Nice guys and bad boys

If this isn't your first time (and I can tell when it isn't), you might have noticed how my mildly interesting romantic history is largely seasoned with men who might best be referred to as "bad boys". Not thugs and creeps, exactly, but the type of guys you might think twice about leaving alone in the room with your best friend. Or your credit card. It's so completely unoriginal, and lord knows I've been right there along with the sisterhood lamenting how we can't meet nice guys. And who doesn't have at least one male friend who's asked "Why don't girls like nice guys?  You always seem to go for the bad boys."  Yes, we often do. And you want to know why? It's not the swagger (well, not entirely), or the direct gaze, or the tattoos. It's much simpler than that: because the bad boys go for us.

Hear me out. Sure, your average bad boy has a cocksureness that can be pretty appealing, compelling even. But that's not to say nice guys aren't confident, too; it's just a bit less of an in your face (or your pants) confidence. And it's not that we don't like nice guys; quite the opposite. But nice guys are often too shy or too cautious to take that chance and lay it on the line. And nice girls (and I include myself in that category)  aren't exactly keen to stick their necks out, either. So where does that leave you? With two nice people, home alone on a Friday night. I sometimes feel like nice and nice simply cancel each other out.

Bad boys, on the other hand, are only too happy to meet you more than halfway. They'll actually meet you all the way. Like on your doorstep ("we don't need to go out, baby") if you let them. There's something comforting (and, let's be honest, flattering)  about not wondering if a guy is into you. Bad boys just so clearly WANT you, and that can be intoxicating, even when you know it's temporary. And unless you're an idiot (or me in my 20s) you'll figure out pretty quickly that you're just the latest date on an Around the Girls World tour. But while he's focused on you, you'll have a lot of fun.  As evidenced by Monday night booty calls, Wednesday morning hangovers, and the occasional episode of public indecency.

The nice guy, on the other hand, often wants to be friends first. Which is great, but often confusing. Because we usually can't tell if this is a stopover on the way to Sexytown or if we've arrived at our final destination, Platonicville. Population: me.

Here's my theory: nice guys might not like to admit it, but they tend to go for the slightly bad girls for the same reasons nice girls tend to go for the naughty boys. They don't have to make the first move and risk rejection. That no guesswork thing works both ways. However, the downside to this is that they lose the ability to read female subtlety when conditioned to blatant sluttery. So the nice girls are thinking "What is his problem? Is he blind? This is my A game" and he's thinking "She seems to like me, but it's hard for me to be sure what with this other girl on my lap."

Bridget Jones, the patron saint of conflicted women everywhere, gave us perhaps the quintessential Bad Boy vs. Nice Guy grudge match with her suitors, Daniel Cleaver and Mark Darcy. Sure, they were archetypes, and it isn't always as easy to distinguish one from the other; you can't always spot the nice ones simply by their reindeer sweaters. Especially in the summer. I find this to be a more reliable field guide tip, honed by years of careful study: a bad boy has his hand on your ass; a nice guy has his hand on the door, holding it open for you.

But our Bridget was onto something when she headed out into the snow in her panties, literally putting her ass on the line for a decent guy.  I think we all remember what happened next. One of the best movie lines of all time, that's what. And something those of us with a bad boy penchant would do well to remember: 

"Wait a minute - nice boys don't kiss like that."
"Oh yes they fucking do."

So what's the answer? How do you get off the bad boy merry-go-round?  I don't know. I do know that I'm no longer the least bit interested in taking a spin with the Daniel Cleavers of the world. Here's the problem: in the past, I've thought I've shown Def Con four levels of obvious interest, and my male pals  have said "Really? I'm not so sure. I'd read what you're doing, at best, as something between indifference and mild distaste." Which likely means I'm hopeless, since it's getting a little late in the game to whore it up. Not that women my age don't do it all the time; it's called a mid-life crisis. I think, for better or worse, the nice girl is here to stay. I'll remember the bad boys (mostly) fondly, but I'd very much like to see if Mark Darcy was right and if, indeed, yes they fucking do. I just hope I don't have to end up on a busy street in my underwear to find out.