Are women capable of being fine with being single? Of course! But when it’s been a while and we can’t find a partner, sometimes we half-heartedly resign ourselves to being single—adopting a passive-aggressive “fuck you” attitude toward the universe: “Oh, you meant for JUST ME to be miserable and alone? Ok cool. Then I’m not gonna bother because I know there’s no one out there for me who isn’t terrible. I’ll just go live in a toad hole and disappear and make everyone happy!”
It’s hard not to get a little bitter. People always seem to blame the girl for her own romantic misfortune, and they assume she’s doomed if she happens to be uncoupled for a while. Is it possible that your ex-boyfriend was just shitty and you were smart enough to ditch him? Is it possible you’re choosing to be alone for a while, either because you need to recover from something awful or because you actually like having time to do your own thing and watch a shit ton of TLC?
Just like the phases I listed above, there are phases of trying to come to terms with your own solitariness. It’s like the grieving process. These phases can severely test your belief in a higher power or your sense of good and rightness in the world. It is hard to believe in karma when you see all these awful people around you finding love while you keep stuttering along on an endless lazy Susan of half-assed kisses and split checks.
Five Steps of Single Grieving
We’ve all had those breakups that we longed for and initiated, and woke up the next day thinking, “I’m free!!!” This list is for the other kind of breakup: when you’re mourning a relationship you loved that felt like it was cut off in its prime.
Denial. Your GL tells you, “I’m single because I’m choosing to be,” which is half true! But really what you mean is you’re choosing not to settle and you are also not happy that what you had ended. Of course it will all be OK, but telling yourself it will be OK sort of denies that right now it fucking sucks, which is the truth—and also OK.
Anger. Your GL kicks into rageful comparison mode: “WHY! WHYYYYYYYYYY does that horrible bitch get a boyfriend and a beautiful shiny engagement ring and I’m still single? Her capped teeth don’t even look like teeth! Why did Jamie sleep with every guy on Facebook and even sleep with a married man, and, as a reward for that, she gets a gorgeous husband who adores her, while I get stuck going on a date with some guy named Clark who wears too many leather bracelets and drives a Mini? It’s a girl car! And for God’s sake why is he so THIN?”
Bargaining. Your GL tries to talk you into why you should stay in. Like, all the time. “I need another night to regroup from not leaving the house.” Or, the other way: “If I go out tonight, then I’ll feel better about staying in tomorrow.” Or it’s like a movie/game: “OK, universe. I’m gonna go on thirty-seven dates in thirty-seven hours and if I don’t find Mr. Right, then I’m giving up forever.”
Depression. Your GL wants you to drag a sleeve of Thin Mints into a cave of self-loathing: “No one loves me. The world wants me to be alone. At least I have the toads who also live in this hole for company.”
Acceptance. Your GL comes back around in all her glory. There’s a spring in her step. You’re ready to face the world again: “It is what it is. I’m gonna be fine. I have a date tomorrow!” See, your GL is on your side again. All of this obsessive thinking and ruminating finally burned away everything that wasn’t essential and helped you focus on what’s important and what’s real.
Similarly, women who find themselves single in their thirties come up with various rationalizations to explain their current circumstance. “But I’ve been in tons of relationships” seems to be the most common battle cry I hear among my circle. And sure, you probably were… in your twenties. In my twenties, I’d always have a boyfriend for about a year. Then they began to dwindle to six-month relationships, then three-month relationships, and finally just some dates here and there. Eventually, I just kind of felt like I was floating. I can’t stomach the idea of being with someone just to avoid being alone, so I didn’t force it with people I wasn’t truly excited about.
There is one silver lining, though. Older single women may get written off as spinsters, witches, Forever-Alones, “too involved with animal rescue,” or hot messes, but hey, at least they’re not “creepy old men.”
Aging single men aren’t typically labeled lonely, pathetic, desperate, or sad—they get to be called “playboys,” “ladies men,” “hard to tie down,” “the Dos Equis guy,” or just sexy bachelors, like George Clooney (who eventually bit the bullet and got married; thank God Amal was smart and age appropriate!). But at a certain age, unattached men who are still pursuing much younger women start drifting into pervy territory. Don’t believe me? Look at any woman’s Instagram comments. Once an older male fan of mine didn’t understand why writing, “I’d love to place a tender kiss on your perfect lips,” was a creepy thing to do, which is the creepiest part! Point is, “creepy” isn’t an adjective assigned to women unless they really try. As women age we might not be as sexually desirable, but we are still A-OK to hang out around kids, schools, and public parks!
