The Chase

 

Tales as old as time, tell of fine princes on horses pursuing damsels in distress. Men like the chase we’re told. They used to be cave men you see, and had to hunt things. We women are like modern day deer. So be all doe eyed, demurely frollicking in some shrubs waiting (but not waiting) for that modern day cave man to come pursue you.

Play hard to get. But be warm, friendly and approachable. Remain marginally out of their reach, but also be flirty and fun. It’s a difficult act to master, and a fine line to balance. If it was a maths equation the calculus would look roughly like this:

y(2×4+y)dydx=(1−4xy2)x2

Maths was never really my thing. What about girls who enjoy an element of chasing themselves? Yes, despite prehistoric tales of manly cave men, the hunt can go both ways. A man coming on too strong too quickly can be a massive turn off and frankly just a little bit creepy.

If a man pursues me before a seed of interest has sparked he has no hope. The more adamantly he pursues, the more vehemently my disinterest grows. My friend has a technical term for this feeling: the ick. It’s that feeling where you stomach drops, and you feel physically nauseous at the sight of someone. This aloof response could be mistaken for a doe eyed deer playing the game, yet it’s a fatal presumption to make.

Refer back to Doe the deer in paragraph one. A smarter hunter will wait until the deer flashes a knowing glance or slight smile before going in for the kill. The smart deer will have mastered the art of appearing to be chased, unbeknownst to the hunter it’s part of their devious plan.

I pose the question, who therefore holds the power in this equation? The hunter or the deer? Surely the pull dynamic is mirrored equally by both parties.

Many* a men have been surveyed to determine men’s feelings on women asking them on dates. It seems like men don’t really mind, though I have my suspicions they prefer to at least believe they were in the position of power.

Once I read something that said, yes in today’s modern world women can chase men, but if they do they will never really know how he actually felt. They took away the moment when he was able to show initiative and indicate his true feelings. I think this holds a lot of truth. Unfortunately patience is not my greatest strength.

I once asked a man out on a date. Once being emphasised. Not like a tinder chatter, but a real man from the real world. On an actual date. Out of the blue. I got a wishy washy answer that was not to my liking. Six months later he indicated interest. By this point I was on the other side of the world. Standard.

It reminds me of the book my mum brought me before I first went travelling. He’s just no that into you. I think it scarred me for many a years, until a fairy godfather spoke to me.

I was on a TV commercial shoot in New Zealand, when the big fancy international Director was like, “Kesha, can I ask you something? Do you have a partner?”

Taken by surprise, I was like “Errr.. No…?”

“Let me give you a piece of advice. It’s best advice anyone ever gave me. When you meet someone, and feel that mutual spark you need to trust it. Know that the other person is feeling it too. What happens from there is more a reflection of the place they are at in life than of you.”

This little gem of insight really flipped the way I looked at attraction on it’s head.

He continued. “When I met my wife, it just felt different. Before I’d always wanted to spend more time with the person or felt like I should. But for the first time I actually wanted to. Something had changed.” For the record, his wife had first expressed interest in him, yet it was only a year or so later when her saw her in this different light. Duly noted.

I couldn’t help but wonder what had inspired him to share this titbit of wisdom with me. Had he seen me swooning over what was clearly a not so subtle on set crush?

I caught John Snow* looking at me a few times, then he sauntered right up to me and confidently proclaimed “I’ve met you before.”

“Hmmm, no don’t think so.”

“I definitely have.”

I disagreed. I didn’t tell him it was because he was so hot I definitely would’ve remembered him if I had.

The next day he waltz up looking rather chuffed. “I figured it out. You were Joffery’s* girlfriend. I met you when you were living in Wellington when he was on the Hobbit.”

“Oh.”

I have to say I was impressed that loved up coupled up Kesha was immune to the charm of such a handsome man. He hadn’t even made it into the memory bank. Wow.

Over the next few days he was forever sidling up to me to chat. He was one of the most charismatic men I’ve had the pleasure of meeting. He had this way of extracting stories from my lips, always managing to twist my words so everything sounded sexually charged. I blushed so many shades of crimson. It was infuriating.

Yet at the end of the shoot nothing happened. We messaged slightly, but he wasn’t driving it towards anything. He always messaged at strange times of the day. A wise friend familiar with the ways of the world told me he had a girlfriend. Her prediction was of course true. And yet there was a lesson to be learnt from the Director and Mr Snow.

I wasn’t afraid of rejection anymore. If I liked someone and sensed the feeling was mutual I no longer questioned if they liked me. It was obvious they liked me. It merely came down to what they wanted, and the place they were at in life. I could be more straight forward, and then see what their move was. It was empowering.

Maybe the chase is less linear then originally perceived. I think the idea of a man reeling a woman in like a fishing line is direly boring not only to women, but men also. Perhaps the chase is more like an intricate dance. Take any sensual dance like tango or Bachata, it’s always based on a mutual dynamic between the two. Coming close, and pulling away. Both equally footed, and both confidentially assured. Seduction perhaps mirrors intimacy itself.

If go back to the original premise of the chase, we have our prince and our damsel. She’s sitting a top the castle idly plaiting her hair. A strapping young prince catches her eye. She flashes him her winning smile. Smitten he yells out. “Rapunzel, Rapunzel let down your golden hair!” I think the actual power, initially at least, comes from our fair lady. She is the one who determines if she desires to be chased, what the prince decides to do well that is another story.

*subject to creative hyperbole

Cupid’s humour

Cupid’s depicted in a lot of art across Europe, and he seems to be a funny guy. I think that’s why as soon as I was more content in singledom, and not looking for a holiday fling that unlikely suitors appeared.

