A serious addiction

Bettina Manasseri
Contributor
It takes a few hundred hits-and-misses for women to go for the sweet, gentle, security-driven man. Even at that point, the bad boy can inspire infatuation, and infiltrate our dreams.
Girls seem to be constantly bombarded with images of women that emphasizes graciousness, refinement and sexually containment. “Bastard” equals to boss, while “bitch” just means bitch.
Could bad boys be the keys to unlocking our suppressed, devilish ways? Without entering a discussion on societal gender roles, let’s explore why this girl-wanting-bad boy-syndrome really exists.
First off, it is not really just about girls wanting bad boys, or do boys want bad girls as well? There’s something mysterious and intriguing about people who aren’t afraid to rip others’ heads off and smile while doing it.
These are the spotlight-owning men, and women, that walk around campus with witty remarks and smooth conversation; little is known about them, leaving more to our imaginations.
As human beings, we want to figure everything out. We become doctors to learn about the body, psychiatrists to learn about the brain, mechanics to learn about automobiles, architects to learn about structure – see a pattern here?
Bad boys are known to hold back in most senses. They prefer their freedom. They set boundaries and intentionally neglect your calls and texts. If they do answer, it’ll be in a text message two days later, after you decided to hate them for life.
When a guy’s deemed ‘bad boy’, leaving the rest to our embellishing fantasies, we take that image and let our imaginations run with it.
Our need to satisfy this knowing, this mystery, this yearning is comparable to an archaeologist digging for 1000-year-old bones. Like a sugar fiend scrounging for a Krispy Kreme, we are insidious.
When that mission is semi-complete, we hope our nurturing, motherly ways will help cure these bad boys from their oh-so inexarable ways. Is it
possible?

I’m sure many of the female readers would agree pursuing bad boys becomes an addiction: we’ll never be satisfied, our fantasies will forever remain divorced from reality, and our 57 or so Facebook pokes will linger without reply. Yet, we pray to the holy sutra of kama to grant us one such sacred, sexy reunion.
It may be time for us to hit the AA route, hold the tequila and launch the James Dean versus Forrest Gump PowerPoint presentations.
Will we ever learn? It is possible, once the powers that be create a hybrid species of man composed of the tender, loving care of Blue Valentine’s Dean alongside the rebelliousness of the baby-faced, pre-prepubescent Tony from Skins.
Ladies, prepare for withdrawal. Our AA meetings await.