageant. She had also been in some national ad campaigns. She told me about this in the offhand manner someone would mention that they got third place in a gardening competition. She never acted like these things in any wat made her a better or more interesting person. About the time I met her, I bought a property and the night before my first showing, she and my mom worked in tandem buffing floors, scrubbing tiles, and nailing in drywall. We eventually broke up for one reason or another, but we both thought the other was such a great person that we would try to hook each other up with our friends. She now lives in an unbelievably huge condo with views of the water and is on TV. I saw her interviewing Hayden Panettiere (however you spell it) and definitely looked the better of the two.

Soon after, I was recruited to work for my company’s major competitor. And that’s when the big bucks started rolling in (Relatively speaking). I literally had more money than I knew what to do with (It’s not that it was that much money, it’s just that I’m pretty dimwitted). So I bought me a Swiss watch. Bought so much Armani I could go a week in Girogio without repeating outfits. And of course, I bought me a car. Not a flashy car per se. But a car I wanted. The fastest thing with four doors I could afford. And we went to the club. And I had it valeted so it was out front.

Did all this change my dating life?

NO, not really. Although when I pulled up anywhere, I definitely got more women checking me out than in the old Taurus. I sometimes wonder what would have happened if I had gone and bought the luxury car I was thinking about buying back then. I test drove a benz, a couple beemers, and a Range, but they just didn’t meet all my needs.But I would have loved to do a regression analysis of how much more attention I would have gotten, and from who, if I had bought one of those.

So I dated a girl in med school who was very pretty but didn’t really have much of a butt. Sh was a friend of a friend and she wanted to be exclusive too and the Nassatall really didn’t do it for me. I chased around after some local celeb type chicks to no real avail. And I started dating another urban model type, a miss *insert state here* contestant. She was really sweet and always down for the cause. She was a little rough around the edges, which was one of the things I think that hampered the relationship. And maybe that was just me wanting too much. My female friends can be harsh and while they recognizd and respected her looks, I think they kinda looked down on her a little. We stopped seeing each other, and I started dating a girl working on her second post-grad degree. We clicked really well but I didn’t want to commit to her. As it happens, toward the tail end, I started dating the girl who would become my girlfriend for the next year, and pretty much the entire time I ws in school. She was conservative lawyer and seemingly upstanding. My friend said that lesbians didn’t approach her because she looked like a Republican. And she was a great girlfriend. Eventually, the distance drove us apart and we decided to part as friends, but I have nothing but great memories of her, and we still try to remain friends.

The moral of this very long and drawn out story is this;

Real women don’t really give a shit if you stunt or not. So there’s my answer.

Stunt or not pt. 1

So what’s hot in the streets these last few days has been the Root Article about “What Single Black Women can learn from Michelle Obama”. If you were living under a rock and haven’t read or at least heard of it, I’ll give you the cliff notes:

Black women are too picky and shallow and when they meet an otherwise good man they rule him out for the following reasons:

His toes were ashy.

He seems like he’d be a really cool friend, but I don’t know, those lips. . .

He was wearing a bubble coat, and seriously, it was not that cold.

We had a good conversation, but I like a man to be more aggressive.

That was our second and last date. He used the word “authentic” like 14 times.

How many times do I have to tell you I’m looking for someone TALL and HOT? Keywords being tall and hot.

He drank a hot chocolate instead of coffee. What is he? A 6’4’’12-year-old? (I’m putting myself out there—this was my own reaction to an otherwise pleasant date just a few years ago.)

Yeah, he was tall, but his head seemed a little small for his body.

It was loud in there, so I’m not sure. Did I detect a stutter?

Boy, was he sweating!

He seems like someone who would like Star Trek.

I don’t care if he can’t see. He should have left those glasses at the office.

He was dancing (or worse, trying) way too hard.

These are actual quotes from the article. My interpretation of the author’s point:

You dumb bitches need to smarten up and realize that you’re no prize pig yourself. It ain’t enough dudes to go around in the first place so quit handicapping yourself with your unrealistic expectations. We know your shallow ass woulda seen the hole in that dude’s floorboard and ran the other way, we know it! Now stop being so blinded by them flashing lights and give a brotha a chance!

