Aside from never making the same relationship mistake twice, one of the few advantages of being a woman of experience is understanding that you cannot change the way a man thinks. There is no way to break this to you gently: men go for what they see first.
Even when you think there is nothing to see, they see. A man, especially one with a well-carved sexual antenna, knows by the shape of your ankles and calves, your wrists, the curve of your neck, your wicked eyes, and your cheeky grin that you will be good company. By the time you’ve clocked him, he’s already imagined twirling his fingers through your hair the next morning. The reductive view that men are seduced, purely, by accessible tits and arse is just that. I promise you, there is more diversity in their brains than you’ll find at a Pride parade. Which brings me to brains, intelligence, IQ. Doesn’t matter. Not at the start. If this were the case, then we would just bring our brains to the bar, plonk them on the table and stand back until a bloke picked the one he wanted. “Who does this one belong to?” he’d ask holding it up while crossing his fingers that it belonged to someone attractive. And why shouldn’t he? Why shouldn’t you?
Lest you think this is all about being the hottest person in the room, it’s more complex than that. The exterior is more than just coating: it’s a clue to the type of person, whether they share your values on clothes, exercise, modesty, the acquisition and wearing of jewellery and makeup and especially, whether they are comfortable in their own skin. The way a person holds themselves can tell you if they are happy on their own, open to interaction, socially insecure or defensive and spikey. Some years ago when I was living a debauched life of sex, drugs and advertising in Sydney, I was in the bar of a luxury hotel with a female colleague. We were having the usual discussion, you know the one about which men in the office we’d be happy to fuck. A bottle of champagne arrived, from two men over the other side of the room. We invited them over. Noting the ridiculous number of pretty girls in the room I asked them why they chose us. “Because you two looked like you were having the most fun.” We didn’t tell them what fun we were having. We went upstairs, drank their minibar, thanked them and went off giggling into the night. There was more but you don’t need to know about that.
There is a lot of tripe aimed at women about how the right man will see their supposed good qualities ie: their minds, and nothing else will matter. But that’s not how it works. It doesn’t work because it ignores human, not just man nature. It doesn’t work because it implies that being attractive suggests you can’t be appropriately intellectual. This is the defensive, snobbish view taken by the kind of women who believe there is no need to make an effort to look their best, casting it aside as superficial, while they remain mystified as to why men are not attracted to their apparently beautiful minds. It’s self-absorbed, self-entitled thinking that suggests a man needs to work to get to know the wondrous person inside. The right bloke will, but only if he’s attracted enough to peel back the coating. And I’m just as superficial as he is.