Captain Awkward's Home for Wayward Really Insecure Dudes

Captain Awkward's Home for Wayward Really Insecure Dudes →

Dude writes in to feminist advice column asking for dating advice; dude gets advice in the form of a gentle but honest roadmap for personal accountability that could help him unravel the confused, entitled, hurt and lonely emotional turmoil that’s skeeving out women left and right and making him completely fucking miserable; dude balks at the advice; dude gets a huge pool of additional thoughtful, compassionate, but no-bullshit recommendations and I know that feel, bro’s; dude flounces off in the sunset to marry his truest, deepest passion: himself.

Or, to quote @redsonya: This guy, 2 weeks from now: “Hollywood has promised me a Manic Pixie Dream Girl to solve all of my problems, and I will execute one hostage every hour, on the hour, until you deliver.”

Here’s the thing, folks: advice is only useful if you accept the idea that maybe, possibly, you’re doing it wrong, in the sense of “not getting the intended results.” Otherwise asking for advice comes across as arm-across-the-forehead “Woe is me!” sobbing with a subtle peek out from underneath the elbow to make sure your audience is weeping along with you.