Girl power, loneliness and avoiding “the friendzone”

How to deal with being single, without being a creep.

According to a piece in today’s Guardian, “the girl power generation are confused”. I’m not surprised. I’m confused, too, not least because I’d always assumed was part of said generation. Alas, it turns out I’m too old. Already 21 when Wannabe was released, I can’t be one of the “twentysomething women” who can claim to be “the most liberated and educated women ever”. So liberated, in fact, that they get to be defined by a 1990s girl band (the lack of a corresponding Boyzone generation can be taken as clear evidence that the pendulum has swung too far).

But wait! Said twentysomethings might be liberated and educated, but as you’ve already guessed, they’re still not happy! And not just because previous generations were awarded enigmatic letters such as X and Y whereas they got the sodding Spice Girls. Today’s young women are unhappy because too many people have written too many books telling them what to do. From The Rules to He’s Just Not That Into You, books have bombarded women with “contradictory messages” which leave them “in a bind, and without much help in figuring out what they actually want” (see, that’s what happens when you make the ladies literate):

Every piece of ‘modern’ advice about maintaining independence and using their 20s to explore and experiment sexually is layered over a piece of ‘old-fashioned’ advice about getting married before it’s ‘too late’, not being too assertive or passionate in sex, and not being too sexually experienced. This sort of advice means that young women often struggle to admit that they need a man

Thankfully, Dr Leslie Bell – source of the above quotation – has written another book, due to be published later this month, which will sort out all the stuff from the previous books and tell young women what they actually have to do, at least until the next book comes along. One presumes that Hard To Get, if it does little else, will finally enable women to recognise the man-shaped gap in their lives. This is good because no one’s ever been honest about this before. It’s not as though, say, Susan Faludi’s Backlash, published in 1992 – four years before Wannabe! – opened with a chapter debunking “man shortages and barren wombs” as one of the central “myths of the backlash” against feminism. I must have imagined that (in-between downing vats of Taboo and lemonade in order to hide my own man-need from myself).

Regardless of whether we’re dealing with myths, I don’t dispute that Bell is tapping into something powerful. I might be getting on a bit, but even I can’t recall a time when “liberated” young women were not reminded on a daily basis that they needed to find a partner, and sharpish, BEFORE IT GOT TOO LATE!!! It’s certainly a message I fell for, despite the best efforts of Geri et al to persuade me otherwise. In 1998 – following a whole two years of girl power-fueled Christmas No. 1s – a friend and I actually bought The Rules, not for the purposes of some ironic piss-take, but because we genuinely wanted to use the advice (our previous purchase, How Not To Stay Single, had proved a disappointment). We tried our best with our second purchase, but failed miserably. This wasn’t just because the book essentially tells you to pretend to be someone else for the rest of your entire life, purely for the purposes of nabbing a man, any man, who’ll think you’re “a creature unlike any other” (unless you’re a slag who shags him too soon). I don’t think we’d have minded if it was just that. The main problem is that the whole thing is way too culturally specific. We might have been middle-class western women, but when we found ourselves sitting in our local pub – in the heart of the Lake District, surrounded by beer-swilling farmers and fell walkers – the fantasy that this was a bar in Manhattan filled with strangers willing to “date” us suddenly dissolved into thin air.

So why did we put ourselves through this? Because deep down, we were hard-wired to rebel against the crude pseudo-liberation of ladette culture? Not really. The fact that I did tend to shag men “too soon” was, if I’m truly honest, another sticking point with The Rules. I didn’t really mind loving them and leaving them. All the same, neither I nor my friend wanted to be lonely. Few people do. That, if anything, is the taboo. When you’re in your twenties, separating yourself from the role of being your parents’ child, it starts to cross your mind that one day your family won’t be there, and who will you be with? However much we big up the single life, the threat of being cast adrift can be terrifying. Lonely people are sad. Lonely people are unwanted. Lonely people – spinsters, bachelors, weird uncles and aunts – are to be pitied, but also to be avoided, because loneliness is contagious. Don’t stand too close to Billy No-Mates. People might think you’re like him. So be yourself, be liberated, but remember, you must also be like everyone else, or face up to old age alone.

It’s not that I think being single is like that. All the same, when this fear is there – when you get to the stage of realising that perhaps you’re alone in this big, wide world – all the media messages about what you “need” touch a nerve. You start to believe them. After all, if you want control over your situation, it’s far easier to believe the “experts” than it is to panic alone. Far easier to think “I can follow The Rules” than “well, hopefully I’ll meet someone by sheer chance standing in a doorway eating Bombay mix at a party to which I wasn’t even invited”. Blaming yourself for what you’re told you lack is far safer than blaming random fate. What’s more, if you’re female, you also get to blame your own “liberation”. Damn you, choices! Now see what you made me do!

