Is there more pressure on "men of a certain age" than women to be married?

In the wake of yesterday's post about a poor life/wife choice of one of the Bougie Brethren, I was flooded via various forms of social media and inboxes to talk about the struggle of the Professional Single Black Male over 35 to wife well, correctly and with some immediacy.

I love George Clooney. As an activist, sometimes as an actor, mostly as ageless eye candy. He looks great, probably smells great, has than killer smile and sense of humor not to mention he's rich as Croesus and an Obama supporter. Yum. But I wouldn't date him for all the waterviews in his Lake Como mansion. (Didn't say I wouldn't sleep with him, let's be honest... moving on.) The chronic commitment-phobe is not my cup of tea. When you have all the women in the world at your disposal, is it really the hotness to continue to dispose of them? Nawl. But I wondered, does he feel any pressure to get married? Are his peers, partners and public relations people hounding him constantly, "Pick one and put a ring on it!" When he runs into friends of his parents (as I did at an event last week) do they ask loudly (in front of your date), "Still not married? But you're so pretty!"

That sound you hear is my teeth gnashing...

Back on topic... Do single men over 35 take the same amount of nonsensical and judgmental backlash as their female counterparts for being unmarried? And does it intensify as they get older? Hmmm...

This threw me off a little bit. It's hard as a single woman "of a certain age" to listen to single men "of a certain age" talking about how they can't find a woman. In fact, my first thought is to double blink at them, hold out my arms to the left and the right and scream, "We're right here, why don't you see us?" And don't get me started on the biological clock we've got ticking while they have no such age restrictions. Latest stats show that for every single male, there are twelve (12!!) single women in queue for them. Twelve. Let's say four are unattractive to you, three are crazy, three are incompatible for whatever reason, that still leaves 3 in the tank. I'm at -7 for finding a dude in my specified age range and preferences. Negative 7, yo. If the one I'm dating now doesn't work out, I'm for the nunnery. For reals. Let's move on.

Any time you start talking about numbers and statistics in the dating pool, that conversation always erodes to both sides listing their requirements and pet peeves and then someone breaks out the tired old memes (Black women this, black men that, women this, men that, expand your search but raise/lower your standards, stop waiting for mr./ms. perfect and just get out there, make a sandwich/learn to cook, take more time to get yourself together as a person)... we've heard them all.

I spent a good bit of time Wednesday talking to the single, divorced dating brethren of these webnets and I have to admit, I felt some sympathy. I talked to one Executive who was told at the company sales conference that if he doesn't show up at the next function with a fiancee or wife, he's not going to get the promotion he wants. Yes he should go to HR but let's look beyond that. His professional life is taking a hit because he's not seen as a family guy. However, the hours he's required to put in are also prohibiting him from finding and keeping the kind of woman he wants. Is he lazy? No. Picky? Maybe. But between going to work and back home, golf on Saturday, family dinner on Sunday, where's he meeting Mrs. Executive? In his words, "Online or hope cousin Pam brings someone cute to brunch."

There's Bougie Bruh, Dr. Martin. Young doctor easy on the eyes, great sense of humor, sane, yet chronically single. He swears he has no time to date but finally admitted that he doesn't want to put in the effort. Yet he does want to end up with the kind of woman who doesn't care if he puts in the effort or not. So he doesn't want to be married to someone who just wants to be Mrs. Dr. Martin. But he wants to be with someone who understands what he's going through. 

I could go on. I heard story after story about how much pressure there is for men to be married over 35. I know that as a single black female, I heard that if I didn't meet the guy I was going to marry in college, it was going to be a hard uphill road. It is. But we never talk about if that also runs true for the brothers. Could it be that the struggle for Ms. Right is just as exhausting as the struggle for Mr. Right?

I don't know, maybe this is all hooey. Maybe they are just cutting a swath through the sisterhood until one day they get tired and say, "She'll do." Maybe we don't shine enough of a light on the male struggle because we're dealing with our own. I don't know. But let the record reflect that I opened up the discussion. And I know everyone has opinions. So let's hear 'em. But hey!! Keep it bougie out there... 

Things men say when women aren't around

I'm not sure how it happened. I spent many of my formative years at a private all girls' school. Men were mysterious creatures that my father told me to stay away from lest I end up flipping burgers at McDonald's. [I don't know, he had this whole story about the wrong man leading me off the garden path and somehow forcing me to live in a trailer while flipping burgers for a living] Anyway, so it's been with no little bit of amazement that at some point I became the girl that hung out with the guys. Granted, I'm usually "romantically attached" to one of the guys but somehow I tend to get the cool pass. I can't even tell you how many guys' weekends I've been eyewitness to. I seriously can't, I think I signed a non-disclosure for one or two of those joints.