Also, people don’t generally attribute men’s singleness to their being lame; they’re single because no woman has been special enough to “tame” them. Newsflash: women do love a project, but no woman can change any man who doesn’t want to change. Our Girl Logic kicks into overdrive when we encounter a mysterious, brooding hunk of dark, unpredictable moods. We become overwhelmed by his Potential, and we tell ourselves we’re OBVIOUSLY the only woman alive special enough to coax him out of his shell. Because Girl Logic’s dangling a carrot in front of us, making us think, “I’m special enough to change him,” women put up with a lot.
And I do it, too. I do it with guys who aren’t even real. I watch Game of Thrones and think, “Wow, Ramsay Bolton is cute and mysterious in a misunderstood, undiagnosed way. I know he loves torturing people, but I feel like he could change. If he got a chance at real love with someone like me, who knows what kind of adorable butterfly would flutter out of his hardened rapist shell!”
But think of all the free time women would have, all the mental energy they’d save, if they could turn off GL and stop constantly obsessing about being single! Men don’t seek out relationships the way the majority of women do. Maybe it’s a California thing, but I see guys every weekend “going surfing,” “backpacking with the boys,” or “staying in to unwind.” Of course girls partake in leisure, too; it just feels like a lot of men are doing it to get away, while women are doing it to show off how much fun they’re having on social media while obviously not thinking about boys at all.
There is a dusty, arid hole in the earth in Los Angeles called Runyon Canyon. Go there any day of the week, and you’ll see anyone from celebrities to jeans-clad Estonian tourists hiking. It’s dog friendly, which is great! Dogs love to pee there, and on a really hot day your hike is enhanced by the smell of warm dog urine baking in the sun. I went there alone for a few days in a row, and I did something a little weird: I simply listened to the snippets of conversations I heard as people passed me.
About 70 percent of the fifty-ish conversations I heard were women talking about men. Bits like “and his work has just been so crazy,” “I don’t wanna look crazy,” “I can’t keep texting him,” “but we had so much fun,” and of course the occasional positive tidbit, too. The point is, the primary subject of most women’s conversations was… men. The other 25 percent? Women talking about other women, and mostly in a negative way: “I love her, but she tries wayyyy too hard.” The other 5 percent was anything from politics to job complaints; I even heard one girl talking about how the secret to great skin is to not use water when washing your face. If anyone has any insight on this method, I’m all ears.
Of the men I spied on, less than 10 percent of their conversations were about women. The majority were about sports, apps, activities, movies—ya know, life stuff.
I did this survey because I wanted some empirical evidence that women are spending too much time talkin
g about relationships while men are just out there, living life, failing to freak out about dying alone. (It’s possible they are freaking out internally; I didn’t probe that deeply.)
And as much as I hate this data, the fact is that men don’t have to freak out because their biological clocks aren’t ticking so loud. Men don’t have to try, especially if they have table manners and a decent job. Age and beauty are fleeting, but money and power are, seemingly, forever. Don’t tell that to the ancient Romans or anyone who has ever declared bankruptcy, though.
Sometimes our GL lets us relax into accepting our own singleness for a minute (because the alternative is too exhausting). We need some downtime to recuperate, chug some Gatorade, and take a breather before we get back out in the game. I’ve felt this way after a bunch of lame dates: “I don’t want to text this new guy. I don’t want to put on a strapless bra and talk with another stranger about my favorite movies while feigning interest in what part of Pittsburgh he’s from.” Nope, tonight I’m calling three friends. We’re gonna drink expensive liquor at my house, take muscle relaxers because why not, maybe go to a bar for another round, come home, and order food. And I’m not gonna wear makeup. Except maybe a tiny amount of mascara… and concealer. And lip gloss. Who knows, I might meet my soulmate tonight.
