Bitchin' on Bad Boys: Why Losers Can Be Alluring

Muscles. Tattoos. Mohawks. Leather jackets. Cigarettes. Whiskey flasks. All these things have one thing in common. Depending on where you live in Auckland it could be your next door neighbour, an imaginary character that you could never even imagine meeting, or a gangster thug from Tarrantino movies. All these things too, are our favourite things. Push the feeling of disgust to the side, and all you have left is sexy. Leather, smoking, half-haired freaks who we like to call the bad guys. Unfortunately, in this case nice guys do finish last.

I am yet to meet a girl who has not been out with a guy of this type. Post break-up, they are always referred to as ‘that loser’, or that ‘bad period in your life’ when you were on self-destruct mode. Because, let’s face it, to date that guy, you had to be. To be honest, when you saw them sidling up the sidewalk with that smirky look and  an unwashed feel, a feeling of ‘ugh’ did seem to shiver down your spine. Then some talking happened, and you went somewhere cool you hadn’t been before, and they became aloof and unreachable and suddenly, well, you kinda liked them. They acquired mystery, and charm, and eventually an irresistible aura because they didn’t give you the approval that that sweet-so-and-so from down the road always did. They were inaccessible. And they had a motorbike. For most teenage girls, this is enough: enough to bypass usual judgment, ignore family and friend’s warnings, and to go down the dirty path of boyfriend badness.

Classiness,  a high calibre of education, and perfect beauty are not enough to stop the luckiest of girls who have the world at their feet swooning for some suave stoner. Being romantic begins to equal romantic suffering, a suffering borne of the reality that the bad boy is an egotist who could only love himself.  But still the love continues on. Ending in some tragic, Romeo and Juliet episode, the bad-boy love affair is one-sided.  The girl believes their love is forever fated, destined despite poverty and substance abuse, meant to be despite his endlessly roving eye. The bad boy, forever his iconic self, thinks of her as hot but needy, replaced by another long-haired lovely to share his sordid sheets.

The question is: what makes the bad boy so appealing? Why, after all their ridiculous escapades and shameful secrets are left exposed, is there nothing left to hate?  The lovable larrikin of the social group, bad boys, I would argue, know the sciences of persuasion and flattery. I say science because, well, it is rather evident that some people fail with a capital F, most are mediocre, and some are euphorically charming in a way that they seem to be born with in the art of social interaction. This charm, if it is not tended to with the care needed for the most beautiful rose, will degenerate into slutdom. And with slutdom comes confidence, with confidence comes apathy, and with apathy comes an anti-establishment attitude. Ever notice that the lovable loser always carries an underlying resentment for authority? I point to the above as evidence for this common and often appealing trait. Most bad boys are, in reality, outsiders.

Gingerbread Man: Modern Man Without the Strings

Outsiders aside, the fact is that many women are romantic creatures. Carrying inside themselves Victorian novels and movies such as The Notebook and other Jennifer Aniston rom-coms, they are taught that there is a moment in their lives that will be their perfect romantic moment. This moment will contain candles, a starlit dinner, a beautiful ball dress and perfect etiquette, a man in a suit and maybe even a ring in his hand. Many women get carried away in these fantasies, reading Cosmo to try and find how they can improve themselves so that this moment can take place in their lives. It is a perfect delusion, and a delusion that is perfect for a master romantic rogue.

But hang on, you say. My ex Steve, or my friend’s ex Gary, or my girlfriend’s ex (that I’m secretly jealous of) was not in a suit with 40’s style hair, would never have lit candles and does not in the least resemble Colin Farrell. The problem is indeed this:  the bad boy does not resemble the fantasy. The catalyst for the bad boy’s chances with a self-respecting woman, however, is not what they look like: it is what they sound like. Women love with their ears. What they might be seeing is a pair of dirty socks, a smoke-filled car and a reddish dope eye, but what they hear is what they have been told they would one day hear as a young, hopeful child. ‘You are the One’, ‘You are the most beautiful woman in the world’ or “I have never loved anyone the way I love you’ are all things that are easy to say but, for the stoner, hard to follow up on. Coupled with the resulting aloofness and unreachability, a girl who thought they once had a poor guy in the palm of their hand begins to feel as if her hand is now guy-poor and, subsequently, she believes she loves him too. It is reverse psychology at its finest, and often hard to escape.

Does it have to be the destiny of every fine girl in Auckland to have gone through the human disappointment of dating a bad boy? It really depends on how fast you can learn. Can you watch your friend go through a similar situation and be able to spot a bad boy from a distance? Could you keep a mental list of what your requirements are in a boyfriend and stick to them regardless of contrary feelings of passion? Unfortunately, many a Kiwi woman cannot. But for the smart ones among us, you only do it the once. Lovable though they may be, alluring though they are, the boredom of their dumb-ass behaviour sets in pretty quick. Make one your boyfriend and your love radar will forever be on the anti-hunt for one that resembles anything close. Love-smart we may not be, but perhaps for a good reason: you don’t make the same mistake twice.