I’m starting to find a fairly unfortunate trend: Men are often crap. Let me elaborate.
Lately, I find myself longing for what I refer to as the ‘fire-place tableau’: My man and I sitting by the fire, wearing over-sized sweaters, drinking alcohol infused egg-nog, laughing about the events of our day. He’s a doctor, of course (or a humanitarian, depending on how materialistic I’m feeling). It is lovely, we will be together forever and ever, till death or Zac Efron tears us apart.
In all reality, I haven’t experienced this cute little vomit-inducing tableau for some time. The jaded queen in me says “Bah-Humbug!”, but the romantic in me says, “So, here I am, a month away from Christmas, one of the most romantic holidays of the year, re-enacting The Great Hunt.”
This hunt of mine has turned up a few interesting candidates, however I’m starting to find a fairly unfortunate trend: Men are often crap.
Let me elaborate.
I recently met up with a nice young man; definitely within my realm of date-worthy. He is, of course, gorgeous, with a chiselled bod – just my type. He’s funny, carefree, playful. Yadda, yadda, yadda. We spent some lovely time together, we kiss good-bye, we exchange numbers, he closes the door and I sigh a great sigh of relief thinking, “Thank you Baby Jesus for this Christmas Miracle”.
With a little investigative journalism I learn that my sweet beautiful man is not who he says he is, that he plays a damn good game, that he’s been playing this game for several years and that I am but one of many of his victims whom he has wooed and shooed. What really got me was that he didn’t even give me his real name.
I find this story of false identity to be quite astounding. I personally present myself as I am (or at least who I think I am), but this age of social media has allowed our society to represent ourselves in whatever means we see fit, or perhaps attractive or effective for any given scenario. As an artist, an actor, this idea of false representation, of becoming someone else for any occasion is certainly not new to me. However, it seems to me that identity itself has largely become like going into your walk-in closet and pulling out a new suit every day. Be who you choose to be.
While there are some aspects of this ‘chameleon-like’ lifestyle that I find intriguing, I wonder at our abilities to meet our social needs as human beings.
I am currently producing the play ‘CLOSER’ by Patrick Marber. It explores the devastating mistakes we make in order to be closer, to feel closer to another human being. It is a wild concept that has caused me to lose much sleep in the past several months. How do I get closer? More specifically, how do I get closer when others around me change and shed their identities for the convenience of appealing to the scenario or individual?
I’m flustered by this experience with the name-changing-man. I feel duped, but I also feel a little bit smarter about the world around me. I’m incredibly gullible sometimes and these moments make me wake up and smell the douche-bag.