At least that’s how I interpreted it. But as we all know, what makes internet reading so enjoyable is not the writing itself which tends to be the domain of frustrated wannabe authors who will never get a book deal and short-fingered vulgarians to0 untalented and ugly to get their own reality show (witness yours truly). It’s the commentary after that makes the read worth it. As of today, we’re up to probably about 30 pages of comments (real number: 17 or so because the Root refuses to fix the issue which makes comments appear in triplicate). The comments were all over the place, but had two enduring themes:

1. Black women be materialistic and shallow as hell and that’s why we run off with white women. Sincerely, Black Man.

2. I ain’t dating no dude from the mailroom! You ni**as need to get yo’ shit togther. Holla. Sincerely, Black Woman

Meanwhile, over on belle’s blog, there was a post about “Settling,” with about the same general results. So, just for argument’s sake, let’s assume that black women are magically more materialistic or status-obsessed than gen pop. Let’s further assume we’re talking specifically about professional black women between say 22 and 35 with college degrees. This is just for the sake of argument, of course. Try not to flood my comment box with accusations that I’m one of the people always puttig down black women.

So let’s say I’m who I am. I’m (newly) single and on the prowl for a woman. Wife, GF, fuckbuddy, whatever, let’s just assume I’m seeking female companionship and thus seek to make myself as attractive as possible to the opposite sex.

Should I stunt?

I mean, according to the commentary, what women want are tall guys with money and unashy feet. Since I don’t wear mandals, let’s just assume that by the time they find out my general level of foot ashiness, it’s too late and they’re already naked. And while Kareem Abdul Jabbar I’m not, I’m tall enough that it’s not a strike against me. Now, the money issue. I’m not really liquid because I’m in grad school, but if we assume I’ll either have the same earning power or more than I did before I went to school, then that puts me in the top 15% or so of households, and for single black males, probably in the top low single digits. So do I stunt? Mind you, stunting for this particular crowd is a little different than stunting for oh, say, Plies’ crowd:

On another note, Plies disgusts me. Because he went to college. I’ve heard him speak regularly and he sounds very intelligent. But he’s fallen into this ridiculous trap of hiding one’s education and accomplishments to live out some white suburban teen’s hood fantasy of what it means to be black. Fucking disgusting.

But I digress. The accoutrements of bougie stunting are a little different, but it’s stuntin nonetheless. No, you can’t do a diamond-studded Jacob the Jeweler but a nice clasic Rolex Oyster or Omega Seamaster will definitely get you noticed. The girls in the know can tell that Z Zegna super 150’s or Canali from that Men’s Wearhouse shit. And let’s face it, everyone likes a nice car. Will it be that ethnic stereotype candy Hummer on 28’s as seen above? No. But the RR Sport or full sized Range, any BMW with an M in front of a single digit, or an AMG something or other will still let em know what’s up. How bout, say, something like this:

For all you fellow Mercedes haters out there (so very bland), maybe even something along these lines:

Will I get a better class of woman if I say, save a little less, and splurge a little more? When I go out to nightclubs, which is rare these days, should I just go ahead and get bottle service? Is this the way toward a more fulfilling dating life? I mean, to hear the commentary, the answer does seem to be yes. And we’re not talking about raping the 401k here, just maybe not maxing out the contribution. I don’t know the answer. Seriously, I’m asking. Little help. I’m interested in hearing folks’ thoughts on this issue.

I have a theory on why black people are so obsessed with showing off their earning power. It’s lack of trust. We’ve seen so much flim-flam from each other that unless we see something with our own eyes, we don’t believe it. If a guy says to you that he does this, that, or the other, you’ve heard the same lie so many times that it takes the acoutrements of that profession for you to believe it. I think this is why dudes wear suits to the club on Saturday. Like seriously, dude, it’s Saturday. No one believes you just left the office at 11:30 on SATURDAY wearing a three piece suit and a perfectly knotted half-windsor tie. But the suit is kind of a way to prove who you say you are. It adds credibility to your story. The car adds credibility to your narrative that you’re a successful person. It goes with the image. I’m not going to get into the whole building wealth vs. consumerism macro argument, that’s a whole different blog. I’m just trying to really figure out if, given what a million people are saying is true in relation to how picky black women are and how much they focus on external indicators of success, I should show it a little more. Will that make my dating life better?

In part 2, I’ll tell you a little about what my theory is and gice you some history to back it up. Have a great weekend.

Faithfully Yours,

B St. R

PS: here’s one more piece of car porn. I would kill seven orphans for this car (I mean, not really, but you get the point). I heart Techart