The point, though, is that even if she’d asked him out–not done so much in the late Sixties–he’d still have been wondering.

He was oblivious for a reason. That is, the most likely interpretation of her actions was closed off because that would have required him to think she saw something in him, which he could not conceive.

The remark of about chest-pushing was hyperbole, born of, “what do I have to do?”
Thing is, if a girl is interesting enough, on whatever level, it was presumed the guy would move. So, sexy, cute, rich, personally interesting, whatever. If she had it, he would go for it.

But ol’ Fred’s view was and is pretty common. What does she see in me? If I–ol’ Fred–can’t think of anything she could see in me, what would happen if I make a move?
I get busted, is what happens.

I think, I may even be right, that guys eventually grow out of this, but some, like our mutual buddy Fred, not until after they ought to have.

Now, to give Fred his due, this girl was exceptionally attractive, exceptionally bright. She had a double ration of common sense–except for the moron she eventually married–and perhaps Fred was intimidated. Which would only be a subset of the original issue–what is there in me to value?

To stretch this further, this may be why guys DO, rather than simply BE. Because they have to be seen as valuable and they aren’t, personally. So they have to have fun dates, get good jobs, do nice stuff. Otherwise it’s all about who they are and that’s not good enough.

IMO, there are too many guys like this to write off. It is not the job of a woman to build him up, as I said earlier.

But to try to convince a twenty-year-old that he’s a great guy and that’s enough would be a hard sell. Except for those who already believe it. And I don’t know about those guys….

I’m pretty sure if she’d said, “Would you like to go out on a date with me?” he would have understood what he was being asked, and even if he didn’t, once she showed up with flowers and kissed him goodnight, he’d get the pictures. “Shoving your chest in his face” may be fun for all concerned, but does not count as an unambiguous pass.

She as much as said, “I practically push my [substantial]chest in his face, and…nothing. What’s wrong?”

Well, jeez. Is that how boys flirted with her and asked her out? Pushing their chests in her face? I have to say, that wouldn’t have worked on me either. The guy in the story doesn’t sound like the one with the problem here, with confidence or anything else. Oblivious, maybe, but that’s easily remedied.

Problem is, even a quality guy who doesn’t know he’s quality hasn’t much of a chance.

Sure he does. Unless you treat “confidence” as something that only guys can have or don’t have. Shy “quality guys” get snapped up sooner or later by confident girls.

About that time, I had a female friend-only relationship with a girl who was a senior. She told me she was interested in a guy who worked at the same part-time campus job, but couldn’t get him to move.
She as much as said, “I practically push my [substantial]chest in his face, and…nothing. What’s wrong?”
I’d met the guy briefly. Physically impressive, socially apt, cheerful. Three biggies accounted for. What else? Didn’t know.
So I had no answer and didn’t try to speculate.
The peripatetic nature of our lives at that age moved the guy away shortly thereafter, then me.
A couple of years later, catching up, I happened to call the girl and asked what happened with ol’ Fred.
Seems they’d talked on the phone at one time or another, while time zones apart.
The question arose.
What the hell?
The answer was that the guy had thought of making a move but couldn’t figure out what about him would even faintly interest her. So he didn’t. And, therefore, whatever she did could not possibly be interpreted as her interest in him. Since she could not be interested in him. He had had no idea about himself or about her.
According to her, he’d started making a quality life for himself. He really had it together. But he didn’t know it.
There is a whole lot more of this than of the Nice Guy schtick. A whole lot more than the jerk.
Problem is, even a quality guy who doesn’t know he’s quality hasn’t much of a chance.
While somebody who has confidence–justified or not–does seem to have the key to the candy store. Even if he’s a bozo.

It’s not up to women–not up to my friend of forty years ago–to build guys up so they can be loved and loving. But it would be nice for folks pontificating on the whole thing to remember ol’ Fred and his jillion brothers.

I’m definitely one of those girls who has a very hard time being interested in nice guys (genuinely nice or Nice). As friends, fine, but as you said in class one time, they “don’t make my socks roll up and down.”

I also like that you point out that the way in which stereotypical masculinity twists not only the boys who don’t play at tough (and thus think they’re unique) but also the women who think they alone can find the emotions buried in the stereotypical masculine male. It does explain to me why “being a jerk” can come off as being a challenge to a woman. That’s one old Nice Guy(tm) lament that finally makes sense, when viewed from the woman’s POV.

I’m still working on trusting guys, but there are a few I do trust. Ones who are outspoken feminists are good bets. Ones who call out others on how rape “jokes” aren’t funny are another. Ones who have held me as I cried. Ones who’ve taken care of me when I accidentally drink too much. I know it’s not like guys who have done these things can’t turn around and rape me…but it’s better than basing my trust on ridiculous societal myths.

For me, this bitterness didn’t begin in adolescence, cos I had no female friends back then.
I think that my unique position as male minded, female bodied, meant that I was more aware of the inner life of many of my male friends though. (They’ll open up to a ‘mate’ who is a chick). So many of them had soft caramel centres! Even if my mother called them ‘thugs’. (And insisted they were all after one thing)

It would have been so nice to know back then, that we were all ok. That none of us were freaks for sitting in that tin shed that night, and crying together. We all had problems that we tried to bear like ‘men’ but couldn’t, because we were children. We never mentioned it again, and our group disintegrated not long after that, under the pressure of masculinity and denial.

I’m not even in touch with any of them anymore. That, I am ashamed of.

I’ll try for something on bad boys, theverycold…