There I was, sitting in a bar in Hoboken. My date gets up to use the bathroom, and, not two seconds later, two other, much younger girls come over and one plops right down in her seat -- even though her pocket book was on the bar and her jacket was on the chair. So, I politely say, "Excuse me, my friend's coming back. She just went to the bathroom." I fully expected the usual "No problem. We just want a drink." Instead, to my total shock, the girl looked me dead in the eye and coldly replied -- in the nastiest, "What are you gonna do about it" tone -- "So?"
Walking through downtown Hoboken later that night, and watching the hordes of young, attention-hungry females strutting around in pants they don't fit in and shoes they can't walk in, I became despondent -- not only for the poor souls who might, one day, end up fathering a child with these misguided ladies -- but, more so, for the girls themselves; not to mention, society, in general.
Where did it all go wrong? How did the Saturday night social scene end up turning into a cosmetically altered version of The Hunger Games? I'm not just talking about the Guidos/Guidettes one might find in Hoboken. Everywhere you go these days, N.Y., L.A., Amish country, wherever, it feels like you're trapped in some B movie called Attack of the Nasty Stepford Girls. You can literally feel the rudeness and insincerity seething from their pores. And, ironically, in their quest to be the most attractive, the most popular, the most unique, and the most desirable, these personality-deficient fembots succeed only in becoming carbon copies of each other. And, not in a positive way.
Girls will always want to outcool and outshine each other, but, since when did they begin dressing so poorly and behaving so badly?
Granted, I'm 44, so, it could easily be that I've caught the "generation disease" from my folks, and, instead of waking up one day hating rock music (which I'm still terrified will happen), I woke up and realized women under 30 might as well be aliens.
I don't listen to their music, don't understand their text abbreviations, cannot even fathom why they need to display their feathers in such an obvious and unflattering way, and thus, am completely, yet blissfully, unattracted to them in every way, shape, and form. Not all of them, of course, but a large enough percentage of the demographic to prompt this letter/query.
And, why does it seem like this segment of the population is multiplying like a fungus on a piece of cheese? Again, maybe I'm too old to appreciate rudeness, catty looks, horribly bad make-up jobs, and shoes that make even the sturdiest of women look like new-born giraffes, but something is definitely wrong.
I hate to say it, but, "In my day," I simply can't remember girls, in general, being this nasty as a general rule. Twenty years ago, the worst thing a "mean girl" ever did was sleep with your boyfriend and show up at school the next day wearing his varsity jersey. Now, it seems, each night, there's at least a dozen incidents of women looking for a reason to smash glass or dump beer on each other, as if they were men, then, victoriously storm off to the diner to laugh about it. "Wha hap'n?"
From an observer's p.o.v., it definitely appears the onslaught of low-brow garbage spewed forth by every cable channel and magazine under the sun, combined with the constant Instagrams of "You're not cool unless you're drunk by a pool in South Beach!" has told most young women of today they need to carry themselves in a manner which suggests they're porn stars and their brains are fried, just like their television idols. Most women these days, even some married ones, come off as subtle as a piano dropping on your head. They leave about as much to the imagination as a Jenna Jameson marathon.
Though, it's not entirely their fault. The ever-widening gap of human interaction brought on by social media has apparently not only altered the part of our brains that affect how we relate to each other socially, but also, physically. When it comes to attracting the opposite sex, everything has to be immediate gratification. Perfectly fake boobs, perfectly coiffed hair, perfectly tanned skin, perfectly picked out dress (two sizes too small), and a pair of perfectly trendy, incredibly uncomfortable shoes. Lay one of these girls down flat and you could incur severe tire damage.
On the bright side, while it's incredibly depressing to see what a large percentage of the country's youth have been reduced to, these sadly desperate, fashion victims, who walk around pretending they're the guest of honor in their own reality shows, make it easier for those of us with even the slightest bit of class and taste to spot the good ones, as they can't help but stand out like a sore thumb in their loose-yet-cool ripped blue jeans, Yankees jersey and flip flops. Of course, they're probably mean, too, but I don't have the guts to find out.
There's already one Kim K., ladies -- and that's one too many. Make your own 'reality.'
This hit the nail on the head.
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