By Cameron Heffernan

 

Cameron takes a look into the world of the Wingman (from a personal perspective), and hopes to shed a light on this lonely existence.

Long ago, like many a chubby adolescent, I had a friend (or friends) who was (were) wildly more attractive than myself. instead of a negative, this to me, was some sort of golden ticket into the world of beautiful people. The upper-echelon if you will. One can only get so far on personality, really. Most of us “regulars” are abandoned in the cold, left to dwindle into obscure introvert, that has no friend to call “key card” to the lost city of “Party-opolis”.  With this “golden ticket” of a human being, I thought I had ascended to the heavens. Where the drinks run aplenty and the women are swooning with the last minute ideal of “Dick O’ Clock” (not mine; heard it at a bar over the weekend and felt it needed to be shared with the world. What it is, as explained, is the time at the end of the night, when all the women frantically look for a dick. Mind you, before you get up in arms. This was explained to me by a woman, directly after we had a conversation about women and the need to show skin when it’s unnecessary. It was all very pro-women, till the Dick O’ Clock).

My delusional thoughts were far from reality, though.

Relegated, quickly I might add, to being a wallflower, the realization that I was not one of them, set in. Although I was better at guitar than some, the “more established looking one” (hot dude) got the attention. Questioning everything, I thought, “Why would my friend bring me to places like this (house parties, art shows, other crap, etc.), why? would I be necessary to his road of vaginal conquest.

It was at this moment that the “they’re all gonna laugh at you” scene form Carrie started blaring through my head. “Oh god, am I about to be covered in pigs blood at the expense of these prissy-hipster fucks?” Was all I could comprehend. But, then another idea popped in my head. I’d heard of it before, mainly in the movies, but I was, unbeknown, a  Wing Man. Not a guy really into buffalo wings. But, a starting pitcher, if you will.

In baseball, you have a starting pitcher. He goes all game, keeps his team in it and then instead of him finishing, a closer or reliever comes in and ends it (hopefully). In baseball, the pulling of the starter, is due to fatigue and other such circumstances.

In the dating game, it boils down to, “Hey, I can’t really just walk over there and whip my dick out and stake my claim. So, since I have no real people skills, I’ll use you (the Wing Man) and then, like some fucking vulture, swoop in and pick up the scraps of whatever conversation you were having with MY new found, vaginal conquest.”

This, in a nutshell, is what you’re dealing with when you’re a Wing Man.

The “Friend Zone” was derived from the Wing Man. You’re a conversation starter –  a scout-type. You’re the one who finds out the common interests, the things she likes to do. Then, your more attractive friend, like a chameleon-parrot, swoops in and is now all of the sudden into that “faggy-space-opera shit” you liked so much, in order to get some tang.

We are doormats. Always have been, and always will be.

How do we get out though?

Working out? Probably not, they knew what you looked like before, and that image will never leave. Once a fat, always a fat.

Get a more successful job? This too, will not matter. With today’s common, “free spirit” 20 to 30 year olds, your “hard work” is just you being a tool to the corporate machine. Your friend, without a job and endless vacation time, has got you covered. He’ll take her out while you work.

Opening yourself up to new things? Like hikes, new movies and exploring. Again, bro! Your bro has already done those things with the woman you were trying to woo at first. Just enjoy the Facebook pictures and pretend you were there.

Maybe it’s cause your humor isn’t what she’s looking for? You may be funny to everyone else. But not “I’d let you take me out on a date” funny. Your bro’s 9/11  joke he heard on the internet, is way more appealing than your spot on reference to something you and this maiden share, or any original humor you may have had in observation of something. I mean, come on man, you should’ve guessed this by now.

NOTHING YOUR SAYING MATTERS. IN THESE SCENARIOS; THE FRIEND ZONE, THE WING MAN. YOU ARE NOT. I REPEAT. NOT. WHAT THEY ARE HERE FOR.

They are here for your hot friend. They aren’t here for a date, or to be asked on a date. They’re here to appease carnal desire – in the scenarios such as, house party, club, etc..

You serve as a marshmallow-y divider between the straight up question of “wanna fuck,” and “hey, let me be wooed by your friend, and by proxy, you, and then one of you – i.e. the “societal-norm-hot-one” – can actually get anywhere with me, while the other one is stuck with the the lady Wing-Man. Who, unlike you, wants nothing to do with social interaction, and would rather just shoot herself in front of you. A man’s carnal desire to mate (without the baby consequences) is something that’s pounding away at any moment of the day. It’s truly an awful thing. I can guarantee you, the first thing a man thinks when he meets a woman, “I wanna bang her,” followed by. “Wow, that was rude,” and then, “Nahh, I still wanna bang her.”

The only thing that separates normal “nice” guys and the rapists/creepers/hot guys; is the factor that we know how to keep our thoughts to ourselves.  As well as a litany of other shit that cause people to rape, but that’s not what I’m talking about here.

What I am talking about, is not that women should be letting any guy who’s felt Wing Man’d, or “Friend Zoned”, in to their pants, but at least hear the guy (or lady) out if they’re trying to ask you on a date. (and vice versa for the women too,  I apologize for this tangent being one sided, but I am a man, speaking from personal experience, I am not a woman, and wouldn’t know what you’re thinking in these social scenarios. But, for reals, I got nothing but love for all women, no matter shape or color. Unless you’re morbidly obese, and want to do nothing about it, and continue to extenuate the problem – this goes for men too, if you’re a big fat disgusting guy, you shouldn’t be expecting anything, from anyone, that’s for lack of a better term, “out of your league.”)

As long as you’ve figured that they aren’t a serial killer. What is one little date gonna hurt? If there’s no physical attraction at all, fine, so be it. But, why, even if there’s even the tiniest attraction, do we shut it down? Then decide, arbitrarily, “This isn’t the one for me”, “I should go with the Alpha, over the Beta, because he’s/She’s the cute one.”

Sadly, unlike the movies say, “the One” isn’t out there . In reality, there are a lot of ones out there, hell there’s even twos and threes, too. The idea of the “one” is what ruins it for you, not your personality, or your looks. Them  fretting about the “one” aesthetically, instead of the important things like, personality, intelligence and stature, which two and three might have, are what actually make you miss the “one”. And this goes for both sexes. I may sound like an ugly person, complaining about how he can’t find love.  I have though, a few times, and I live with no regrets about it. They weren’t “The One” at the time; my sights were elsewhere, like everyone else. But, by opening my ideals up, about what I was really looking for, and realizing the Wing Man (Or Woman) was really the right “One”, I ended up with the better person.

No one should be making the homeless poet their “one”, and then support them till the band makes it, because they’re just so “sexy and good in bed”.