I’ve always been a “girl’s girl,” initially a girl who is interested in befriending only girls, and later a girl who is interested in dating only girls. Men, lovely, basic bitches that they are, hold limited appeal. I suppose that might come off as misandry, and maybe it is, but I’ve always said that I’m gay not because I’m more masculine than straight women, but because I’m such a girl men seem to be from a different species, a valuable lot but not ones I’d like to have long conversations with.
Growing up, I had a series of intense (yet platonic) best friendships with girls I thought were brilliant and beautiful and everything anyone could want in a friend. As a little girl, I would longingly imagine a faraway future when our husbands would die and my best friend and I would reunite to grow old together in an old Victorian house surrounded by ugly animals no one else wanted to love. How no one thought that was a bit gay is beyond me. Anyway, I’ve never had a best straight guy friend. Ever. I’ve tried a couple times, and found them either a. hopelessly dull or b. trying to jam their hands down my pants after a couple drinks.
So yes, bromance has not been a great personal strength of mine but I’m 24 now, an enlightened woman, and refuse to write off an entire subsection of humanity for friendship just because they tend to annoy me. I’m also a bit jealous of other lesbians who have tons of guy friends that they bro out with on the reg. I want to bro out. I love hot wings and draft beer. This week I wore the same pair of yoga shorts three days in a row. Sometimes I say “bitches be trippin” while shaking my head. There is definitely bro potential inside of me.
The first step in embracing bromance was looking back to figure out where I had gone wrong before. After some pondering, I realized that I was picking the wrong dudes! My bro bar was too low, and I had hung out with dorky weirdo boys out of the misconception that we would relate. The problem with average, nerdy guys is they’re prime “nice guy” material who can’t understand why girls just want to be friends with them so they assume any girl, even a lesbian, is just overlooking them romantically rather than genuinely and eternally uninterested. Not only are those guys the type to creep when they (or you) are drunk, they’ll also bore you to tears with self pity about how girls/friends/culture do not see them for the very special snowflakes they are. My new bro can’t just be a nice guy, he has to be someone I can respect. A manbro. I applied the same criteria to potential bros that I do to dates: must have job, apartment, car and—an additional new condition—get laid. I am simply not a nice enough person to talk to sexually frustrated men about their feelings. They have Reddit.
After being honest with myself about what I wanted and needed in a bro, I opened myself to the world and beckoned platonic friendship. And in walked Sean. Sean is classic Americana, the Calvin Klein to my Marc By Marc Jacobs. When Sean and I met months ago through Jessica, my former roommate, we immediately hit it off as laid back people in a group of Type As. In groups, we both prefer to sit back, drink, and make faces at each other to indicate subtle judgement. We also both really like to talk about girls, not in a gross way but in a “what do you think of this situation” way that I find most appealing. Sean works in finance for entertainment companies, which is legit and total actress bait, so lord knows he’s not going to hit on me. Yay! He’s always slipping off to Napa for wine tasting or Big Bear for camping, so I love that he has classy hobbies like myself.
My relationship with Sean attains bromance status over the course of three nights. Sean, Jessica, my date Liz and I met up at a bar on Melrose to talk over a few drinks. Liz and Jessica, both beautiful actresses, quickly become engrossed in outshining each other vis-a-vis engaging monologues. I mean conversation. Sean and I sip on pints and whisper “My God they’re the same person” while watching Jessica and Liz learn to dislike each other’s need for attention. It’s good stuff.
Several weeks later, Sean and I run into each other again at a party. As usual, we end up huddled in the corner in deep discussion. “How’s Liz?” he asks and I say, “Alas, Liz is no more.” “I’m not surprised,” Sean says. “Liz was too much.” “But she was very beautiful,” I reminisce fondly. “And wherever she is, whatever she’s doing, I do hope she’s unhappy.” We order another round and after a few minutes, I notice that a hot girl across the room is making eyes at Sean. “Should I say something?” he asks and I’m like, “No focus all of your energy on me until the last moment, you need to seem desirable.” Sure enough, as we leave the girls hands Sean her number.
Seeing as all credit goes to me for Sean getting cute girl’s number, I insist we hang out ASAP for a status report. Their status, like that of mine with Liz, no longer exists. The two only went out once before hot girl decided to be angry at Sean. “She told Jessica she was offended because I didn’t buy her first drink,” Sean tells me, bewildered. “I didn’t have a chance to though!” Sean and I sit, sip, and stare at the wall plaintively, thinking of all the women that are and all the second dates that never were. It’s a simple moment, one filled with the camaraderie that comes from talking shit about girls who hurt our feelings and not giving a damn how we look doing it.
“What a bitch,” Sean says. I smile. “Seriously bro.”