Despite my long dark beach wavy hair a la Gisele Bundchen and my Rachel Zoe inspired dress style, complete with careful application of MAC Cosmetics to give me those smokey cat eyes ... energetically ... men respond to me as if I were sexually androgynous. They demand performance from me because I have no sexual allure to them even if I walked around in four inch heels. Basically, my London pal told me tame my alpha bitch if I ever wanted a man to love me or at least see me as someone they would want to hook-up with. My response - the hell with high heels they hurt my feet!
The other women they don't want to upset or become mad at them because they may want to date or marry them someday. Curious if this was true, and in true Athena fashion, I asked Thor (German-Scandinavian-American polo player and Stanford grad turned investment banker), Patrick (Irish-American doctor from Boston who goes to Dublin every summer), and Douglas (the French-American CPA who grew up around the world but was born in New York), their honest thoughts.
I promised I could take it. They knew it. I asked them independently. All three of them disagreed with my London pal's theory. Assuming these men were honest their conclusion was: I carried myself with a confidence, directness, and intelligence without apology. Fundamentally, my energy has a response that is more respectful of my space and makes me immune to being objectified. They all suggested, however, that when I am socializing to turn off Athena and be more of the Carrie Bradshaw I was when I was partying in New York earlier in life.
I agree. I love being Carrie. So much so that watching the Carrie Diaries has me wishing those days and wanting to be jailbait once again. Just like the Mia in "Fish Tank" as long as the older man is Michael Fassbender. Hee hee.
I'll let you in on a secret: When I lived out East, and was emulating Sex and the City in my own way, I never had to cook dinner, because if I was too tired I went on a date. The guy got nothing more than a handshake and I'd cab home. In my youth, I must have had some magic, or played Carrie so well that I went on dates to places like Tavern on the Green with doctors, dentists, investment bankers, real estate investors, etc. How did I land them? Funny enough, at business networking events.
Then there the time I met a man who was 46 but looked 36. I was 21. He and I happened to be at two different business conferences in the same hotel. His name was Jonas. Jonas walked right up to me and asked me out. He lived in Chicago while I was in New York. We had dinner two nights in a row, nothing else, never even kissed him, and then he returned to the Windy City. For the next six months he would send me cards and cute voicemails. Why? Jonas was a former Marine and I reminded him of, in the words of the Bruce Springsteen song, "a woman he loved Saigon". Oh geez. He stopped calling when I told him that I met a man named Geoffrey.