Success Is A Fuckboi

I mused on success recently, and while doing so I had a thought. Success is often personified as a woman, fickle and choosy, mysterious and aloof, other feminine words and synonyms, but I don’t know about all that. Women are only “mysterious” because when we don’t want the thing that men think we should want, they quickly throw up their hands and deem us complicated and irrational, as if we’re actual people or something. So then anything difficult and baffling gets clothed in a slinky black dress, stilettos, and a wink.

Instead of a pearl-adorned, sultry demoness, I, as my post title has already revealed so this isn’t shocking but I needed this sentence to be longer stylistically, like to think of success as a fuckboi.

successisa

There are a number of ways to spell it, but I find “fuckboi” to be the most charming because it really encompasses the meaning of the term: childish, a product of the internet era, and visually both displeasing and appropriate. Fuckbois are the masculine answer, I believe, to thots, and if that doesn’t mean anything to you then we are not exactly in the same boat, but we’re probably rowing adjacent to one another in the ocean that is rapidly evolving internet linguistics.

A fuckboi, as far as I understand, is a boy–specifically not a man by action but likely by legal age–who fucks you, literally and figuratively. He is a “tease” and a “slut” but with a penis (so of course we have to come up with a new term for him), and he also seems to be particularly astute at manipulation with a specialty in gaslighting. A school of naive or historically abused heterosexual women are drawn to the fuckboi despite how poorly he treats everyone else in his life, likely because the fuckboi is often attractive and suffering (see: profiting) from some form of cluster B personality disorder so can reign in his shittier characteristics long enough to convince a sexual conquest that he is “really a nice guy underneath it all” at least long enough to “hit it an quit it,” often multiple times.

Okay, got it? Well, if not, we’re moving on anyway. So I find success similar to the fuckboi, at least in my success-less current state, but having had a few minor highs in the views and likes departments recently (and having one bad experience with a dude who was a fuckboi in every way but looks and name about a decade ago). Both are attractive, especially from afar and in photos. Success has a hard jaw, spends a descent amount of time in the gym, and an impressive “I tried really hard to not look like I’m trying hard” sense of fashion. When he gets a bit closer you might see him stiff a waiter or not hold the elevator for someone clearly running for it, but you excuse those behaviors because god damn, Natalie, have you seen that fucking smirk?

You hear a lot of stuff about Success, how maybe he’s not worth it, he’s had a lot of partners and they didn’t really work out, but your internalized misogyny comes crawling up from the nastier parts of your soul, and you think, “jealousy is a hell of a drug, bitches!” and you put yourself out there. You might even change yourself a little to be more attractive to him. I mean, it’s just a Brazilian blow out, why can’t I reinvent myself, Natalie? God, don’t be so judgmental, you don’t understand how hard it is to maintain curls in this kind of humidity, okay!?

When Success texts you for the first time your heart beats so hard you’re sure he can hear it through the phone even though text messages don’t have sound and no one actually calls anyone else in this economic climate. (I haven’t dated in a long fucking time, so Success probably actually sends you a message on Tinder, but just roll with me okay?) Success isn’t really that funny, but you laugh at his jokes, and he’s not that clever, but you’re willing to dumb yourself down a little for him because God and 8% body fat gave him an inguinal crease to die for, and his profile picture is just a bare torso so it’s not like you can avoid it, Natalie, I mean it’s right there.

But Success is flippant and enigmatic. Everything he says is up for interpretation, and even though the strong, independent woman that you know you are (because Natalie keeps texting you the Venus symbol emoji) is sure you shouldn’t be trying to please him, you find yourself doing things you never thought you would for a boy. Your Instagram feed is somehow both a little racier and also a little more self-loathing than normal, and you get crankier with the other people in your life so when they balk at you, you label them toxic and cut them out. Your normal meter is broken, but you can’t recognize it in all those pieces under Success’s Adidas.

But it all seems worth it when you get a taste of Success (I am so sorry for that image). He’s calling you “babygirl” and “love” and blowing up your phone with so many notifications that you missed when Natalie’s dog had to get surgery because his stomach was actually where all her missing socks were going. You’ve seen what Success can do and you want more, everything else be damned.