Moving on... this past weekend I found myself the lone chick in a room of eleven men. At one point, the mood was so mellow that the guys either forgot I was in the room, forgot I was female or decided I'd heard it all before. That's when the testosterone took over and I started taking mental notes. Here are a few things of the conversational gems:

1. It seems that women gossip more often but men gossip about more important stuff. Women gossip about clothes and weaves, these dudes were going IN about some other dude's erectile dysfunction struggles. In vivid detail. Ouch. Though when they realized what they had spent 20 minutes talking about, they suddenly started discussing sports scores. Classic.

2. Men are sneakier than we think. (Not sneakier than women but still sneaky) One guy was bragging about how he hoodwinked the wife so she does the cooking and he takes the trash out. Somehow he has her convinced that the gathering and disposal of waste and recyclables is equal to her slicing, dicing, cooking and prepping meals. I may or may not have texted her to stage a minor kitchen boycott. [Don't side-eye me fellas, I told you women are sneaky too]

3. Men barter sex just as well as any woman out there. After one gentleman explained that all his s/o wanted to do was "get paid and get laid... often" - I had to bite my tongue to keep from speaking out. When he wants to "keep her in line" he withholds either the coin or the cocoa. I don't know his s/o or she would've received a textload of "wake the eff up, girl" too.

4. An interesting argument broke out when a dude said the main reason he was getting divorced was because his wife had gained fifty pounds and just "wasn't fun anymore." Maybe he was expecting sympathy but those guys hopped on him with some truth. Apparently dude had been going through some things, lost his job, started wilding out in the streets and wife had to hold down to two kids, two cars and mortgage while he pulled it together. Quote of the night, "Maybe she put on five pounds for every chick you cheated on her with. You need to fall back and get your house in order." Whoa.

5. And favorite part of the evening: Other married dude starts going in about the tough time he is having with his wife's pregnancy. It's their first child and he's freaking out about the responsibility and his wife's mood swings and whether the cocoa will be the same after the birth. If I wasn't so appalled, I would have been rolling around laughing. The fellas were all commiserating and nodding when suddenly one of them caught the look on my face. "We went too far?" Just a little bit. Sorry fellas, pregnancy is one of the things you don't get to bitch about. Ever. 

It's my conclusion that the sexes don't have different conversations, they just approach topics from different perspectives. But it got me to thinking - what topics do we not discuss in front of the other sex? Are there any conversations "not for mixed company"? Ladies? Gents?

Ask a Bougie Chick - Green means go, right?

Alright, let's get it started. We have a confused young man who wants the assistance of BougieLand. He's very young and trying to figure out the rules of engagement. Here's his story:

Hi Ms. Bougie, 

Your blog is great, I like how you try to see things from both the woman and the man's point of view. I've definitely learned a lot even from your posts telling us what not to do. Let me get to it. I'm 22, black male, in DC, single. I'm a new college grad and haven't been dating very much up to now. 

I just started a career with the government plus I'm doing some mentoring work so I don't have a lot of time and effort to put towards a serious relationship. I hope that doesn't sound like I'm making excuses, I just think I have plenty of time for committed monogamy later. 

I started seeing someone about seven weeks ago, I asked her if she was okay with a casual type of thing, back in the day they used to call it "just kicking it" kind of relationship. She said she wasn't looking for anything serious right now either and we could just be cool with each other. No expectations, just hanging out, going out, talking on the phone, having fun, stirring cocoa, right? 

Then this past weekend she went off telling me that she wanted more, she wanted a committed and having a "cocoa-stirring friend" was making her feel like a slut. Her words. Not mine. I didn't know what to say or do because she said this was cool and all of a sudden she changed the rules. No notice. We went from "that movie was dopeness" to "why won't you be my boyfriend" in like two minutes. 

I need to ask - did I do something wrong? I thought it was green lights and then she threw up the red. Did I miss something? And since even though she's a nice girl, I really don't want anything serious, I can walk away without feeling like I was some sort of dog, right? I did ask my boys but I'd like to talk to people who have been here and have nothing invested in telling me the truth. So what's up, bougie people?

-KJT in DC

Well KJT-I'm going to let that "back in the day they used to call it 'just kicking it'" line slide... that was my day, son and I'm not that old. Anywho, if you were straight with her from jump, you can walk away without feeling the least bit doggish. I think more than anything, you were a little naive to believe her when she said it was cool to be cocoa buddies. Especially when it sounds like you were taking her out as well. Even though you said cocoa buddies, you acted like a boyfriend. This confused, perplexed and ultimately angered her. This is why folks have friend zone folks and cocoa folks. Once you start blending the two, drama pops off. IMHO. But let me see what BougieLand has for you...

BougieLand, what say you? Fellas? Ladies? Ever had someone switch up the rules of the game on you mid-play? How do you handle it? Did KJT handle this all wrong? And what should he do know?