8
Girl on Girl
In a perfect world, ALL WOMEN WOULD SUPPORT EACH OTHER, NO MATTER WHAT. But we’re all human. We like some people, we loathe others, and we’re “meh” on the rest. And none of us are immune to the idea that we’re all somehow in competition for this thing called happiness.
I’ll confess: sometimes, when I meet another woman who looks like “competition,” I might catch my GL fussing, “What does she have that I don’t? How can I get what she has? More coconut oil? Deeper breathing? What do I have that she doesn’t? Is she funny? Can she fill out boy shorts?” I suspect this urge to compare ourselves is part of a survival instinct left over from when we all lived in huts. We’ve gone from “How did she find that fruit?” to “How did she get that job, and why is her skin so dewy? Where did she get all those promo codes on Instagram for highlighter kits?”
Then I remind myself, “I’m funny; I have that.” And most of the time I just move on, because life is too short to obsessively compare. Plus, you know what feels better than enduring the endless mental loop of “Why her, why not me?,” to simply compliment her and ask, “I’m so impressed, how did you get that ___?” It feels good to make someone else feel good, and, who knows, you might learn something, like, “Girl, I use BBQ sauce on my skin! Can you believe it?”
It’s hard to stay above the fray, though, when you’re a woman in a male-dominated industry. I read a lot of comedy interviews, and journalists always inquire about what various artists think of each other. When they ask male artists about each other, the reporters tend to do it from a good-natured place; they assume there’s a mutual respect already there… because, well, they’re men. But when they ask me about other women, it can feel like they’re trying to start a fight, like they want me to bash the other comedian.
Goading me into turning on the other woman makes a journalist’s job easier, and he can crank out a careless story about women hating each other. I get it. It’s more fun to think we loathe each other. If we have beef, we might fight. And if we fight? Who knows, gentlemen, we might start clawing each other, and then ripping each others’ shirts off, and then DUH, we all know the next step after that: A FULL-ON LESBIAN MAKEOUT SESSION FOR YOU TO WATCH!
Why do well-meaning women—women who know better, feminists even—feel the need to tear each other down? Frankly, I think it’s because, no matter how much progress this society has made, there are still limited opportunities for women. Women are left desperately trying to reassure ourselves, whether it comes to men or money or kids or jobs, that “there’s enough to go around.” And sometimes there is. But sometimes there just isn’t, and feeling starved for opportunity can make anyone a little competitive.
To me, one of the most powerful elements of feminism is the acknowledgment that women are multifaceted beings with the freedom to do, think, feel, and say what we wish. This includes getting to decide who I like and don’t like, based on the criteria I choose. If you take anything away from my version of feminism, know this: Real feminists judge everyone based on their actions and character. They won’t hold it against you that you are a woman, but they won’t give you special treatment because of it either. That’s the world I’d like to live in.
In my act, I’ve joked that women hate each other—even our closest friends. “OMG, Stacey’s such a bitch. No, I love her, I do. I’m just saying.” And I meant it when I said it in my twenties, when life was one big whirligig warpath of new experiences and none of us knew who we were or what we were doing. OH AWESOME! I CAN DRINK MYSELF SICK WHILE I LIVE WITH THREE OTHER GIRLS IN A TWO-BEDROOM RAILROAD APARTMENT AND SMOKE POT AND EAT MYSTERY THAI FOOD AT 4 A.M. AND STILL GET UP FOR MY CRAP DAY JOB AT 8 A.M. AND ATTEMPT HORRIBLE SEX WITH MY NEIGHBOR WHO I SECRETLY REALLY LIKE WHILE I’M ALSO STILL TALKING TO LIKE THREE OTHER GUYS! NO, HEELS TOTALLY LOOK FINE WHEN THEY’RE ONE SIZE TOO BIG; NO ONE WILL NOTICE! WHO CARES IF I GOT WASTED AT A WORK PARTY AND CRIED IN THE BATHROOM? OOPS, I THREW UP IN SOME DUDE’S BED—IT’S COOL! LET’S ALL BAND TOGETHER AND IGNORE THAT ONE FRIEND! I’M FUCKING SOMEONE FROM MY JOB! WE IGNORE EACH OTHER MOST OF THE TIME AND GET JEALOUS WHEN THE OTHER ONE FLIRTS WITH SOMEONE ELSE! I’M GONNA THROW A DINNER PARTY, HOPE YOU LIKE CHEX MIX!