Just like in all the fairy tales, 3 suitors came, each from further away, and each more intense than the previous.

Suitor 1 was Italian. Incredibly deep, heart felt and a very good listener. He was eager to hear all about my relationship history; the ups and the downs, and yet I wasn’t fooled by the friend card.

When an offer for a midnight moonlight scooter ride arose, I refrained from raising my eyebrow and politely declined ignoring various attempts of persuasion.

Suitor 2, the Spaniard, you may remember from a previous blog “Memoirs of a Keisha”

What originally was a light chat banter suddenly became more intense. 20 successive photos of himself in a row I put down to cultural differences, but then poetry and several messages a day kept coming even if I didn’t reply.

“Roses are red, violets are blue. All of my thoughts involve you!
¡Buenos días princesa!”

Not saying anything clearly wasn’t working so I decided it was time to rectify the situation.

I wrote something along the lines of… recently single, enjoying travelling, not really thinking about guys, hope you can understand.

He replied: “Ok I stop messaging you in a sweet way, and just message you as friends. Kisses”

I sighed.

Suitor 3 I’d met in a group context, so I was relaxed and friendly. When I started to pick up an interested vibe, and he wasn’t picking up on my blatantly just want to be friends vibe I tried the cold shoulder with little success.

He messaged “I’m going past your hostel, do you want to come see my place and have a fresh lemonade”

“No thanks, I’m just relaxing and doing my taxes”

“Do it after, come now just for 1/2 hour”

“Sorry I’m busy, maybe later”

“I’m at your hostel in the courtyard. Come out”

I buried myself further into my bed.
“I want to read for awhile”

“Come read at my place”

“Sorry I just need some Kesha time”

“Okay, come over later, take your time”

I don’t reply. 10 minutes later I receive a photo of his courtyard and a jug of lemonade which I also ignore.

Several hours later the group is dining together again, but I keep my distance especially enthralled in everything the new girl from Melbourne has to say.

I dodge him for most of the night, but wake up to a drunk declaration of feelings. Unfortunately his message didn’t evoke any swoonery, it just made me feel a little ill.

I don’t reply. Next thing there’s a photo of his breakfast.

I reply. Something along the lines of what suitor 2 got.

I come back to my hostel and he’s waiting there. Seriously?! He insists on walking me to my taxi (to the next town – thank god!) and I escape with a slightly too enthused kiss on the cheek as a mutual friend walked past at the opportune time.

It seems to me the age old condition of wanting what we can’t have.

Why else would all these strangely persistent suitors appear (and not disappear) when I had virtually no romantic interest in them?

If hypothetically there was such a princess, I think in the fairy tale version they’d all fuck off and she would get to choose someone herself if and when she felt like it.

But then maybe this alleged hypothetical princess needs to worry less about hurting people’s feelings and be more assertive. Damn Disney, teaching niceties and
sweetness!

It would appear that Disney princesses would be very ill equipt for Cupid’s cheeky ways.

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Memoirs of a Keisha

I wanted a European date. Several. Surely it was a crucial part of the European experience. Yet I’d been away for a month and seemed to be doing a rubbish job of achieving it. After meeting far too many drunken Australians and Kiwis at hostels there had to be a different way. Tinder?

I’d tried it for a very brief 24 hour period in New Zealand where I ran into the Ex, as well as virtually every single guy in my industry. I quickly swore off it. Europe however was surely a different ball game. And so the social experiment begins.

Phase 1 – Voyeurism
I’ve always been fascinated by how people from different countries look. What better way to get a broad scope of the locals look?
Phase 1 was purely swiping. Screen grabbing a few good looking candidates to message girlfriends with a chuckle.

Phase 2. Chatting.
Well, I am single I reasoned. I may as well do something with this new found singledom. Like talking. Yes talking, I seemed to be good at that.

I sent a Finnish guy what I thought was a hilarious message.
“I’m doing research into how many Finnish men have blonde beards”
I was instantly unmatched. Dammit. My great humour clearly wasn’t appreciated.

I also needed to work on the frequency I checked my messages. I always seemed to be exactly 500km away by the time I was replying to someone’s message.

Phase 3. Meeting.
It was time to go on a European date. All for research sake I told myself, think of the great stories to tell! Candidate 1 was to be an exceptionally cute Spaniard. I’d already charmed him with my exceptionally average Spanish.

Getting on a bus at Lake Bled, and who is about to get off but him? I catch his eye in a moment of recognition. Do I smile? I decide on blue steel. I sneak a look, he is beautiful. Dammit should have smiled.

“You creep!” my friends proclaim, “How did you recognise him”?

“I’m good with faces”

“He is so your type”

It turns out I apparently do have a type. Where did this strange fetish for beards and hipsters come from?

A few hours later I’m having dinner with the girls and get a message
“Hey I think I saw you today”

My blue steel was recognised!

“You look pretty and familiar”

The girls shriek with delight, and I swoon a little.

“What did you think of me?” He asks.

“You look like the actor from Motorcycle diaries.” It’s true, he does.

“So shall we get a drink?”

Next thing I’m on my first ever Tinder date. He’s wearing a T-shirt proclaiming “sorry ladies I’m in the night watch.” Interesting choice.

He’s lovely. And I receive an invite to visit Barcelona, but unfortunately my travels are taking me in the other direction. Next stop Italy.

Ahhh Italia!! I nannyed here many summers ago and became so besotted with the country itself. Maybe I’ll forgot all about my desire to go on dates. Maybe.

And a brief look at men around the world…

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Lithuania

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Slovenia

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Finland

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Croatia

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Latvia

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Estonia

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Spain