Why do women's tears freak men out? I asked some Bougie Bros...

It was hot. I was tired and cranky and any number of things were on my nerves. I had juggled writing books, writing articles, recruiting, BougieMom, and what seemed like a million little crises hopping up and down on my minute patience reserves all day. Plus I was hungry and hormonal. Terrible combination. 

**cue the dramatical music** I strolled into 3N's house wanting nothing more than to sit under the misters on the back patio with a cocktail. Peace and quiet, an adult beverage and some sort of chips and salsa option. That's all a bougie chick craved.

What greeted me was Poker Night. Eight guys, assorted whiskeys and someone had pulled out the humidor and was about to kick off the cigar game. 

"Oh, did I know it was Poker Night? Not that you have to tell me everything you're doing. I just thought. Never mind. My bad, I can go." I babbled with an inward sigh as I backed towards the garage door. So much for the misters.

3N hopped up, "Wait, it was a last minute thing, you don't have to go. You look... a little fried. You wanna hang out? You okay?"

"I'm fine." I answered still backing towards the door.

One of the poker players said, "Wait though, since you're here - can you fix snacks?" I won't even name which of the boys asked for snacks. Let's just say he's on. my. list.

Next thing I knew, I was boo-hooing and trying to leave. This caused all manner of bewildered panic to break out amongst the menfolk. Nor was I pleased. I never used to be a crier. Never. When all around me were reduced to blubbering idiocy, I remained stoic with an eyebrow raised. But one of the hormonal shifts after age 35 gifted me with this nonsense. Commercials, stress, The Notebook, frustration, bad dreams - all generate the water works. Usually, I can beat them back through sheer determination not to spend my life with pinkened eyes and puffy nose clutching a Kleenex like a damsel in distress. But for some reason, I was full scale bawling.

Utter dismay reigned supreme as the men began all getting up and speaking at once.

"Who the f**k asked for snacks?!"
"I was only joking. We brought our own food, really!"
"Oh my God, what's wrong - is she sick?"
"What did you do?"
"I didn't do anything!"
"Maybe that's the problem. Maybe you were supposed to do something."
"Michele, did he forget to do something?'
"What should we do?"
"Something, look at her, she's miserable."
"Put her to bed."
"Put her to bed? She's a grown azz woman, what are you talking about?"
"Then take her to bed? Is that better? You knew what I meant, damn!"
"Should we go?"
"God, I hate when women cry."
"At least she cries pretty. It's the ugly cry that rips your heart out."
"The silent cry when you can't tell they're crying until you see the tears?"
"That's the worst."
"Crying during sex is the worst."
"You made a women cry during sex?"
"Tears of joy, son - tears of joy. But you have to stop and ask."
"Can all of you shut the hell up for ten seconds?"

By this time, 3N was hustling me back to his room and was all urgent. "What is it, what's wrong? Did I do something? These guys could go. Talk to me. Or do you just want to stand here like this for a minute? I can shut up. I'll just hold you. Should I sing, rock back and forth, strip, run a bath, what's going to make you happy? Just give me a sign, a nudge, a head bop. You're scaring the shit out of me."

I started laughing that hiccupy half laugh, half cry. I had to. He was so panicky. "I'm sorry, long day. Hormones. You're fine. I'm fine. Stripping? For real though?"

He let out a deep sigh. "A brother was willing to try anything."

"Anything?"

"Within reason, woman. What's really going on with you?"

I went into the bathroom and splashed water on my face - yes, the Lash-Blast Waterproof Mascara works! I walked back in, "It was a moment. I think I'm more tired than I realize. I'm really okay. Let me go holla at your boys. They've gone deathly silent in there." I walked back out to the living room. "Minor meltdown, fellas but we're all good. Sorry?" I flashed a smile.

They seemed to all exhale at once. So I had to ask, "You all got a little wigged. What is it about the tears?"

"Means I've done something wrong and chances are I don't know what."
"Tears mean something has to be fixed and I have to fix it."
"I don't want to see someone I care about in pain."
"Oh yeah, if a man walks out on a woman when she is crying, he gives not a single f**k about her."
"Unless she's a drama queen and cries all the damn time."
"An unhappy woman is never a good thing"
"I never know how to make the tears stop."
"Oh there's one way to make them stop"
"Do you always think with your d**k?"
"My grandmama says too much crying is followed by goodbyeing."
"What does that even mean?"
"You would know if you could but keep a woman for more than a weekend."
"Oooo."

I had to go before that turned ugly. "Okay fellas, I'm going to head out. Great seeing everybody. Sorry for the scare."