And… then you’re thirty. Time flies. But in the thirtysomething era of newfound adulthood, jealousy and resentment can start cropping up more than ever, especially on the romantic front. It’s a struggle out there, as we’ve determined, and it can feel harder and harder to meet smart, cool men the older you get. This can trigger our GL to get panicky and hypersensitive, even with girlfriends—“IS THERE ANY LEFT FOR ME? WHEN WILL IT BE MY TURN?”—if we’re still looking for partners in our thirties and beyond.
For example, a few years ago, a childhood friend, Sarah, got engaged. I was super excited for her. Sarah and I had known each other since we were fourteen, and, as adults in Los Angeles, I’d twice attempted to set her up. The first time was with a comic who turned out to be kinda gross. (But he always seemed fine onstage!) The other was, uh, another comic—I need to expand my male friend network—who got her to blow him in the car and then stopped at Subway before dropping her off. Not a red-letter day for either of them. Point is, I tried!
So Sarah got engaged and asked me to meet her fiancé. I did, and he seemed lovely. After dinner I texted her, “James is wonderful, I’m so happy for you. Let me know if he has any cool single friends ;).”
She texted back, “try match.com babe”—no caps, no punctuation, no emojis. I felt stung, and when I replied that I can’t do Match because, well, I’m on TV sometimes and that would get weird, she wrote back, “Don’t know what to tell you! XO.”
I’d love to tell you that I didn’t feel a little hurt after reading those texts. Not because she told me to try Match, but because she seemed so curt and unhelpful. Maybe I overreacted or misinterpreted; maybe other women would have blown it off as no big deal. But in that moment, my Girl Logic started spinning out—and as per usual, the first thing it told me was, “See? There is no one left in your friend network to meet; everyone else is taken! Hurry up before it’s only you and a cockroach left in a bargain bin!”
When I considered how to reply, my GL gave me several options. The first was freak out and assume my friend secretly despised me. But, being raised as a lady, GL quickly reminded me that she probably didn’t mean it the way it sounded; after all, it is a text, and they’re often misinterpreted. Girl Logic also told me that this was my friend, and although she hurt my feelings, if I lost it on her now I’d just look like an asshole in a moment that was supposed to be joyful. But I’d been supportive; I’d even sat through a long dinner where all they did was kiss each other. It felt like because she’d found
her own happiness, she had better things to do now than care about mine, even for a text or two.
It’s reality: Your girlfriends love you. But when it comes to your romantic life, they are often too preoccupied with their own to think about helping you improve yours. It’s a sad hidden truth of Girl Logic: while we rely so heavily on our friends, we also secretly compare ourselves to them and pity them, and some of us might bail or fade away altogether when our circumstances have shifted and we don’t have as much space in our lives for them anymore.
Don’t get me wrong; I understand the excitement and warm fuzzies that coincide with being in a new couple. I also get that the lives of your single friends can sometimes start to look just a tiny bit sadder when you’ve found love yourself. You sit at dinner clutching your new boyfriend’s hand while your single friend talks about some lame date who kept bringing up how much he tipped the waiter while insisting his brand-new motorcycle jacket—the one that’s so stiff it makes him look like he’s peeking out of an S&M game of Whack-a-Mole—just needs “breaking in.” And you look at your friend and listen to her horror stories and think to yourself, “Oh my God, I’m soooooo glad I’m in a relationship and am no longer relegated to that miserable dating prison.” And you feel warm and safe. Then, one day? Maybe your relationship ends. BAM. You’re back to being one of the inmates in gen pop, thinking, “How the fuck did I end up here again?” And you go crawling back to your girlfriends for protection, who almost always take you back, because they understand.
Women aren’t entirely to blame for this hardwired sense of girl-on-girl competition. We were dealt a shit hand starting with Adam and Eve. Wait, we had Lilith, too! And she came BEFORE Adam and Eve! Lilith was created as Adam’s equal, not sprouted from his rib like Eve, and she was expelled from the garden because she wouldn’t be submissive to Adam. He banished her and made a 2.0 model he wanted to control—Eve.
Girl Logic Page 15