The Unintentional Dbag

DBAG DATING THE UNINTENTIONAL DBAG

Prelude: This is NOT a letter for the real dbags of this world, the men born lacking an inherent moral compass, the Dan Bilzerians who wear their douchiness on their Tom Ford sleeves, treating people like disposable commodities while preserving the capacity to sleep peacefully through the night.

This is an open letter to the Unintentional Dbag, the man with good motives who got lost somewhere along the way. The Unintentional Dbag was most likely a complete dork who couldn’t get a girl to save his life in high school. This freed up time for him to study, go to a good college, and do very well for himself, at which point he discovered that, in addition to great restaurants and prime real estate, money also has the power to buy the affection of tight-bodied young ladies vying for their first taste of caviar and Cartagena.

He enjoyed this frivolous existence in his late twenties and his early thirties, until something shifted and he began feeling all vapid and empty inside. Why? Because he was meeting all the wrong women, of course! He claims to want a relationship, a family, someone nice and smart and “normal”, someone who would appeal to his intrinsic values while still looking good on a Mykonos beach. Yet, he always ends up dating the low-hanging fruits that are bimbos and 22-year olds, experiences that leave him dissatisfied and convinced that all women are users who only want one thing for him. (This is where being Russian really works in my favor!) What he fails to realize is that the problem is not the women, it is him – or rather, his Neil Strauss-inspired techniques of luring women in through all the wrong channels and inadvertently pushing away the women he claims to aim for.

Even though I often have a hard time believing in his integrity, let alone sympathizing with him, I have decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, mainly because it’s Friday and I’m in Miami and a little Vitamin D can do wonders for one’s altruistic streak. And so, I will use the power invested in me by the Dating Gods to help the Unintentional Dbag find his way…

Lay off the flashy stuff. You know that Karmic theory about getting back exactly what you put out in the world? Well, showing off all your shit (pardon my French but let’s call a spade a spade here) is basically like slathering yourself with honey and then being shocked when all you attract is a bunch of disgusting insects. Yachts, cars, Rolexes and black Amexes are basic Sugar Baby bait that is well-noted in their plan of eventually taking you for everything you’re worth. (FYI, if a Sugar Baby is what you’re after, Seeking Arrangements is WAY more efficient!)

Plan normal dates. Don’t get me wrong, most women like being courted, overly proud feminist set included. However, there is a fine line between romantic effort and over-the-top Grand Gestures, especially in the very beginning. It’s not that “nice” girls don’t like Michelin dinners and weekends in Belize, it’s just that most of them become paranoid about your intentions and start rightfully suspecting that you believe that everything in this life is for sale. Repeat after me: intimate dinner, soft lighting, no white tablecloth in sight. If you’re in New York, book a dinner in the garden at Palma and you will forever have her heart.

Don’t pressure. I understand that the corporate world teaches men that life is a jungle where the fittest prevail, a conquest mentality that may permeate into one’s personal life. To a degree, women like authoritative guys – I have written too much about that to deny it. But treating her like a stock that you must add to your portfolio by aggressively attempting to seal the deal is not cool. If you want to be with a person of a certain intellect level, you will have to give up some of that control.

Shut up and listen. Unintentional Dbags are often in serious denial when it comes to grasping the psyche of a woman / human, which essentially revolves around being heard and understood. So ask questions, contribute opinions, remember details – you know, those simple thing that differentiate conversations from sales pitches or public speeches.

Consider your image. Ever since the invention of social media, a popular female pastimes includes sharing a bottle of wine and going through Facebook / Instagram profiles of the men on our radar and deciphering what every picture says about them. We will scrutinize every Ibiza picture and jet-set companion, and, trust me, that #yachtlife caption won’t do you any favors.

Don’t take yourself too seriously. This is something Unintentional Dbags have a problem letting go of. They fail to see the comical side of themselves and lack a self-awareness, which is a frightening thing. Chill the fuck out. Laugh at yourself. Read the newspaper and see the big picture.

Lay off that over-analysis. If one more person tries to tell me exactly what I am (crazy, Russian, drying up, the list goes on) I will show them the stuff a true crazy Russian b*tch is made of. I don’t know if it’s a weird psychological trick or just a way to “evaluate” women like a business investment, but your assumptions are usually incorrect. And stupid. Revert to No 3 and listen. Try to understand a person based on more than assorted data and your projections.

DON’T YOU DARE TRY NEGGING. Just no. Don’t. DON’T DO IT.

No shrinking. No saving. For reasons I cannot fathom, Unintentional Dbags LOVE a good ‘save”. Give them a daddy issue, a mental disorder, anything that allows them to step in and play martyr / hero and to feel needed, and they are happy. That is, until it hits them that “saving” is a fruitless pursuit, especially in the (likely) case that the girl is batshit crazy. So, instead of saving spoiled brats from their #whitegirlproblems, find a worthwhile charity to support! If you’re out of ideas, I’m registered at Barneys! I don’t need saving, but I would love a Dries restock!

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