I’ve been involved
with three stunning male models in the past, two in San Francisco and one in Shanghai. Within my small sample size
I’ve discovered truth to the cliché that models are not very interesting.
It’s not like being pretty automatically makes a person boring, but when a
person spends all their time cultivating one aspect of themselves, other traits
are forgotten. Quickly I grew bored and did everything I could to avoid answering
each of their calls. Of course it was fun at first, I couldn’t figure out
why these Adonises were interested in me, but it was a nice ego boost.
As for myself, I never considered myself pretty. Growing up I was awkward for a variety of reasons. While Asian girls were supposed to be stick thin, I had a curvy body that attracted older men who confusedly didn’t consider me jail-bait. My parents struggled to keep afloat so while my school was known to be the rich preppy school, I had to be thrifty with my fashion choices. To say I was a bit of a disaster was an understatement. I was known as the smart one, the funny one, the caring one, the girl with the big smile, but never the beautiful one. As a result I developed a personality, one naturally more comfortable in taking interest in others and detracting attention away from myself.
While living in
Shanghai, I found myself dating good looking men who weren’t very
interesting. Relationships lasted two weeks at most, but that was
just the norm in Shanghai for everyone involved. When people say Shanghai
was a playground for men, the girls I knew would agree that it was actually a
playground for all.
The model was
introduced to me through a mutual friend. His piercing blue eyes were
irresistible enough for me to ignore the fact that English was his fourth,
and weakest, language. His first languages, French and Hebrew, were a
jumbo of words to me, and his third language, Mandarin, was not my preferred
language to flirt in. He had perfected his seductive gaze and hanging out
with him was like being with a living version of his billboards since he spent his
time quietly posing just like them.
Like all non-committal relationships, texting was the communication of choice. He’d invite me out to watch one of his shows, because everyone in Shanghai was a model/musician at that time, but I’d be too busy hanging out with friends. I’d invite him out to one of many clubs, but he’d already committed himself to hanging out at another hot new club, most likely with another girl. One night though we both ended up at the same opening party to yet another new club and back to my place.
Like all non-committal relationships, texting was the communication of choice. He’d invite me out to watch one of his shows, because everyone in Shanghai was a model/musician at that time, but I’d be too busy hanging out with friends. I’d invite him out to one of many clubs, but he’d already committed himself to hanging out at another hot new club, most likely with another girl. One night though we both ended up at the same opening party to yet another new club and back to my place.
I woke up the next
morning with one thought in my head, “how do I get rid of him?” He lay
peacefully in my bed and I had to resist the urge to poke him awake. As I lay in bed I tried to come up with
reasons why he had to leave as soon as possible, and once I settled on a plan
of action, he finally started to stir.
“Shit, I forgot, my
aunt is coming over this morning, you have to get up and go,” I declared as I
shot out of bed and started to get dressed. I know, not the best excuse,
but the start of a hangover kept me from thinking straight. He tried to
pull me back into bed, but I resisted. “She’ll be here any minute,” I
pleaded desperately.
“No, no, I don’t think
so,” he stated as he further made himself comfortable in my bed.
“Seriously, you have
got to be kidding me,” I thought to myself, while out loud I said, “I’m
serious, she’s coming here now, you have to get out before she gets
here.” Seeing that I wasn’t going to stop, the model slowly stretched and
started to get out of my bed. With his clothes back on I walked him to
the front door where his shoes waited for him. Before putting on his
shoes he made one final attempt to get frisky, but since he was getting nowhere,
he gave up and told me not to tell our mutual friend about the night
before.
As soon as he was gone
I went back to bed and called our mutual friend to tell her about the night
before, including his cryptic request for me not to mention our night to her.
On the other end of
the spectrum, the same friend who introduced me to the model introduced me to a
group of guys who always hung out at the same bar. Since my friend helped
design the bar I ended many nights there relaxing and drinking Xinjiang Black
Beer after a night out. One of the guys flirted shamelessly with me while
his friends watched on. He told me he wanted to start a band playing
English songs in Mandarin. I told him about my dream of singing in a
band, so he invited me to sing for his band. His friends, and band mates,
glared at him, they weren’t completely sure if he was serious.
I knew he wasn’t, it was just one of the stupid things a guy says when he’s
drunk enough and flirting, but like good wingmen, his friends kept their mouths
shut. That night he left with my phone number.
I wasn’t sure about
him, but our mutual friend convinced me that he was a really nice guy, just
what I needed at that point.
He won me over right as our first date began. Instead of texting me the restaurant I was supposed to meet
him at, he called to tell me he’d pick me up. There, under the
streetlight outside of my apartment complex, was the nice guy with flowers.
I can’t say much about the rest of the date, it’s been too long to remember everything. I do have the vague recollection of sitting
at a darken restaurant and sharing endless laughs together, then being
introduced to a bar where I had my first taste of absinthe, however, that
moment when he did the exact opposite of the average expat man in Shanghai by
picking me up instead of meeting me somewhere, that’s what won me over.
Men forget that it’s the simplest gestures that a girl really remembers.
We met up for a few
more dates, laughed and had a good time. Then one night when I invited
him join me and my friends, he felt uncomfortable and wanted to leave, but
instead we got drunk. At that time getting drunk was the norm for me, and
drunk Tiffany always ended up being silly and vapid. We went back to his
place to go to sleep and nothing more. After that we didn’t see each
other again.
Later I found out that
he got back together with his ex-girlfriend, who is now his wife. They’ve
spent the last six years happily married with an adorable son. At the
time I wasn’t sure what happened, but once back in California a friend explained
it to me. I was a “test girl”. It’s not uncommon for guys to freak
out as they consider marrying their girlfriends. As a result they break
up and while considering if it was the right decision, they then date someone else. If they resist doing anything with the new
girl, then it’s because they really can’t imagine being with anyone other than
the girl they love. Yeah, that still confuses me, too, but it does make sense
considering they married later that year.
For a girl who never
considered herself attractive, I went from dating pretty but boring men to being
that pretty but boring girl for someone else.
I wasn’t heartbroken
about that breakup. Dating a good guy instead of my string of bad for me
men helped me realize how unfulfilling choosing dates based on looks was.
At the young age of twenty-three, I was in a playground and choosing all the
wrong playmates.
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