Then…it all stops. You don’t want to seem desperate, and frankly neither of you declared yourselves monogamous or that you were in a relationship at all but you’re still you, and you want answers. Looking back at it, Success never really commented on your posts publicly, and his relationship status was already “It’s Complicated” before you even met, but you’ve got proof of something somewhere, don’t you? Are your feelings worth nothing? Success continues to allude you, and when you call him out, he tells you that you’re the crazy one, you’re making this out to be so much more than it was, and you’re not even really that hot, so he was doing you a favor that one time you asked him to come over at 1:00am to “help explain Rick and Morty to you.” And by the way, that photo you posted of yourself on the beach last week isn’t super flattering and you should probably untag him from it.

Now truly alone, you call up Natalie, but she’s too busy with Max the hosiery hound for your inevitable bullshit, so you turn to vaguebooking, quoting song lyrics from when you were a sad-sack teenager, and stalking Success’s social media for a glimmer that maybe he misses you too. Spoiler alert: SUCCESS DON’T MISS NOBODY. (Until it’s convenient for him, but he doesn’t mean it.)

And that’s the clutch, guys. Success really doesn’t miss anyone because it doesn’t need anyone, least of all you or me. Pandering to success long term probably won’t work out, but maybe it’s okay to try because it can be fun and even rewarding if you’re an egotistical fuckhead *clears throat and puts down front-facing camera* Sorry, what were we talking about?

Maybe this analogy isn’t fair because success doesn’t really make choices, that’s the masses (and those controlling mass media to some point, but this isn’t the place for conspiracy theories), but it’s probably as fair as calling success a pretty lady that won’t give you the time of day. The only truth is that success is fickle, but maybe someday if you love yourself enough, you’ll be able to nail down something that suits you better and loves you back. Or something equally mushy and gross.

Also, listen to Natalie every once and a while, okay?

 

Normally I don’t credit the photos I use because I get them from Pexels with specifically no attribution required licenses, but because I’m using this guy’s photo in what can be seen as a negative light, I’d like to say explicitly that I’m not commenting on the subject or the photographer of this photo being an actual Fuckboi™ and would like to credit him. Go give R Fera some love.

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The Need To Be Liked

I talked about the freedom of being phone-less recently, and since I’ve replaced my sad cracked-screen with a much more expensive but narrowly different model, I’ve been trying to limit my use of it. I could do better (damn you, Hogwarts Mystery!), and admittedly it hurts to drop a few hundred dollars on something just to be like “NO, DON’T TOUCH THAT!” but when I am using it, I’m really starting to pay attention to how it affects not just my production, but my mood, specifically my self worth. And it’s…a lot.

I like to think I’m less easily swayed by what I see on social media than the average whoever, not because I’m superior–of course I feel jealousy like any other human, and when I see an ad for pizza I WANT PIZZA–but because 1) I’m actively thinking about how these things are making me feel, and 2) I’ve put in effort to work past that jealousy stage so that mostly when I see someone who is successful, attractive, and happy, I’m inspired. I’m interested in how people that I follow got their ass to look that way, produced such riveting content, managed to smile after heartbreak. It helps that I try to follow people who are very open about their flaws, but I don’t have that sort of control over everything I’m exposed to, and sometimes I’m left feeling, well, let’s say contemplative.

The path to success is shrouded in mystery, especially when your horse is a creative endeavor and your satchel is stuffed with naught but pencils and a thesaurus. Practice, work hard, risk failure, fail harder. These are some of the trials of our hero’s journey, and don’t get me wrong, they make a great journey, but then you bump into the already popular knight brandishing his shiny teeth and stylish but hollow swordplay, and you wonder: WHAT THE FUCK? His troupe consists of a grizzled, retired mercenary who’s universally loved but misogynistic as hell and frankly devoid of any actual personal development, and a sidekick that’s just like always there, and loud, and why is he always there? But sometimes the righteous and pious and good make it to the top, and you’re so happy for them, so pleased, but it’s still so terribly confusing. Success isn’t wholly unfair, so you wonder if there’s a formula, a way to make it all worth it. I’ve only come to the conclusion that luck is playing a role, and that’s not really just to make myself feel better about failure–I just don’t have any other explanation.