I find myself reflecting on this (as we smug marrieds do) when looking at the current hoo-ha over the Nice Guys of OKCupid Tumblr. Depending on your viewpoint, this either exposes the nasty misogyny of men who think their “niceness” should be rewarded with sex, or involves putting lonely individuals “in the 21st Century equivalent of the medieval stocks to be mocked, abused and humiliated” (Ally Fogg). Like Fogg, I suspect both of these things are happening. The misogyny inherent in the “friendzone” concept – that place where all the nice guys find themselves when the ungrateful recipients of “niceness” fail to open their legs – infuriates me, but so too does the open mockery of lonely people. Loneliness is not a gender-specific issue, but it’s become a weapon to be used in imaginary gender wars. The misery of loneliness threatens every woman who’s become too independent, and every man who’s failed to be “manly” enough. What’s more, as we transfer our fear of loneliness onto lonely people themselves, this threat becomes even more powerful. And yet, we can’t fight it with more books revising the books we read before, or by telling people they’d be better off with no choices at all. Perhaps the only effective challenge will come from human beings being actually, genuinely, sincerely nice in the here and now. How else can we calm our own fears about what comes later?

This article was originally posted on Glosswitch's blog, and is reposted with her permission.

A fedora, universal symbol of Nice Guys everywhere. Photograph: Getty Images

Glosswitch is a feminist mother of three who works in publishing.

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Pity the Premier League – so much money can get you into all sorts of bother

You’ve got to feel sorry for our top teams. It's hard work, maintaining their brand.

I had lunch with an old girlfriend last week. Not old, exactly, just a young woman of 58, and not a girlfriend as such – though I have loads of female friends; just someone I knew as a girl on our estate in Cumbria when she was growing up and I was friendly with her family.

She was one of many kind, caring people from my past who wrote to me after my wife died in February, inviting me to lunch, cheer up the poor old soul. Which I’ve not been. So frightfully busy.

I never got round to lunch till last week.

She succeeded in her own career, became pretty well known, but not as well off financially as her husband, who is some sort of City whizz.

I visited her large house in the best part of Mayfair, and, over lunch, heard about their big estate in the West Country and their pile in Majorca, finding it hard to take my mind back to the weedy, runny-nosed little girl I knew when she was ten.

Their three homes employ 25 staff in total. Which means there are often some sort of staff problems.

How awful, I do feel sorry for you, must be terrible. It’s not easy having money, I said, managing somehow to keep back the fake tears.

Afterwards, I thought about our richest football teams – Man City, Man United and Chelsea. It’s not easy being rich like them, either.

In football, there are three reasons you have to spend the money. First of all, because you can. You have untold wealth, so you gobble up possessions regardless of the cost, and regardless of the fact that, as at Man United, you already have six other superstars playing in roughly the same position. You pay over the odds, as with Pogba, who is the most expensive player in the world, even though any halfwit knows that Messi and Ronaldo are infinitely more valuable. It leads to endless stresses and strains and poor old Wayne sitting on the bench.

Obviously, you are hoping to make the team better, and at the same time have the luxury of a whole top-class team sitting waiting on the bench, who would be desired by every other club in Europe. But the second reason you spend so wildly is the desire to stop your rivals buying the same players. It’s a spoiler tactic.

Third, there’s a very modern and stressful element to being rich in football, and that’s the need to feed the brand. Real Madrid began it ten years or so ago with their annual purchase of a galáctico. You have to refresh the team with a star name regularly, whatever the cost, if you want to keep the fans happy and sell even more shirts round the world each year.

You also need to attract PROUD SUPPLIERS OF LAV PAPER TO MAN CITY or OFFICIAL PROVIDER OF BABY BOTTLES TO MAN UNITED or PARTNERS WITH CHELSEA IN SUGARY DRINK. These suppliers pay a fortune to have their product associated with a famous Premier League club – and the club knows that, to keep up the interest, they must have yet another exciting £100m star lined up for each new season.

So, you can see what strains and stresses having mega money gets them into, trying to balance all these needs and desires. The manager will get the blame in the end when things start to go badly on the pitch, despite having had to accommodate some players he probably never craved. If you’re rich in football, or in most other walks in life, you have to show it, have all the required possessions, otherwise what’s the point of being rich?

One reason why Leicester did so well last season was that they had no money. This forced them to bond and work hard, make do with cheapo players, none of them rubbish, but none the sort of galáctico a super-Prem club would bother with.

Leicester won’t repeat that trick this year. It was a one-off. On the whole, the £100m player is better than the £10m player. The rich clubs will always come good. But having an enormous staff, at any level, is all such a worry for the rich. You have to feel sorry . . .

Hunter Davies’s “The Beatles Book” is published by Ebury

Hunter Davies is a journalist, broadcaster and profilic author perhaps best known for writing about the Beatles. He is an ardent Tottenham fan and writes a regular column on football for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 29 September 2016 issue of the New Statesman, May’s new Tories