Brothers of the blogosphere - what's the deal with the tear freak out? Is it really that uncomfortable for you? (Because it's quadruple uncomfortable for us when you cry) Ladies, aren't we irritated by the women who fake cry to get what they want? Let's talk water works today. Who sheds them, when, why and how do we handle it. 

p.s. I hate hormones. 

Fashion Felonies for the Fellas - Summer Edition

Gents, I have not forgotten about you… no sir. You were all giddy and happy over #SundressMonth so I just let ya’ll enjoy that. But now, it’s time for some of you to get your brethren. Literally, go snatch them up in the streets and ask them what the hell they are thinking. Summer is no excuse for flagrant foolery in the wardrobe department. We have just skated past another BBQ holiday and it’s time to pull your coattails… literally.

Some of you know better, some of you clearly do not give a damn but I beg of you... Read this and pass it along to a friend (or two). It’s America the Beautiful, not America the Brokedown. I'm not even going in on the 5x white tee with denim shorts. Unless your name is Pookie and you're standing on the corner, I don't know what to tell you but - what are you doing with your life? 

I’m going to assume you recognize that your clothes should fit. Let’s start with the basics. (By the way, you can click the pictures to see the full-size view.)

Fit – Read Esquire, GQ or my blog cousin The Gentlemen's Standard on how to match clothes to your body. Just like you don't want women looking like sausage trying to fight its way out of the casing... um, back at cha. And that oversized look ain't for everybody. 

As far as pants go: Pleats add volume, if you are slim this is a good look otherwise go flat-front. Skinny jeans look good on no man. Stop trying. One of my favorites quotes: "The sexiest thing a man can wear is a nice pair of jeans. Nothing too light, and they shouldn't be too tight or too loose. The only men who've managed to pull off tight jeans are Elvis and Tom Selleck, and everyone else should let go of that dream."

Relaxed/loose fit can look baggy on slim guys, low rise are for the young and slender, slim-fit really depend on the cut. No acid wash. If you don’t like a dark wash (what’s WRONG with you) get a medium rinse. You age yourself with the color of your jeans. Black is always a winner. The key to mens’ jeans (and I cannot emphasize this enough) is butt, length, waistline. In that order. The perfect pair of jeans make your butt look taut, your legs look long and waistline (true waistline, not where you heft it up or drop it down with a belt) look proportionate to your chest and hips. Get in the mirror with someone who will tell you the truth and figure it out. Straight-leg, bootcut, mid-rise, button fly – I know it’s confusing but so worth the effort when you get it right.

Drawers – Boxers or briefs? Do you. But this is undies done right.

This is undies done wrong.

Pull your pants up unless you’re taking them off for a good reason. You feel me? Okay.

What is wrong with that picture? The wifebeater + the gym shoes (without socks!) that cost more than the car they are fixing. Think on it people.

Linens & Silks – Great summer fabrics. But they both wrinkle and have to be done right.

But at no time should it look like a jungle is growing on your chest. Correction: If you are in Hawaii or Mexico or hosting a Tahitian Cocktail party, you're all clear otherwise flora and fauna linen is not your friend.

Sheer shirts. I like Mario but hell to the no. That's awful. Not sexy... awful.

Capri Pants. No. Sir. I don't care if Ashton wore them. He's wrong too. Oh and the mandals? I'd rather you didn't. But if you must, fellas - one word: Lotion. Okay one more: Hydrate.

V-neck: Stop it. Please. This means you too, Tyson. Just heckie no.

All plaid joints. Why? Sorry Big Willie but that's awful. And hat matching dude? Ugh.

Coordinated sets. You are not five years old. The Garanimal look is no longer cute. The father from Boomerang called, he wants his "co-ord-in-ates" back.

Pimp suits. Your suits should not come in fruit or sherbet flavors. Cranberry? Lime? Orange? Blueberry? No. Unless your name is Velvet Jones or Steve Harvey, there's no reason to own these. Let alone rock them.

Overbranding. Are they paying you? Then no. One logo per outfit please.

Short suits. Are you dressed up or casual? I. Do. Not. Understand.

All Denim joints. Once known as the Texas Tuxedo (we in Texas are not amused), this is doing too much. I know, I know. It's Ye and he is frequently doing too much but this looks like he found a sale at the Levi Strauss outlet. Buy one, get two free.

Lace up shirts? That’s a lifestyle choice. NTTAWWT*, just know what your shirt is saying about you.

I could go on but I feel this is plenty to start with. Oh let me just add this as a final thought.

Tube tops for men... did you see my statement about lifestyle above? Copy and paste here.

Thank you for your time and attention. I feel confident that I can speak for the women of the world when I say Teach One, Reach One and Pay It Forward. Please review your wardrobes and correct your infractions post haste. Appreciate it! Can anyone think of something I've left out? Any thoughts, comments, horror stories to share?

*NTTAWWT = Not That There's Anything Wrong With That