I don’t want this post to come off as whiny. I do think the effort is worth it even if you never go anywhere with your work and you die alone, penniless, rotting away from the plague. It’s, you know, the journey or whatever. Plus there’s always the possibility of being posthumously discovered and your words, your art, your music, reaching someone who cares and gets joy out of it all (presumably you’re producing something in order to bring joy to others). I’m just trying to figure out the how (you can’t bring joy to people without reaching them), and trying to govern my own ego along said journey.

the journey

I don’t buy the saying “Do what you love and you’ll never work a day in your life.” Yes, if you’re doing what you love it’s exponentially less stressful and difficult and soul-crushing than doing something you hate, or something you tolerate, or even something you like, but no one’s creative passion isn’t actual work. If you’ve ever encountered something good, you’re experiencing the result of somebody’s labor and at least one broken mug, a handful of abandonments, and infinite swearing sessions.

It’d just be nice to know it’s all probably leading somewhere.

I see this mirrored in this one weird trick that I’ve been noticing a lot on both Twitter and Instagram. People will follow you, like a handful of your posts, then unfollow you a couple days later. I’m assuming this is done through a bot and they’re doing this to all the users posting under a specific tag and probably get enough people following back and sticking around to be worth it; it’s just so insanely shallow. These are not real views, not real fans, and when I’m trying to promote my actual work I just find it frustrating. Maybe I should be thankful? That’s a handful of likes I wouldn’t have gotten otherwise that might push my post up higher in some reverse-Robin Hood algorithm where the popular get more popular (which is its own bullshit ranty blog post), but it’s not genuine. It doesn’t let me really gauge if I’m reaching anyone, and worst of all these users clutter up the tags we might use to actually reach real readers.

And then I realize I’m guilty of this too when I use tags. Maybe not to the gross extent I’m seeing out there, but if others are playing the game that hard, don’t I need to at least engage to be seen at all? In the end, tags are words, and I love words, and I’m a little pissed at how this makes them lose their meaning.

But in the end it comes down to this, the contemplative self-worth part: maybe I’m just not that good.

That thought it scary and intrusive, but legitimate. I don’t have much else to say beyond that except that I’m actually glad I’m having the thought (not that I haven’t always had this thought, it just takes on a different shade in the world of social media). I think it’s helpful, kind of like seeing a fitspo model’s perfect ass on my Instagram feed. Yeah, I feel bad about my ass, but I might be able to have that ass if I work at it.

Might.

How To Not Fuck Up 2018

I’m going to be straight with you, Dear Reader: 2017 was pretty fucking great for me. I would be remiss to not call it super successful. While the things I did don’t apply to everyone, they certainly turned things around for me in a lot of ways. Am I am expert advice giver? No, but I’m not less of a good advice giver than the next fucko, so in that vein, here are my top suggestions for anyone looking pre-un-fuck 2018. Also, there are five suggestions here. You could call this a top five list. I won’t though.

Assess And Address Your Fucking Health

If there’s only one thing I could suggest everyone do right at the start of 2018, it would be to take a look at your physical well being and take steps to improve it. (But since I’ve got this handy little internet soapbox, I won’t be limited to just one. You’re welcome!) No, I don’t mean look in the mirror, grab a fat roll with dismay, fuck your knees up on the treadmill every day for the next two weeks, then give up into a bowl of raw chocolate chip cookie dough. I mean, actually take stock of how you feel on a daily basis. One of the things that shocked me the most when I lost weight was all the ways I felt terrible when I was fat but didn’t realize were so bad til I was healthier. If you, like me, are blinded to how great things could be, consider starting to track how you live your life on the reg:

  • Daily Food Intake – Just write it all down, there’s no use lying to yourself!
  • Daily Water Intake – Just TRY to drink a little actual water, okay?
  • Digestion and Bowel Movements – How are your shits, Dear Reader?
  • Energy Exertion – Are you getting off your ass–genuinely off it–and moving around?
  • Sleep – When do you get ready for bed, actually get in bed, actually fall asleep, actually get up?

Track what you can for a few weeks (there are a lot of great apps out there for some or all of these things) and include, at the end of each day, how you actually felt that day physically and emotionally. Don’t try to make changes, just keep an honest log. See how what you’re doing correlates to how you feel. Where can you make improvements? DO THOSE THINGS.

