My name is Laura and I’m addicted to male attention. And no, I don’t mean the wolf-whistling, builder kind. My mother told me, “Appreciate attention. It won’t be there when you’re older”. She failed to mention a virus will also cut my limelight short.
I miss dating; I miss walking down a street and seeing eyes gaze at me. Those James Blunt “You’re Beautiful” vibes: Staring at a passer-by and sharing a “moment”.
I miss naïve anticipation – expecting an online date to hold potential. Then of course, there’s sex. My sexual urges weren’t prepared for abstinence. When a friend said I’d become a born-again virgin during lockdown, I thought back to my last intimacy. I thought, what if that’s it? Imagine if something were to happen and my last sexual memory involved a guy asking for my approval every two seconds. My last orgasm: Me mustering strength to make it happen.
My confidence dropped. The decline of customary male attention.
Only when guys stopped smiling from a distance and brushing against my leg on a dance floor – did I notice how much I depend on them for a fix. I’m not an overly flirtatious woman. When I’m partying with extroverts, I depend on my humour and smile – something to create an impression. I don’t wear revealing clothes to make onlookers stare. I’m not one to approach men and tell them their good-looking. (Perhaps my eyes do the talking.)
So I don’t possess obvious attention seeking behaviour. You can invite me to your wedding without worrying I’ll attempt to upstage you. Usually, I go out and notice interest from guys. I didn’t analyse this interest until I found myself at home with little to do and no places to go. My confidence dropped. The decline of customary male attention.
It’s not always about insecurity
I was a wallflower many times in my early twenties. An old friend, Jessica, adored 50’s vintage. Often dressed with curls, red lipstick and silk pencil skirts, her beauty and bubbly personality captured admirers. I remember going out with her and shyly conversing with the guys who approached us. Insecurity lingered. She discussed her Old Hollywood image while I casually sipped my drink.
My addiction to male attention came when sexual benefits emerged. Excitement, passion, compliments. Back then, chat-up lines acted as a blood transfusion to self-esteem. If a man didn’t approach me in a club or bar, I’d wonder where I went wrong. My outfit, hair, makeup…?
Adulthood makes us live scheduled lives. Each morning, several tasks await. My list continues to the evening and even then – I’m working on my blog and social media. With ongoing routine, sex and intimacy broke my monotony. It’s more than horniness and confidence. Having a date planned makes me feel I’m pursuing chances. Flirting inspires fun and sex fulfils fantasy. As an anonymous reader wrote to The New York Times, it’s easy to feel “successful” with “at least one or two guys crushing” on you. A power exchange – me entering the mind of another.
Things I do to achieve male attention
In high school, I read articles on what boys like and how to catch their eye. Silly information: Smile a lot, wear a nice fragrance, be an individual. Before I began typing this piece, I assumed my teenage research reflected past innocence and naivety. I haven’t memorised tips on sex appeal for several years.
But on closer inspection, I mirror my dates. If their opinions strongly conflict with mine, I’ll attempt to edit my views (when in their presence). When a date criticised veganism, I defined my plant-based diet as casual – recommended for my skin as oppose to me joining the “movement”. In holding back, I’m pushing desire. Please like me; please keep chasing my attention.
This echoes a piece on The Good Men Project. A relationship coach describes how some young women can neglect personal development for validation – adapting themselves to fit a male ideal. I’ve not found the gap between self-worth and physical desire. I take risks, I work on career and life goals. I’m meditating daily. I can do all the personal development and still crave a man to give me appraisal. It’s like going out with friends, knowing you look beautiful, though not feeling your best until alcohol sits in your hand.
Addicted to male attention – single and horny
On an addict scale, I’m not peaking at impetuous – presently. I’ve controlled my urges enough to not invite round the gawker at the end of my road. I haven’t stepped foot in my local pub, hunting down a man for the night.
A friend of mine struggles to commit to one guy. Recently we discussed the pressure to not question whether we’re settling. What if you’re in a happy relationship, and out of nowhere, you meet the most compatible person? My favourite joy from singledom derives from opportunity. Freedom to meet and hook-up with someone new.
Lockdown left me with the single rubbish. The instability and boredom from not going to bed with a reliable (hopefully) intimate companion. The time alone has made me reflect on my dating history – it appears I fancy the same men. Mr. Charming; Mr. I can charm my way through our first couple of dates and then I’m a walking, plain cliché. As well as reflecting, I’ve self-analysed, worked out my astrology moon sign so I can blame my negative habits on my horoscope’s traits, and I’m learning to improve my optimism.
I’m optimistically waiting for the next stranger to feed my male attention addiction.
If you’re single, how have you dealt with loneliness the past few months? Did you miss dating? Here are some more posts on being single:
