It’s Valen-Time!

I hope you respond to this e-mail, because I am going through an emotional crisis. My boyfriend of two years broke up with me because he’s “young” and does “not want any attachments right now.” He wants to stay friends, but I don’t know how to make that transition; I mean, he was my first “true love.” I hate thinking that he’s going to meet somebody else; I know I eventually will, too, but I don’t want anyone but him. I’m not interested in anyone (no one is as cute and dorky as he is). I wish I could be friends with him, because I want him in my life, but each time we hang out, I know I’ll be sad afterward because I can’t have him anymore. So, my question is: Should I even consider being friends with him, is that even healthy for me, and, if so, how do I do that? I can’t turn my feelings off. Any advice would be appreciated.


Normally I wouldn’t answer your letter, because the instructions for getting over a broken heart have been fairly well documented (buy lots of tissues—the kind with aloe—refrain from drunk dialing and/or e-mailing, insist your friends buy you loads of cocktails and listen to you cry even if you call them in the middle of the goddamned night). But you got dumped just before Valentine’s Day, and that is harsh. While everyone else is planning romantic dinners for two, you’re hosting a pity party for one. Ouch!

So here’s my advice: Follow your gut and forget about being friends with this doofus. Continuing to see him will only prolong your misery. It’s always the idiot dumper twit who thinks it’s a swell idea to remain friends; you never hear the emotionally eviscerated party suggesting that. Maybe it’s an ego thing—the breaker-upper can feel better about himself if he tosses the completely unsatisfactory friendship branch your way. Or perhaps it’s just cluelessness. Whatever the reason, who cares? I’ve wasted far too many hours pondering the mystical motivations of men, and all it’s done is piss me off and give me wrinkles. Learn from the error of my ways and save yourself some time and aggravation.

The best thing you can do is cut him out of your life completely. Rip the Band-Aid off quickly. It’ll hurt like hell, but you’ll heal much faster than if you hang around mooning over someone who’s obviously too thick to see the beauty that is you.

Through long?and painful?experience I’ve learned that there are three requirements for the effective seducer. First, unshakable self-confidence. When you enter a room, act like you own the damn place. Second, whenever you go out, dress for conquest. This means no blue jeans, no sneakers, no baggy clothes, no three-day growth of beard. It means: shoes shined, pants sharply creased, form-fitting clothing, colors coordinated. Third, listen, listen, listen. Women like to talk more than men, so listening can be very endearing. Even if she is just talking a lot of mindless drivel, keep listening. Feign interest, and periodically say something like, “I understand,” “I see,” or “Yes”—no more. As a master seducer in Stendhal’s great novel The Red and the Black said: “Say little, do little.” And whatever you do should be bold and surprising. Never become predictable, never volunteer any information about yourself, and never, ever be a “nice guy.”

This is a book-length subject, but there you have the fundamentals.


On the right man, a three-day beard growth is hot. On the wrong guy—you know, the cocky asswipe who pretends to listen while what he’s really thinking about is how awesome his ass looks in his new snug-fitting, color-coordinated slacks—on him, a three-day growth might look stupid. But at least he’ll be able to shave in the reflection of his shiny shoes.

The whole “don’t be a nice guy” shtick—tired. Fuck mysterious, brooding assholes, nice guys are red fucking hot. Why I kissed one just last week. Meeee-owww!!!!

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