Assess And Address Whatever The Fuck Your Problem Is

Okay, this is, admittedly, way more loaded than the header makes it out to be, but on at least some level you can do this! It might also take some tracking and honesty and a little soul searching, but what the fuck are you waiting for? Looking at your relationships might be a good place to start. What do you like about them? What do you hate? Why? How can you (and I mean YOU, not through the actions of others) facilitate the good things and lessen the bad things?

Example: I love Husband. I love being with him, talking, hanging out, but I hate fighting. Why? I don’t like how I feel during and after a fight, and I don’t like that if fighting is frequent or particularly bad it could really deteriorate our relationship. So what can I do to lessen those fights? Well, when I get angry, I get Italian Angry™ and it happens really fast. It’s sort of a 0 to 60 thing, then it tapers off almost immediately. My anger, yelling, saying hurtful things, all exacerbate a fight when, instead, I could take a breath, stay calm, and explain why I’m upset. We still may have an argument at worst, or a discussion at best, but both are healthy and lead to understanding and compromise. Husband isn’t perfect, but neither am I, and I can only change myself.

This is meant to be a focus on YOU. How can you be a better person? Everyone has issues, and no you cannot (and should not) compensate for everybody else, but you can work on yourself, so fucking do it.

Set Some Fucking Goals

Be they vague or specific, big or small, hair-brained or totally logical, set some 2018-fucking-goals for your 2018-fucking-self. I don’t mean resolutions, like this big floating concept that you plan to reach by way of…the universe making it happen or whatever; I mean goals. While the destination might be vague, the journey should be mapped out. Say I want to be more creative in 2018. That’s pretty damn vague, so how the fuck am I going to become Artsy Ashley 2k18? Well, I know what my strengths and weaknesses are, like I’m pretty bad at focusing in the beginning of a project, but I’ll wallow hours away late at night on something once I’m in the groove, so I need to set very specific times to get things started and done.

To reach that goal, a planned evening for me might look like this: 30 minutes to decompress after work (that means YouTube), 15 minutes to get set up and look through inspiration/get in the groove, 40 minutes to work on the actual project, and 5 minutes to plan for the next time and clean up. Those last five minutes are crucial for me because, like I said, I’ll just keep going and either burn through sleep time or just burn myself out on the project all together. If I go through the planned cycle, say, three out of every five weekdays, Artsy Ashley just might be born by summer. Of course, as the year goes on, I’ll need to modify that schedule, but the point is I’ll start out with a road map to get to that fucking end goal.

Downloading a habit app might really help you out here. I use the one in the link, but I don’t really play the game aspects, I just feel really good about leveling up. Before I go to bed, I check off everything I’ve done. If I’ve missed a number of things, I’m motivated to do better the next day. If I’ve checked everything off, I feel super successful and motivated to keep it up. You can use the habit app for health goals too. See, it all ties together.

Don’t Be Afraid To Ask For Some Fucking Help

Humans very rarely do things entirely on their own. Even if you hire help, you’re still getting it. But you probably need help the most when you’re making changes and working toward something new. Getting thrown out of your regular routine is tough, and can be tough for the people close to you as well. If they’re used to old 2017 you, they may not take to well to 2018 you. That’s totally their problem, not yours, but letting them know you’re changing, and letting them know how they can help might, well…help!

You also may find yourself struggling at some point. Before I took on NaNoWriMo this year, I knew I would need motivation in the form of human encouragement. I enlisted Anachostic and another workmate to take part in the great wordening of two ought one seven. Without someone to run beside (and fall behind) I would have most likely stopped at the first smoothie shop on the way and just hunkered down for the winter. That is to say: I needed help. And I asked for it. And I got it.

Fucking Love Your Current Self And Look Forward To Your Future Self

I hated my body when I was overweight, but I still, even if it wasn’t a lot, loved myself. I loved myself enough, at least, to put in the effort to change because I knew the potential I was capable of.

I need to be kinder to people.

I need to start feeding my mind again.

I need to shit at least once a day.

All ways a person can change, all suggested with love. Especially that last one.

There’s this movement going on that suggests loving yourself means accepting the exact person you are right now, indefinitely, and you don’t need to ever evolve. If you think you’re perfect, well, good for you, but I don’t think that’s really what self-love is. If you really love someone, you should want what’s best for them. Sometimes that means giving someone a piece of candy, but that also means telling someone the truth, even if it hurts.

Love yourself enough to tell yourself the fucking truth.