I was supposed to go for my Bachelors Finale “fitting” tonight, to try on the “sporty” wardrobe and learn how to walk the catwalk.
I opted out.
The Eligible Bachelors issue hit the newsstands over the weekend, and it was pretty anti-climactic. I received a copy by courier from the CLEO offices, flipped to the article and spotted myself, bachelor #2. The picture is silly, and I have no recollection of having said anything in my list of “quotes”, but I’m sure all the other bachelors are saying the same thing, so whatever.
Part of me really wanted to ride this thing to wherever it would take me. I imagined I’d immerse myself in the experience and absorb everything, then pass it through a filter of detached irony and produce a funny little bit of satire when it was all finished.
In the end, I just couldn’t.
Maybe it’s because I’m one of just two caucasian guys on the list, or maybe it’s because I’m the oldest (as I thought I would be). But it just suddenly didn’t feel fun. I just couldn’t bring myself to expend the effort necessary to immerse myself in the experience – even ironically. To do so, I’d have to actually try to fit in, to be one of the boys, and I’d have to pretend to enjoy it. As a nearly-middle-aged caucasian foreigner(!), I’d have to try harder, and pretend harder.
Anyway, it was a fun little ride, but I’m gonna step off this train. The rest of the trip I leave to the boys.